n Orvieto, especially the night of the
attack on the Palazzo Monaldeschi, to harden him. Still, it made his
heart feel heavy as stone in his chest to see so many lives cut short.
And by his command.

What pain it must be to die. To have your life stopped, forever.

He recalled the arrow that had whizzed past him. He could easily have
been killed.

He rode toward the walls of Rome until they towered over him. The crowd
of citizens who had come out to stop Count Charles was gone--those able
to flee. There were only the dead and dying scattered in the stubble
field around him. Simon tried to avoid looking at the wounded. If it had
been one or two men, as it had been that day at Orvieto when de Verceuil
ordered the crossbowmen to fire into the crowd, he would have tried to
help them. But there were too many here.

His contingent of English archers marched past him on their way back to
the main army, their work done. They gave him a cheer, and he, in spite
of his heavy heart, did as a good leader should and smiled and waved.

"Good work, my friends! Well done."

He looked ahead again, and saw that the nearest gate, the one through
which most of the retreating citizens had run, hung open. He pulled his
horse to a stop.

_I am not going to be the first of these invaders to enter Rome. I have
no right to be here._

Five horsemen appeared suddenly in the gateway. More resistance?

These men were richly dressed, their scarlet capes billowing as they
rode toward him. Their hands were empty of weapons.

The rider in the lead was a man with a glossy black beard and a sharply
hooked nose. He reminded Simon a little of the Contessa di Monaldeschi.

"I am Duke Gaetano Orsini," said the bearded man. "These gentlemen
represent the families of Colonna, Frangipani, Papareschi, and Caetani.
We have come to greet Count Charles, and to welcome him to Rome." These
men, Simon thought, must come from some of the families whose fortified
towers loomed over the city.

Their sudden appearance made Simon angry. It was all happening backward.
They should have come out first and made peace with Count Charles, and
then there would have been no need for all this butchery.

Simon identified himself. "I will take you to Count Charles." The Roman
nobles doffed their velvet caps to Simon, and he touched the brim of his
helmet.

As their horses trotted across the field, Simon observed Orsini's gaze
traveling coldly over the bodies of the fal