The Saracen: The Holy War by Robert Shea
LVII
Simon and King Louis stood side by side on the yellow, sandy west bankof the Rhone River opposite Avignon. They had just crossed over the Pontd'Avignon, a long, narrow bridge of twenty-two arches. Avignon was acompact city, encircled by butter-colored walls fortified with redcone-roofed towers. A prosperous city as well, Simon thought as heregarded the many church spires rising above the walls. Even during hisbrief glimpse of the city upon his arrival late the night before, he hadseen many great houses.
He looked at the tall, gaunt king, whose round eyes stared thoughtfullyoff into the cloudy sky.
It was lucky for Simon--if it were proper to think of a man's death aslucky--that the funeral of Count Raymond of Provence, father of Louis'sQueen Marguerite, had brought the king here, so close to Italy.Otherwise Simon might still be traveling northward with the pope'sletter. When he landed at Aigues-Mortes he had found the whole portabuzz with the news of Count Raymond's death and of the coming of theFrench royal family to bury him in state and settle the future of thecounty of Provence.
A traveler from a foreign land looking at Louis would never imagine thathe was a king, Simon thought. A plain brown felt cap covered Louis'sthinning gray hair, draping down one side of his head. His robe and acloak of thin, cheap wool, dyed black, were not warm enough for thischill September morning. Perhaps, Simon thought, the penitential shirtof woven horsehair he wore next to his skin warmed Louis even as itdiscomforted him. He carried no weapon at his dull leather belt, onlythe parchment scroll, the pope's letter, which Simon had given him thenight before. Louis's shoes were of the same sort of leather as hisbelt, and the points of their toes were far too short to be fashionable.
Simon felt overdressed beside the king, and resolved that from now on hewould try to dress more plainly.
With his long fingers, King Louis tapped the scroll tucked into hisbelt. "He afflicts me sorely, this Jacques Pantaleone, this Pope Urban."
"The pope afflicts you, Sire?" Simon was surprised to see the kingunhappy about the pope's message to him. He had expected Louis to beoverjoyed at getting permission to deal with the Tartars.
A sudden worry struck him. What if the king and the pope could notagree? All his work would have been for nothing--over a year of hislife, all the fighting and dying--to say nothing of the personal expenseof paying forty Venetian crossbowmen for over a year and maintaining sixknights--
Now five, a grief-laden thought reminded him.
Yes, and what about Alain? Was his death to be for nothing?
Worst of all, the accomplishment he had hoped would put him on the roadto redeeming his family's honor would be no accomplishment at all. Theyear wasted, lives wasted, the shadow of treason still lying upon hisname and title.
What joy he had felt only a little earlier this morning, knowing hewould accompany King Louis on his morning walk after Mass. Now his eageranticipation seemed like so much foolishness.
_But, of all the men in the world, this is the one I would never want todisappoint._
Whatever Louis decided _must_ be right. But, dear God, let him notdecide to cast away the alliance.
Louis said, "Urban grants the thing I want most in the world, but onlyif I agree to that which I desire least. And I do not want to give in tohim."
_Oh, God!_ The sky seemed to darken.
"What does he ask you to do, Sire?"
Louis sighed, a deep, tremulous expulsion of breath. "He asks that themight of France should be diverted into a squabble among petty princesin Italy, when Jerusalem is at stake!"
_It seems more than a squabble when you are in the thick of it_, thoughtSimon, remembering the night the Filippeschi had attacked theMonaldeschi palace.
"I cannot wait any longer to begin preparing for a crusade," Louis said."I want to return to Outremer in six years, in 1270. That may seem toyou a long time away, but for such a great undertaking as this it isbarely enough. It took me four years to get ready for the last crusade,to gather the men and supplies, and it will be harder this time."
"Why 1270, Sire?" said Simon.
Louis's head drooped and his eyes fell. "To win my freedom I promisedBaibars, the Mameluke leader who is now Sultan of Cairo, that I wouldnot wage war on Islam for twenty years."
"An oath to an unbeliever--" said Simon.
"My royal word!" said Louis fiercely. "And besides that, France neededtwenty years to recover from the loss of thousands of men, men _I_ lost,to raise up a new generation of knights like yourself to take the crossagain."
Many times during his boyhood years of living with the royal family,Simon had observed that the queen, or the king's brothers or his sonswould burst out in exasperation over Louis's insistence on adherence tosome principle, regardless of inconvenience or discomfort. In Simon'seyes this had always meant that the king was a better Christian than theother members of his family. Now, seeing all his work and his hopespossibly ruined by the king's refusal to come to the pope's aid againstthe Ghibellini, Simon was disturbed to feel a similar anger at Louisarise within him.
Simon stared at the man he loved so well, and saw that even though theking was talking of war, his thin, pale face was raised to heaven in anexalted, almost angelic look.
"But only the pope can proclaim a crusade," Louis said. "Unless he doesso, I cannot raise an army. And if we attack the Saracens in Egypt whilethe Tartars strike through Syria, we will be invincible. But without thepope's permission I cannot make a pact with the Tartars. In this letterhe gives that permission, but he makes it conditional on my involvingFrance in his struggle with Manfred von Hohenstaufen."
Simon was in despair. Louis would refuse, and the alliance would goa-glimmering.
Louis put a hand on Simon's shoulder. "Be patient awhile, Simon. Myqueen and my brother, Count Charles, will join us at breakfast. We willtalk together of all this."
The weight of Louis's hand sent a warmth all through him. But how couldthe king expect him to be patient when he had so much to lose?
"Count Charles meets with you this morning?" Simon asked. He had knownthat Charles d'Anjou was in Avignon, but thought it his duty to carrythe pope's letter straight to the king, without first taking the time toseek out his mentor, the king's brother.
"Yes," sighed Louis, "we meet for another petty squabble. My queen wasthe only heir of her father, the Count of Provence, and now the countyis ours to dispose of. Marguerite wants to keep it in my immediatefamily, giving it to our son Tristan. But Charles wants it for himself.He already holds Anjou, Aquitaine, and Arles. Add Provence to that, andhe would have a domain stretching from the Pyrenees to Italy. Whatever Idecide, I will offend either my brother or my wife." He shook his head."That is why it makes me so happy to talk to you, Simon. Young menunderstand what is really important so much better than their elders."
"Sire, I would do anything you asked of me." On a sudden impulse, Simonfell to his knees on the sand and seized Louis's bony hand and kissedit.
Louis gripped his arms and raised him. Simon felt surprising strength inLouis's hands.
"Do not kneel to me, Simon," said the king, and Simon saw that his eyeswere brimming with tears. "But it would mean so much to me if you, ofall men, would take the cross."
_If I, of all men--_
Simon understood. Louis was thinking of Amalric de Gobignon, whosetreachery fourteen years earlier had been the final blow to Louis'scrusade into Egypt. The king's life had been shadowed ever since, Simonknew, by the memory of an entire army lost in the sands by the Nile andby his failure to win Jerusalem.
_And no matter that I am not really the son of Amalric. If I inheritedhis title, his lands, and his power, I must inherit his shame too. Andatone for it._
Louis was still holding Simon's arms. The light blue eyes froze him withtheir stare.
"I have sworn to liberate Jerusalem. I will do it, or I will die. If Icannot have the help of the Tartars, I will still go. If every knightand man-at-arms in Christendom refused to go with me--if I had to goalone--I would still go."
<
_But there must be a Tartar alliance. There must!_
"Let us walk back over to the city and to breakfast, Simon," said Louis."Marguerite and Charles will be waiting for us."
As they walked to the bridge of Avignon, preceded and followed at adiscreet distance by the king's guards in blue and silver tunics, Simonfelt himself torn. He wanted to please King Louis, and he wanted toredeem the name of his house. But must he live out his whole lifeexpiating the crimes of Amalric de Gobignon, who was not even his realfather?
_Roland and Nicolette laid a heavy burden on me when they brought meinto the world_, he thought bitterly.
Again he thought of Sophia. If he could persuade her to come and dwellwith him at Gobignon, he could forget the shame of Amalric and livesimply and in peace, a happy man.
* * * * *
Since high matters of state were to be discussed here, over breakfast inthe private dining room of the palace of the bishop of Avignon, theservants had been dismissed. King Louis, Queen Marguerite, PrinceTristan, Count Charles, and Simon were alone together. The large roundtable was piled high--a whole roast duck, a dozen boiled eels, blocks ofhard cheese, a pyramid of hard-boiled eggs, bowls of pickled fruits,stacked loaves of fine white bread, trays of cheese pastries, andflagons of wine.
Simon sliced the eels and put oval white slices on each person'strencher, while Prince Tristan carved and distributed the duck. As theydid so, King Louis read aloud the pope's letter granting him permissionto conduct a crusade jointly with the Tartars in return for French helpagainst the Ghibellini.
"Your next crusade will make me a widow," Queen Marguerite said, herround face white and her fists clenched on the table. "As your last didto so many other women."
Tristan, a sturdy, ruddy-faced youth a few years younger than Simon,went around the table pouring red Rhone valley wine into everyone's cupbut his father's. Louis poured his own wine from another pitcher, andSimon saw that it was a pale pink. It must be more water than wine.
Louis's long, thin fingers, carrying a slice of eel to his mouth asMarguerite spoke, stopped in midair, and he slowly put the meat back onhis trencher. But he said nothing.
"Do not speak so, madame," said Charles as he used a long thumbnaildarkened by the dirt under it to break and peel the shell from ahard-boiled egg. "It brings ill luck." Simon heard the venomousundertone in his voice.
Even though this was the first time they had seen each other sinceCharles sent Simon to Italy to guard the Tartars, the Count of Anjou hadhardly spoken to Simon this morning. Hurt, Simon wondered how he hadoffended Charles.
Marguerite, tall and stout, her head wrapped in a linen coif held inplace with a net of pearls, stood with a sudden, graceless lunge thatknocked her chair over. Tristan, blushing, went to pick it up, and shecaught his hand.
"What need of ill luck when I have a husband bent on destroying himself,and he has a brother who is only too happy to help him do it?" Sheturned away from the table, pulling Tristan after her. "I take with methis boy, lest he spoil your pleasant dreams of crusading by remindingyou of how and where he was born." With long, angry strides she was atthe door. Tristan stepped in front of his mother to open the door forher.
"Good morning to you, madame," said Louis softly, still looking down atthe slices of boiled eel that lay before him. The door slammed behindthe queen and her son.
"What did she mean by that?" Charles said, sounding quite unconcerned bythe queen's outburst.
"Do you not remember, brother?" said Louis. "Marguerite gave birth toTristan alone in Egypt, while you and I were prisoners of the Mamelukes.She has never forgotten how terrified she was."
To mask his embarrassment, Simon took a big swallow of the red wine. Itwas thick and tart, and burned in his chest as it went down. He neverenjoyed wine this early in the day. He wished he could drink heavilywatered wine, as King Louis did, but he feared people like Uncle Charleswould think him a weakling.
Charles popped the entire hard-boiled egg into his mouth, and spokearound it. "It is best that the queen has left us. I do not understandwhy she dislikes me so."
"I do not understand why you and she dislike each other," said Louissadly.
"We will talk of that another time." Charles picked up the scroll of thepope's letter and shook it at Louis. "You must let me go to the aid ofthe Holy Father."
Charles's fingernails were quite long, Simon knew, because he neverbothered to trim them. His hair and stubble of beard were thick and pureblack, while Louis's face was smooth and his hair, what was left of it,was a silvery gray. Charles was broad-shouldered and sat erect; Louiswas slender of frame and slightly stooped. It was hard to believe thattwo such different-looking men were brothers. But they did both havewhat were said to be the Capet family features--they were very tall,with long faces, large noses, and round, staring eyes, Louis's blue andCharles's brown. They both dressed plainly, but Charles dressed like afighting man, in leather jerkin and high boots that he stretched outbefore him as he sat sideways to the table.
Simon used his dagger to cut himself a chunk of white bread--bakedbefore dawn in the bishop of Avignon's ovens--from one of the loaves inthe center of the table. He hoped it would soak up the wine that stillsmoldered in his stomach.
Louis said, "All my life, people have been trying to get me to make waron the Hohenstaufen family. Our mother, may she rest in peace. One popeafter another. Now you. All call the Hohenstaufen mortal enemies ofChristendom. I am still not persuaded."
Charles laughed scornfully. "Brother! Who do you think incited theSienese to take Orvieto? And in this letter His Holiness says Manfred ispreparing to march north against him."
Simon wondered if Sophia was still in Orvieto. Ever since he had heardthe news that a Ghibellino army had captured the city on the rock,apparently without a battle, worries about Sophia's safety had gnawed athim. He wished desperately that he could be wherever she was, to protecther. And how he longed just to see her, to hold her in his arms, to kissher beautiful golden face, to taste her lips, the color of sweet redgrapes.
Louis said, "Manfred is only trying to protect his crown, which the popewants you to take from him."
Simon prayed that Charles would persuade Louis, but he had little hopeof it. He had many times seen the king, his mind made up, gentlyobstinate, never raising his voice, never losing his patience,withstanding the arguments of his whole family and court.
Then Simon, listening to the argument, became aware of something he hadnot noticed earlier. Neither of the royal brothers had mentioned thepope's poor health. Probably because neither of them had seen forhimself how sick Pope Urban was.
He waited for a pause, then spoke. "Sire, Uncle Charles, the Holy Fatherseemed to me to be very gravely ill by the time I left him. He told methat he expects to die soon. If he does die now, will not thispermission for the alliance with the Tartars die with him?" Simonpointed to the letter.
"Yes, it will," said Louis frowning, "We will have to start all overagain with the next pope."
"Manfred could try to influence the election of the pope," said Simonurgently. "Or he could try to control the next pope by taking himcaptive."
Louis rubbed his high forehead. "It has been done before, more thanonce."
Charles's large, hairy hand clamped down on Louis's forearm. "Simon hashit upon the key to all this, brother. Think how powerful the Ghibelliniare in Italy now. They control Florence, Siena, Pisa, Lucca, and nowOrvieto. With all those Ghibellino cities to the north of the PapalStates and Manfred to the south, is it not obvious what Manfred isplanning?"
Charles struck Louis's arm again and again with the flat of his hand toemphasize his point. No one else would dare touch the king like that,thought Simon.
"Obvious to you, perhaps," said Louis wryly. "I see only a man trying toprotect himself."
"The instant Pope Urban dies, Manfred and his allies w
"We do not _own_ the Papacy."
Charles leaned back, laughing without mirth. "Well, Manfred will own thePapacy if we do not stop him. And then you can forget about your Tartaralliance. You can probably forget about crusading altogether. A popecontrolled by the Hohenstaufen would probably forbid you to crusade,under pain of excommunication. Do not forget, it was Manfred's father,Emperor Frederic, who made a treaty with the Sultan of Cairo."
Simon watched Louis closely to see what effect Charles's words werehaving. It was obvious that they were sinking in. A troubled frown drewLouis's pale brows together and tightened his mouth. Simon's heart beganto beat faster as his hopes rose.
Charles went on. "If I go now, I go at the pope's invitation. And ifUrban dies--"
Louis made a reverent sign of the cross. "If it be God's will, Charles."
"Yes, yes, if it be God's will that this pope dies, I will already be inItaly," Charles said. "I can be in Rome, athwart Manfred's path, and hewill not be able to intimidate the College of Cardinals when they electthe next pope. You must let me go into Italy to protect our interests.Or else give up your dream of Jerusalem."
A long moment of silence passed, Louis staring into Charles's eyes.
Louis held up a finger. "I will not declare war on Manfred. If you go,this is entirely your doing, and that of the pope."
_We've won! The king has given in!_ Simon, wild with joy inside, forcedhimself to sit silent.
Charles did not look as pleased as Simon felt. "But, if you don'tdeclare war, where will I get the knights and men?"
Louis held up a second finger. "You will get them yourself. I will notprovide them. You will have to hire them. And if Manfred beats yourarmy, I will not send more men to rescue you."
Charles shrugged. "Well, I have the best tax collectors in Europe."
Louis raised a third finger. "You will forget about Provence."
Charles looked outraged. "Forget about--" he sputtered.
Louis raised a finger. "Charles, I will not let you have both Sicily andProvence. You want too much."
Charles sighed. "Very well. Let Provence go to Tristan. You have put mein a position where I will desperately need the taxes Provence wouldyield. But I will make do somehow."
"I am sure you will," said Louis. "If you have to sell all the clothesfrom all the backs in the lands you now rule."
Louis thought a moment, and then turned to Simon, who, glowing inwardly,leapt to his feet.
"Yes, Sire!"
Louis looked startled at Simon's vehemence. "I will write two lettersfor you to take to Perugia. One for the reigning pope, who, I pray, willstill be Pope Urban. In that I will give my permission for the Count ofAnjou to accept the crown the pope has offered him and to make war onManfred."
He stopped, sighed, and shook his head.
Turning to his brother, he said, "I do this with great sorrow andmisgiving, Charles, but I fear I have no choice."
The Count of Anjou said nothing, but Simon saw his chest rapidly risingand falling with excitement.
"Should God take Pope Urban, Simon, you will hold the letter, sealed,until a new pope is elected and then give it to him. The other letter,in the event Pope Urban dies, will be for Cardinal de Verceuil. Youmentioned that Manfred might try to influence the election of the nextpope. Fourteen out of twenty-one cardinals are French, and if they votetogether, they can elect a pope. I shall recommend a candidate they canunite behind. Again, I do not like to do this, because a king should notinterfere in the election of a pope. Should Pope Urban live to read thefirst letter, you will not give the second letter to Cardinal deVerceuil, but will burn it, still sealed, and see that not a traceremains."
Charles shrugged. "The Hohenstaufen did it again and again."
"They _tried_ to do it," said Louis, "and that is one reason that theyand the popes are such enemies. But I do it for the same reason I allowyou to go to Italy, Charles. To prevent a greater calamity and toaccomplish a greater good."
"And who will your choice for pope be, brother?"
Louis stood up. "I do not want to compromise myself even more by lettingthat be known. I will write the name in my letter, and the letter willbe sealed."
He stood up. "If you defeat Manfred, may God have mercy on you, Charles.You will be a king in your own right, and you will know what it is tohave to make decisions like this."
Simon felt sure that making royal decisions would never be the agony forCharles that it was for Louis.
Charles stood up, too, then dropped to his knee and pressed his foreheadagainst his brother's pale hand. "God bless you, Louis. I promise you,this is one decision you will always be happy to have made."
_I will always be happy he made it_, Simon thought.
* * * * *
Later, as they walked together through the gray stone halls of thebishop of Avignon's palace, Charles struck Simon on the shoulder. Theblow threw Simon off stride, reminding him how strong Charles was.
"You did it, boy, you tipped the balance for me when you pointed outwhat might happen if the pope dies," Charles said with a grin. "I wasquite angry with you until then."
"I had a feeling you were, uncle," he said.
Charles's nail-studded boots clicked on the stone floor of the corridor."Have you forgotten that if it were not for me, you would still begrowing cobwebs at Gobignon?"
"No, uncle, I have not forgotten."
"Then why did you take the pope's letter to my brother without tellingme about it?"
Simon felt a dull heat in his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind hehad always known that Uncle Charles would want to be told first aboutany messages passing between the pope and the king. But, feeling itwould be wrong, Simon had pretended to himself that he knew no suchthing.
"It was my duty to take it promptly to the king," said Simon, lookingstraight ahead.
Charles suddenly stopped walking. "Simon," he said, forcing Simon tostop, turn, and look at him.
"Simon, do not let your idea of duty make you forget your loyalty to me.I helped raise you as a boy. I gave you this opportunity to bring honorto your house. I will be offering you even greater opportunities."
"I have not forgotten, uncle," Simon said again.
"I do not suppose you know how to unseal and reseal a royal document?"
Simon felt his blood heat with anger.
"No, uncle." He did not feel strong enough to denounce Charles, but hetried to put disapproval into his voice. "I have never heard of anyonedoing such a thing."
"Pas mal. Too bad." Charles's round eyes were heavy-lidded withcontempt. "Well, I must leave at once to begin squeezing the money forthis campaign out of my subjects. Especially since I have given up myclaim to Provence. I cannot wait around to see who my brother thinksshould be pope. I am sure he will make a good choice."
"I am sure he will," said Simon frostily.
_I pray God it is not de Verceuil himself._
Again the heavy blow on his shoulder, both comradely and threatening."Well, then. In the future when you have important news, make sure I amthe first one to hear it."
Simon felt hotter still. Uncle Charles was supposedly helping him winback his honor, and yet was proposing that he betray the king's trust.He had admired Uncle Charles all his life because he seemed to beeverything a great baron should--commanding, strong, warlike,victorious, loyal to the king, the Church, and the pope. But he hadalways had the uneasy feeling that Charles d'Anjou was not a _good_ manin the sense that King Louis was. And he had always kept in the back ofhis mind his mother's warning, _He uses people_. He had felt that uneasestrongly over a year ago, the day Charles asked him to lead the Tartars'military escort. Now he knew there was good reason for that uneasiness.
"Yes, uncle." Simon had no intention of obeying, but since Charles hadno right to ask such a thing, there was no harm in mi
And now, he thought, it would be back to Italy. Back to see his effortsbear fruit, as the alliance of Christians and Tartars became a reality.Perhaps he would escort the Tartars to France, to King Louis, so theycould draw up their war plans together.
But, best of all, he would seek out Sophia in Perugia. He would proposemarriage to her again. Now she would believe him, now that she'd hadtime to think about everything he had said to her. Sophia. Seeing her inhis mind, he felt as if he walked among the angels.