lly, not wanting to offend Charles. "This
question of the crown of Sicily--it does not touch Gobignon in any way
that I can see. It would not be right for me to lead my people to war
over it."

Surprisingly, Charles smiled. "I understand, Simon." He patted Simon's
back. He straightened up and strode back to the other side of the table
and sat again.

"You do see my point, uncle?" Simon said nervously.

Charles nodded, still smiling. "Why, indeed, should the Count de
Gobignon come to the aid of the Count d'Anjou? I am glad to see a bit of
shrewdness in you. It means you are growing up. But I will answer you in
one word. Apulia."

Simon hunched forward. "Apulia?"

"The southeast of Italy. The richest of Manfred's provinces. Where he
has always chosen to live, and his father Frederic before him. Simon,
Count de Gobignon, Duke of Apulia. How does that sound? In one short war
you would double your land holdings and triple your wealth. Now do you
see how this war touches you?"

What Simon realized, with a clarity that chilled him, as if he had
suddenly seen in Uncle Charles the mark of some dread disease, was that
he and Charles d'Anjou were utterly different kinds of men. As Count of
Anjou and Seigneur of Arles, Charles already ruled a domain bigger than
Gobignon, and he thought it the most natural thing in the world to want
more.

_Why do I not want more? Should I? Is something wrong with me?_

It was all too much for Simon to think through now, while Charles was
pressing so. He had to get away from him. It occurred to him that he
could agree now to join forces with Charles, then go back to Gobignon
and renege on his promise. Charles would be far too busy fighting in
Italy to try to force him to bring troops from Gobignon.

No, that probably would not work. It would be stupid to think he could
outwit a man as experienced in statecraft as the Count of Anjou. Once
Simon promised, Charles would no doubt find a way to force him to make
good.

"Uncle Charles, I cannot decide in one evening the future of thousands
of people whose lives and souls I am responsible for."

Charles shook his head. His face was darkening; he was getting angry.

"You sound like my brother, talking about the difficulty of making royal
decisions. God's bowels, boy! Deciding what's best for our subjects is
what we were born to do. Where is the Gobignon in you? Your father,
Count Amalric, for all he went wrong at the end of his life, would ha