eat rock from the top of a hill and it was rolling downward,
unstoppable, destroying everything in its path.

The Romans were running desperately, and the pity he had forced himself
not to feel while he was fighting them rose up to overwhelm him. His
heart lodged in his throat like a rock, and tears crept out of the
corners of his eyes.

_In God's name, what have I done?_

"Magnificent, Simon! You did admirably."

Charles d'Anjou had ridden up beside him and was grinning out at the
carnage in the fields of stubble. His dark eyes were alight with
pleasure. He struck Simon on his mailed back, one of those hard blows he
was fond of.

"What presence of mind! What initiative!" He lowered his voice. "You
could not have done better if we had planned it ahead of time. You saved
me a fortune in gold."

He spurred his black and white charger closer to Simon's mare and leaned
over to kiss him emphatically on the cheek, his stubble scratching
Simon's face.

"I don't understand," said Simon.

Charles drew back and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You don't?
Well, you did the right thing. We'll talk about it later."

He turned and shouted at his three commanders. "You see, idiots! One
French knight with his head on his shoulders can do what all of you and
all your knights could not."

"We were not attempting to do anything," du Mont said sourly, pushing
his helmet back off his bowl-shaped hair.

"Those were the bowmen I brought from Lincoln you used, Monseigneur de
Gobignon," said FitzTrinian. "You did not have my permission."

In his present mood, Simon wished the pock-marked knight would make an
issue of it.

"Do not make yourself more ridiculous than you already are, Sire
Alistair," said Charles.

"We still have not settled this question of pay," said Dietrich of
Regensburg.

"Go pick the purses of those dead men out there," said Charles with a
scornful laugh.

Again Simon was sickened by Charles's manner. He had expected that the
count would punish his rebellious commanders. Hanging would be an
excellent idea. Flog them out of the army, at least. Instead, he
continued to argue with them, even banter with them, as if they were
all a pack of merchants in a money changer's shop.

To get away from the wretched business, Simon kicked his dark brown mare
into motion and, followed by Thierry, rode out toward the city. He
wished desperately that he were back in Perugia with Sophia.

He had seen enough killing i