ch.

She glanced over at the young French count, walking solemnly beside her
with his hands clasped behind his back. The mosquitoes did not seem to
bother him, or at least he did not slap at them. Well, he was a tall,
thin man with sharp features, dark hair, and pale skin. She imagined the
blood of such a man might taste sour and not draw mosquitoes. He was
good to look at, surely, but there was a bitterness about him. She saw
at once that he was not a happy man.

"Perhaps I should not walk alone with you like this, Madonna," he said.
Actually, his Italian was not difficult for her to understand; she had
criticized it only to throw him off balance when she first met him.
Probably her French was no better than his Italian, but he had been too
gallant to say so.

"Do you fear for your virtue, Your Signory?" she asked lightly.

He smiled, and even in the dim lantern light his face took on a
sweetness that was quite at odds with his previous solemn appearance.
"My virtue, such as it is, is yours to dispose, Madonna." She felt
warmed within by his words and the beauty of his smile.

They paused by a square pool in the center of the atrium. He bent and
dipped his cupped hands, then held them out to her filled with water.

"The contessa has told me that the pool is fed by an underground
spring," he said. "The water is the purest I have ever tasted. Try it."

"Do the Monaldeschi keep fish in it?" She hesitated, thinking of
Cardinal Ugolini's vivarium.

"No. This is their drinking water. Taste it." She lifted her veil and
lowered her mouth into his hands. The water was pure and sweet, just as
he had said. As a lover, she thought, Simon would be like this
water--sweet, not bitter.

The water was gone and her lips touched his palm. Deliberately she
paused a moment before drawing back.

He moved toward her, holding out both hands, but she turned as if she
had not noticed and took a step away from him on the gravel, dropping
the gauze veil before her face.

"You have not explained to me why you think you should not be walking
alone with me, Your Signory."

"Ah--well--" He had to gather his thoughts, she saw. Such a _boy_. She'd
had a middle-aged emperor and a splendid young king as lovers. She now
felt herself in love with a strange Saracen warrior, a Mameluke, who was
subtle, ruthless, kindly, mysterious, daring--so many things, it dizzied
her to think about him.

But Simon's simplicity brought back memories of Alex