"What will happen to Daoud? What will they do to him?"

She realized she was still talking of Daoud as if he were alive. She
could not bear to speak of "Daoud's body."

"The men who died fighting for Manfred will be buried on the
battlefield," said Simon. "They cannot be buried in consecrated ground
because those who were Christians were excommunicated under the pope's
interdict. And many, like Daoud, were Saracens. I believe King Charles
is planning some special honor for Manfred's body."

Manfred's body. Hearing those words, the enormity of what had been lost,
beyond her own sorrow, came home to her.

And what of Daoud's spirit, she wondered. Did she believe that a part of
him was still alive? Had he gone to his Muslim warrior's paradise? If
she were carrying his child, would he want her to raise it as her own?
She realized that she was crying again. How could her eyes produce so
great a flood of tears?

She heard footsteps and felt Simon's hand resting lightly but firmly on
her shoulder. She dropped her head to her arms, folded on the table, and
gave herself up to sobbing.

LXXII

Simon, carrying the heaviest rock he could hold, walked in procession
directly behind Charles d'Anjou. They came to the low wooden platform
where the body of Manfred von Hohenstaufen lay, covered by his great
yellow banner with its black double-headed eagle. Charles set his foot,
in a handsome purple boot, on the banner, and leaned over the body with
a large stone.

"Requiescat in pace. May you rest in peace, Manfred von Hohenstaufen."

Carefully Charles set the rock down on the banner-draped figure and
stepped back with a small smile of satisfaction.

"Now you, Simon."

Simon stepped onto the platform. His arms, stiff and sore from
yesterday's fighting, ached as he lifted the stone to place it. He laid
it next to Charles's rock on the inert, hidden form and stepped back.

Gautier du Mont of the bowl-shaped haircut was next. He bowed to Charles
and Simon and put his rock beside theirs.

"Simon, come with me," said Charles. "We have had no chance to talk
since yesterday." He led Simon to a small nearby hill, where they could
watch the long line of Charles's army winding single file through the
gray valley of Benevento under an overcast sky. Each man, by Charles's
order, carried a stone to lay on Manfred's cairn.

"If not for you, Manfred would be burying me today, Simon," said
Charles, his large eyes solemn. "I am