ve
known how to seize a moment like this. How do you think that splendid
domain you've inherited was built up? Empires must grow, or they wither
and die. It is a law of life."

Simon was never more glad he was not Amalric's son.

"I must go back and look at the old agreements and treaties, Uncle
Charles. I must see what kind of service each baron and each knight owes
me, and for how long and under what conditions I can call on them. Let
me see what my rights are as seigneur. Then I will be able to tell you
how many knights and men I can bring to you."

"Suit yourself, but I will wager few of them will hold you to the letter
of their obligations. As I said, when they see the chances for gain,
they will want to come. If need be, pay them. Your treasury is fat. You
have had no wars to pay for for many years. Whatever you spend, you will
make back a hundredfold when we take Manfred's kingdom."

_He did not notice that I did not actually promise to bring any men back
with me._

To seem to promise and yet not to promise--Simon felt rather proud of
himself for finding a way out. He felt like a fox who had thrown a pack
of slavering hounds off the scent. He had freed himself from the trap
Anjou had built for him. Perhaps the count was right. Perhaps this time
in Italy _had_ done him some good, made him a cleverer man. He drank
deeply of the red Roman wine and secretly toasted himself.

He would honor Charles's request to remain at his side in Rome for a
time, fighting for him if need be. Then to Viterbo.

Over a year ago he had agreed to care for the Tartars, and he would be
judged, and would judge himself, on how well he had done that. He did
not like leaving it to de Verceuil. Even if Papa le Gros, as the
Italians called him, were all in favor of the alliance, the Tartars
still had many points to settle before the war--the final war--on the
Saracens became a reality.

"Before I return to Gobignon," Simon said, "I must go to Viterbo and
make sure that the Tartars are well guarded."

"Suit yourself." Charles waved a large hand in acquiescence.

To Viterbo and Sophia.

He felt again the ecstasy of that day by the lake, the closeness, the
union of their flesh. How beautiful it had been! Even here, in Charles
d'Anjou's tent outside the walls of Rome, he felt a hot stirring in his
body at the remembrance of their afternoon of love.

How could she not want that again? She must. He was sure of it. She
wanted, as he did