ignon, the
servants had been dismissed. King Louis, Queen Marguerite, Prince
Tristan, Count Charles, and Simon were alone together. The large round
table was piled high--a whole roast duck, a dozen boiled eels, blocks of
hard cheese, a pyramid of hard-boiled eggs, bowls of pickled fruits,
stacked loaves of fine white bread, trays of cheese pastries, and
flagons of wine.

Simon sliced the eels and put oval white slices on each person's
trencher, while Prince Tristan carved and distributed the duck. As they
did so, King Louis read aloud the pope's letter granting him permission
to conduct a crusade jointly with the Tartars in return for French help
against the Ghibellini.

"Your next crusade will make me a widow," Queen Marguerite said, her
round face white and her fists clenched on the table. "As your last did
to so many other women."

Tristan, a sturdy, ruddy-faced youth a few years younger than Simon,
went around the table pouring red Rhone valley wine into everyone's cup
but his father's. Louis poured his own wine from another pitcher, and
Simon saw that it was a pale pink. It must be more water than wine.

Louis's long, thin fingers, carrying a slice of eel to his mouth as
Marguerite spoke, stopped in midair, and he slowly put the meat back on
his trencher. But he said nothing.

"Do not speak so, madame," said Charles as he used a long thumbnail
darkened by the dirt under it to break and peel the shell from a
hard-boiled egg. "It brings ill luck." Simon heard the venomous
undertone in his voice.

Even though this was the first time they had seen each other since
Charles sent Simon to Italy to guard the Tartars, the Count of Anjou had
hardly spoken to Simon this morning. Hurt, Simon wondered how he had
offended Charles.

Marguerite, tall and stout, her head wrapped in a linen coif held in
place with a net of pearls, stood with a sudden, graceless lunge that
knocked her chair over. Tristan, blushing, went to pick it up, and she
caught his hand.

"What need of ill luck when I have a husband bent on destroying himself,
and he has a brother who is only too happy to help him do it?" She
turned away from the table, pulling Tristan after her. "I take with me
this boy, lest he spoil your pleasant dreams of crusading by reminding
you of how and where he was born." With long, angry strides she was at
the door. Tristan stepped in front of his mother to open the door for
her.

"Good morning to you, madame," said Loui