g and summer
claiming to be king of Sicily. This morning I asked to see my crown, and
my steward brought it to me from the vault. The pope's words had not
made it disappear. Rome is not Sicily. Anjou is welcome to stay in that
decaying pesthole until he takes one of those famous Roman fevers and
dies."

No doubt, thought Daoud, Manfred's gesture in calling for his crown had
amused his whole court. And put heart into any who feared Charles's
growing strength. Manfred was charming, no question. But meanwhile
Charles d'Anjou, who by all accounts had not a bit of charm, _was_ in
fact growing stronger day by day. Those of Manfred's supporters who were
afraid had good reason, and Daoud was one of them.

It was agony to think how the opportunity to beat Charles now was
slipping away.

"So, you will wait for Charles to come to you," said Daoud.

Manfred smiled. "And he, I suspect, hopes that I will come to him.
Charles has to pay his army to stay in Italy. The longer he puts off
attacking me, the more his treasury is depleted. My army waits at home,
sustaining itself."

Daoud said, "Now that Charles's war is called a crusade, barons and
knights are joining him from all over Christendom. Many of them are
paying their own way. Sire, when Charles decides he is ready to move
against you, his strength will be overwhelming."

Lorenzo spoke up. "And meanwhile the pope has placed your whole kingdom
under interdict. No sacraments. No Masses. Couples cannot marry in
church. Can we weigh the pain of mothers and fathers who think their
babies that die unbaptized will never see God? And what about the terror
of sinners unable to confess, and the dying who cannot have the last
sacraments? And the grief of those who had to bury their loved ones
without funerals? Sire, your people have not heard a church bell since
last May. They grow more restless and unhappy every day. And it does not
help your cause when they see your Muslim and Jewish subjects freely
practicing _their_ religions."

"I am surprised to hear _you_ pay such tribute to the power of religion,
Lorenzo," said Manfred with that bright grin of his.

The grim lines of Lorenzo's face were accentuated by the droop of his
black and white mustache. "I have never in my life doubted the _power_
of religion, Sire."

Having used up all their lances, the Sons of the Falcon were now
shooting arrows from horseback, riding toward lines of stationary
targets that had been set up at th