e, but there was no back to
the stool he sat on. Charles's furnishings were as meager as everything
else about his army.

"I fear for you, uncle, I really do. Not only are your knights
undisciplined, but you are so few in number." He instantly regretted
saying that. It would give Charles an opening to ask him for help.

Charles smiled complacently. "And you think Manfred von Hohenstaufen,
with his host of Saracens and Sicilians, will march up here and chew me
up, is that it?"

"Well--perhaps."

Charles swirled his wine cup and drank from it. "A bigger army would
have cost me far more to ship and far more to pay, feed, and quarter
while I am here. I needed this much of an army to establish myself in
Rome. I do not need more until I actually make war on Manfred, and that
may be as much as a year from now. Tomorrow I will enter Rome in
triumph, and I will have myself declared chief senator of Rome.
Eventually Guy le Gros--Pope Clement, he is calling himself--will crown
me king of southern Italy and Sicily. As my renown spreads, fighting men
will come flocking from all over to join my cause. And they will have to
come in on my terms. Then I will be ready to march south."

The whole reason Charles had first sent Simon to Italy--to engineer the
conquest of the Saracens by Christians and Tartars--was that no longer
important to him? Charles had said nothing about the Tartars since Simon
arrived in Ostia last night.

"The new Holy Father has already proclaimed his approval of the Tartar
alliance," Simon ventured.

"Excellent," said Charles, nodding. He stood up and poured more wine for
himself and Simon.

Sitting down again on his camp bed, he went on. "Your guardianship of
the Tartars, too, has been superb, Simon. You proved that I judged
wisely in picking you for that task. I am delighted."

Feeling pleased with himself, Simon took a long drink of the heavy red
Roman wine. "Then, since the pope has publicly given his approval, shall
I escort the Tartars to your brother the king, so they can plan the
crusade?"

"The crusade?" Charles lay back on his cot, propped up on one elbow, and
stared into his wine cup and said nothing further.

"Would it not be safest to conduct them to the king at once?" Simon
pressed him. "Our enemies may still try to kill them, even though the
alliance is proclaimed."

Charles shook his head. "The last attempt to kill them was many months
ago."

True, Simon thought. The stalker in bl