na. The Dominican
had spent most of his adult life wandering all over Italy preaching, and
he made an excellent guide. It was he who brought the news that Charles
was no longer in Rome and there was no need for Simon's army to go
there. A more direct route to Anjou's army would follow the Adriatic
coast, then turn southward into the Apennines on entering the Abruzzi,
the northernmost reach of Manfred's kingdom.

Friar Volpe was a fair-skinned man with a sharp nose, large lips, and
round brown eyes. His thick reddish-brown hair fell over his forehead
and ears, growing luxuriantly everywhere except for the tonsure on top,
where it was just a red stubble.

"Benevento," he said when Simon told him about the battle, and glanced
up at the sun. "We could arrive in the valley of Benevento well before
noon. There is a high ridge along the east side of the valley. Benevento
is a crossroads town. The roads meet at the south end of the valley."

"That was where I saw Manfred's camp," said Thierry.

"I have to see this valley myself," Simon said. "Could we climb this
ridge you spoke of?"

"Shepherds and their flocks go up and down the hills all year round,"
said Friar Volpe. "There are many paths."

"Many paths," Simon echoed. "Excellent. Be good enough to lead us
there."

Simon ordered the army to continue along the main road to Benevento
until they reached a roadside shrine to San Rocco. Farther than that,
Friar Volpe said, and they might be seen from Benevento.

Friar Volpe led Simon at a fast trot till they were out of sight of the
army. Thierry and Henri de Puys had insisted on coming along, arguing
that Simon might meet some of Manfred's outriders. They turned onto a
zigzag track that sometimes disappeared altogether over bare rocks as it
climbed to the top of a long ridge.

They came out of a stand of wind-twisted pine trees to the bald top of
the ridge. The ringing of steel on steel, the pounding of horses'
hooves, and the cries of men drifted to them from below.

"Hold the horses, Thierry," Simon ordered. He and de Puys and Friar
Volpe moved forward at a crouch. When he could see the battlefield,
Simon lay down and crawled, his mail scraping over the rocks, the tip of
his sheathed sword bumping along.

_Is this what a battle looks like, then?_

He was reminded of times when he had stepped on anthills in the woods
and thousands of the little creatures milled about in confusion under
his feet. Masses of men bel