The Saracen: The Holy War Page 5

  XLVII

  Fat gray clouds hung low over the Umbrian hills, and Sophia thought sheheard thunder rumbling in the west. As Simon's message had promised, hewas waiting for her by the shrine of the Virgin on the road leadingnorth from Orvieto. But what was he doing here, she wondered, with sparehorses and a loaded baggage mule?

  He waved to her and dismounted, and his scudiero--the same man who hadyesterday delivered Simon's note to her--took charge of the beasts.

  Clearly Simon was beginning a journey. He had not simply come out hereto meet her. But he would not go anywhere far with no more company thanone squire. And how could he leave the Tartars when hardly two monthsago he had nearly lost his life protecting them?

  Trying to puzzle out what was afoot, she rode with Ugolini's manRiccardo beside her to the shed-covered shrine where a blue-robed Maryheld a smiling baby Jesus. Riccardo helped her down from her horse andSimon came forward.

  She took Simon's arm, and he led her into the pine forest beside theroad. She studied his face, trying to guess what thoughts were passingbehind his somber blue eyes.

  As soon as they were out of sight of their companions, she asked him,"Are you going to Perugia ahead of the pope?"

  He did not answer her at once, so she kept her gaze on him.

  Sophia enjoyed looking at Simon as she enjoyed looking at beautifulicons, jewels, sculptures. Yet his body did not have the fineproportions she had seen in statues made by Greeks of old. He was verytall and slender, all sharp lines pointing to heaven. His head, framedby long dark brown hair, was narrow, the nose and chin angular. Hiseyes, set in deep hollows, were bright with candor and intelligence,though at times she saw in them a haunted look.

  She even found his barbaric Frankish garb pleasing. From Simon's narrowshoulders hung a cloak of rich crimson silk, and he wore a soft marooncap adorned with a blood-red feather. The purple surcoat that extendedbelow his knees sparkled with dozens of embroidered repetitions of adesign of three gold crowns. In Constantinople only the Basileus and hisconsort were permitted to wear purple. From Simon's black leather belt,decorated with silver plates, hung a curving Saracen sword. Preciousstones twinkled in its handle.

  Now that she considered it, she recalled that she had always seen Simonin more subdued colors.

  _He dressed this way to please me_, she thought fondly.

  He looked away from her, but there was nowhere for him to look. Theywere walled in on all sides by a thick growth of pines. The lower trunksof the trees were straight and clean, like the poles of a palisade,their branches, which started higher than she could reach, putting outthe bright green needles of new summer growth. Somewhere far above themwas the cloudy, rain-heavy sky, but here they were enveloped in deepshadow under interlocked pine branches. The forest was so dark andsoundless that she began to feel a little frightened. Simon and she wereenemies, after all, even though she hoped he would never realize it. Sheoften forgot it herself, when she was with him, liking him as much asshe did.

  "I am not going to Perugia," he said.

  "Did you have me ride all the way out here to tell me no more thanthat?" she demanded.

  "I wanted to tell you that I love you," he said hoarsely. He turnedtoward her, and his face glowed with adoration.

  _Oh, the boy! The dear, beautiful boy! He loves me, and he means it withevery fiber of his being._

  She felt a wave of warmth, not love but surely a kindliness, going outfrom her to him. He turned and took her shoulders in his big hands. Sheliked the feel of his hands on her. If only she could forget aboutDavid, she could happily give herself to him.

  But she _was_ acting for David, and she was here to find out what thisFrank was planning. She must make some guesses, and then see if shecould get him to confirm them. Such as, where was he going, and why washe leaving the Tartars behind?

  She had to tilt her head back to look into his troubled face. "Come, letus sit down," she said. She took his hand and led him to a tree whosetrunk was wide enough to let them rest their backs against it. Her silkskirt formed a dark green semicircle around her, bordered by anembroidered orange and red design of flowers.

  There was a grace in the way he sat down, despite his long arms andlegs. With a practiced movement he swept his sword back behind him, outof his way.

  "Where were David of Trebizond and Giancarlo the night of the attack onthe Monaldeschi palace?" he asked suddenly. She went cold. Did hesuspect them, and her too? Had d'Ucello told him of his unsuccessfuleffort to see David and Lorenzo that very night?

  "They had both left the city," she said. "They went to Perugia andAssisi. David wished to see the wonder-working body of San Francesco atAssisi."

  "I thought he was interested in silk, not saints." Simon glowered ather.

  She made herself laugh. "Surely you do not think David the merchant wasin the streets, fighting, the night the Monaldeschi were attacked?"

  She heard a bell ring somewhere in the distance. Some little hillsidechurch ringing out the hour of Tierce. The chiming sounded clear andpeaceful.

  _Dear God, sometimes I wish I could have become a nun._

  Simon sighed and took her hand gently and held it resting on his thigh."Why does it have to be Cardinal Ugolini who is your uncle?"

  "If not for my Uncle Adelberto I would not be here and we would neverhave met," she said.

  "You are so beautiful," he said.

  The adoration in his eyes was like a dagger in her heart. She wanted somuch for it to be for her, and it was for a woman who did not exist.

  _I am so far from what he thinks I am. Michael and Manfred treated melike a whore. David sends me to seduce this man who is his enemy._

  And that, she thought, was why she so much hated to see what hadhappened to Rachel, and to know that David had done it and that sheherself had a hand in it.

  "You will never come back to Orvieto, will you?" she saiddisconsolately.

  His grip on her hand tightened. "No. That is why I wanted to meet youtoday. Tell me--if your uncle goes to Perugia to follow the pope, willyou go with him?"

  She let her body lean sideways till she was pressed against him. "Oh, Iam sure my uncle will go. He is the cardinal camerlengo, after all. Asfor me, I would go if I thought I would see you there."

  His head drew down toward hers. "Do you care for me that much?"

  "I have never known love like this, Simon. My husband was kind to me,and I was sorry when he died, but the way I feel about you isdifferent. I think I will die if I do not know when I can see youagain."

  Joy lit up his thin face, and she despised herself. "I will find you,Sophia. I will be gone for months. But I will ride like the wind, andwhen I come back it will be to Perugia."

  _He must be going to France!_ He was traveling with but one man, so asto go faster. The Tartars had nearly been killed in the Filippeschiuprising, but he would be leaving them for _months_.

  Only one thing could be more important to Simon than the lives of thetwo Tartars, and that was what the Tartars represented.

  The pope must be offering to approve the alliance. Simon must becarrying the message.

  _When I tell David about this, he will ride after Simon and kill him._

  Her thoughts began to race. Even if Simon were stopped, was it not stilltoo late to keep the Franks and the Tartars from joining forces? No,probably not, because the pope was dying. If this alliance were notsettled now, the talking and deciding would have to begin all overagain, with a new pope.

  Could she seduce Simon into abandoning his mission altogether, runningoff with her? No, he would never betray so great a trust, not even forlove of her.

  "I swear to you, I will find you, I will see you again, Sophia," he wassaying. "Believe me."

  _You will not live long enough._

  "I do believe you, Simon." Her loathing for herself grew stronger.

  Now his arms were around her, and he was pressing her back, away fromthe tree trunk and down onto the soft bed of pine needles.

  His open mouth was
against hers, his lips devouring hers. His handscaressed her shoulders and her back, moving ceaselessly. One hand slidaround and held her breast, and she heard his little indrawn breath ofpleasure. It must feel good to him, she thought. It felt good to betouched there, and she pushed back against his hand. She felt her bodyrelax and grow warm. It had been so long--nearly a year--since a man hadheld her in his arms.

  _I need this as much as any man does. Men can go to whores, but wherecan I go?_

  She loved the feel of his strong arms around her as she lay beside him.He moved so that his whole length was pressed against her, and now hedid not seem any taller than she was. She felt the hardness at hisgroin that he pressed against her leg, and she felt an answering heatwithin herself.

  _No!_

  _I cannot let this man make love to me and then send David after him tokill him. I cannot, I cannot. I would hate myself forever._

  She felt her body opening to him, felt her bone-deep need of him. Ifthey came together now, it would be love, not the love she felt forDavid, but love even so. And if she condemned him to death then, shewould destroy herself. But if she did not tell David where Simon wasgoing, she would betray him, and bring ruin down on his people and herown. If she let Simon make love to her, she would be so torn thatafterward she would probably go mad.

  He was already partly on top of her, and she wriggled away from him,pushing at him.

  "Stop it!" There was a power in her voice that she had not intended tounleash. She was no longer Cardinal Ugolini's sweet little niece, SophiaOrfali from Sicily, but Sophia Karaiannides, the woman of Byzantium.

  A hand's width of space separated their faces. Her voice seemed tofreeze him. He stared at her as if he were seeing a stranger.

  Then anger blazed up in his eyes. His arms tightened. Those arms seemedso lean, but the strength in them was like steel chains drawn tight. Sheclenched her fists and locked her bent arms in front of her to keep himaway. His lips drew back from his teeth and she felt his hot breath onher face.

  _Frankish barbarian!_ she thought. Where only a moment ago she hadwanted him, now she hated him. He was just like all those mail-cladsavages who had destroyed Constantinople, stolen, raped, murdered herparents. Yes, and she had helped the Basileus Michael to drive them out,and she would kill this one too. Never would a union of Frankish andTartar barbarians threaten her people. By this one man's death she couldguarantee that.

  With all the strength her anger gave her, she straightened her arms,pushing him away. Her right arm free, she thrust her open palm againsthis jaw, forcing his head back.

  "Let me go!" And again it was the powerful voice of Sophia Karaiannides.

  "God's blood!" His eyes were wide, and there was amazement in them, nolonger anger. He released her so suddenly she fell back, hard, againstthe floor of the forest.

  Immediately he reached for her, but his hands were gentle once more,helping her to sit up.

  He knelt before her. "Please forgive me." He sounded on the verge oftears. "Please. I lost command of myself."

  Standing up, she brushed pine needles from the back of her skirt and hershawl. He moved to help her, and she pulled away.

  "Sophia, I have never loved any woman as much as I love you."

  "Nonsense. Simon, you have far to ride."

  He moved around so that he was facing her, his usually pale faceflushed, his chest heaving.

  "Marry me, Sophia."

  If he had struck her, she could not have been more astonished. But shequickly recovered herself. He thought he could have his way with her byoffering marriage.

  "Simon, I am not a woman whose legs can be parted by a promise ofmarriage." The note she heard in her voice distressed her. She was beingtoo much her true, worldly self with him. If he were not deaf toeverything but his own passion, he would hear it, and he would suspectthat she was not what she seemed to be.

  She reminded herself: _I must seem to be awed that this great noblemanspeaks to me of marriage._

  "You put it crudely," he said, his eyes narrowed with warmth. "To shockme, I suppose. But you defend your honor, and you speak plainly. I speakplainly too--I love you."

  The sight of him standing there gazing at her with such yearning in hiseyes was too painful. She kept thinking of herself telling David whatshe had learned today. She kept seeing this tall, handsome man lyingdead in a ditch. She had to get away from him.

  "The morning is well along," she said. "You had better get started ifyou want to cover much distance by nightfall. Where do you plan to spendthis night?" She despised herself because she had asked the question tomake it easier for David to trail him.

  He frowned at her. "Sophia, I must have your answer. I mean what I say.I love you. I want to marry you."

  Holy Virgin, would the fellow never give in? Did he really think herfoolish enough to believe he was sincerely proposing to her? Yes,perhaps he did think that of the Sophia she pretended to be. She mustanswer him as that girl would. She cast her eyes down, her hands claspedbefore her.

  "Simon, do not torment me. I know that you cannot marry me. My uncle hastold me who you are--your ancient noble house, your vast holdings.Perhaps you mean to be kind to me by speaking of marriage, but a man ofyour rank has too many obligations. You cannot marry as you choose. So,please, speak of it no more."

  _But what if we could get married?_

  The thought arose unbidden in her mind as she stared down at the brownpine needles. She wanted to drive it out again, but could not stopherself from seeing what it might be like.

  Marriage, a home, a fixed, secure abode where she might live out herlife in serene, peaceful occupations. Raising children, spinning,embroidering, managing a household. What so many women, rich and poor,had. What she had not known since she was a young girl--a _place_, a_family_. And to be the wife of a man like Simon--kind, brave, handsome,well spoken.

  She understood suddenly why it was always so easy for her to forgetSophia Karaiannides and become Sophia Orfali. She did what was given herto do, but in the core of her heart what she longed for was to besomeone like Sophia Orfali, who truly had a place in the world. SophiaOrfali, for all that she was a mask, was more real than SophiaKaraiannides.

  It was too painful for her, the unexpected longing for the love shecould never have, the grief for Simon, whom she was going to murder.

  "Let us get back, you to your scudiero and I to my escort," she said.She started walking toward the road.

  He stepped in front of her. "Sophia, wait."

  She felt something in her chest like a ball of iron. She had her tearswell under control for the moment, but she had to get away from him.Otherwise she would not be able to stop herself from crying.

  "Please," he said again. She felt herself forced to look up at him. Histhin face, so grave, so intelligent.

  "I beg you to believe me. I do want you desperately. Love is of thespirit, and it is of the body too. But I am not proposing marriage justto possess you. I want to marry you because I love you."

  She stood looking at this handsome young man and breathing the fragranceof pine-scented air, and she thought of David. What she felt for Daviddrew no line between body and spirit. If she had all the things she hadjust been longing for--a husband, a family, a home--and David appearedout of nowhere and looked at her with those glowing eyes of his and toldher to come with him, she would abandon everything for him. When shelooked at David, she saw a pillar of pure fire burning inside him. Therewas a power in him that called out to everything that was strong in herand demanded that she accept no other man for her mate.

  "You think that my title, my family, is an obstacle to our marrying,"Simon said. "But it is not. If you knew who I really am, you might notwant to marry _me_."

  She laughed a little at the thought of him not being who he so obviouslywas. "Are you some peasant lad who stole the place of the true Simon deGobignon, then?"

  "It is something like that."

  "In God's name, Simon, what are you talking about?"

  His
nostrils flared. He drew air in a great gulp through his mouth. Hetook a step toward her, and she tensed, lest he seize her again, but hekept his hands at his sides.

  "The last Count de Gobignon was a traitor to his king, to hiscountrymen, to his own vassals. He betrayed a whole army of crusadersinto the hands of the Saracens. He died in disgrace. His grave isunmarked. So foul was his treachery that no man of good family in Francewill permit his daughter to marry me."

  Sophia found that hard to believe. There must be many great barons inFrance who would forget the crime of the father, no matter how horrible,when the son was so attractive and, especially, so rich.

  "Simon, you have so much to offer a wife." She would have laughed at theabsurdity of all this, but the tortured expression clearly mirrored atortured soul.

  "Oh, surely, there are barons who would sell their daughters to thedevil for a bit of land," he agreed. "I meant that I could not marry thewomen I chose. But there is worse, Sophia. I could lose everything ifwhat I am about to tell you were known, but that is the least of it. Itputs my life in your hands and the lives of my mother and--my father."

  _Your life is already in my hands_, she thought, her eyes hurting fromlooking so intensely into his. But then the full meaning of what he hadsaid bore in on her.

  _His father?_

  "Simon, are you telling me that you are not--"

  "I am not the son of the Count de Gobignon. My father was a troubadour,the Sire Roland de Vency, with whom my mother fell in love while Amalricde Gobignon was still alive. She succeeded in passing me off as thecount's son, but we three, my mother, Roland, and I, know the secret.And my confessor. And now you."

  She shook her head, bewildered. She felt no doubt that what he wastelling her was true. The pain in his face was like that of a man whohad stripped his very skin off to reveal himself to her. It tore at herheart to see him suffering so much.

  "But how could this happen, Simon?"

  "It is too long a tale for today. Perhaps one day I can tell you all ofit. But do you believe me now? Truly there is no barrier of familybetween you and me, Sophia. Unless you set one there, knowing that Iam--I am a bastard and an impostor. Could you think of marrying me?"

  The tears she had been holding back, for an hour it seemed, burstsuddenly from her eyes, as sobs welled up in her throat. And yet, shewanted to laugh as well, at the irony of it. To think that he wasashamed of his pretense. If he had any idea of _her_ pretense, andDavid's, he would probably kill her on the spot.

  His face, coming nearer and nearer. All his finery was a red and purpleblur before her tear-filled eyes. His hands were reaching for her.

  _He loves me. He really loves me. He really does want to marry me._

  If he had taken that strange Saracen sword of his out and run herthrough with it, he could not have hurt her more. She had been thinkingabout sending David to kill him, and he had just entrusted all ofhimself, his family, everything he possessed, his body and his soul, toher.

  If David went after him, this time one of them--Simon or David--wouldsurely die. The luck of the Monaldeschi palace encounter could notprotect both a second time.

  She felt Simon's hands on her shoulders. She pulled away from him.

  "Sophia!" She heard the anguish in his voice.

  Tartars and Muslims were a thousand leagues away. If Christians andTartars were destined to join forces and destroy Islam, it would happen.She willed herself to believe that. And if it was not destined, it wouldnot happen.

  David and Simon were here. To say anything to David about Simon'smission to France was to doom one man, perhaps both. It might be the manwho loved her, or it might be the man she loved. And she did not wanteither to die.

  "Sophia, I beg you, speak to me! Are you turning against me?"

  She wiped her streaming eyes to see Simon standing before her, his armshanging at his sides, his face agonized.

  _I cannot doom this young man._

  She took deep breaths to calm herself enough to speak to him.

  "Simon, I pray that God will bless and protect you." She stifled a sob."I cannot marry you. You must forget me."

  He scrambled to his feet, his arms outstretched. "Do not turn from me,Sophia. I would rather have you kill me."

  "No!" It came out of her as a scream. She turned and started to run,holding up the hem of her long skirt to keep from tripping. Her anguishwas like a giant's hand that had seized her heart and was crushing it.

  She ran like a hunted animal, tripping on rocks, turning her ankle inhollow places. She could only hope she was running toward the road.

  "Sophia!"

  She looked back over her shoulder. He was following her out of theforest, but at a distance. He was walking, staggering like a woundedman.

  "Forgive me, Simon!" She ran on.

  A pine branch struck her across the face, and she cried out in pain. Butshe felt that she deserved it. She ducked under the branch and keptrunning, seeing brighter light among the dark rows of tree trunks now.The road must be that way.

  She forced her way through a tangle of shrubbery and was out on theroad. Simon's scudiero, standing with their string of horses, stared ather wide-eyed. The huge Riccardo, Sophia's escort, was with him,talking. They were standing with their backs to a roadside statue of theVirgin in a little protective shed.

  At the sight of Sophia, Riccardo rushed to her, looming over herprotectively. "Madonna! What has happened to you? Dio mio! Did he--"

  His eyes were wide with outrage, but there was anxiety in his face too.He must be wondering whether he would have to fight a nobleman.

  "I am not hurt--he did nothing. He did nothing!" Sophia babbled, chokingdown sobs. "Mount quickly, Riccardo, and let us go from here."

  He held her horse, and she threw herself into the saddle. She spurred onwithout waiting to see if Riccardo was ready to follow.

  When they came to a turning in the road, she looked back once. Thescudiero stood alone with the horses. Simon had not yet emerged from thepine forest. She started to cry again. The pain in her chest was worsethan ever. She silenced Riccardo's questions.

  "I cannot talk about it. He did no wrong to me. No harm. That is all youneed to know."

  _I cannot talk to anyone about it, ever. I am going to betray David. Ipray God I never see Simon de Gobignon again._