He felt as if his whole body were plunged into icy water. He realized that by his promise to Friar Mathieu—to God—he was embarked on a course that could end in ruin or worse for his mother and father as well as himself. Their pretense that Simon was Amalric's child was a crime. He saw them all brought as prisoners before King Louis.
How could he bear to face the king, whom he admired more than any other man in France, even more than his own true father?
What punishment would the king mete out to them? Would they spend the rest of their lives locked away in lightless dungeons? Would they have to die for their crime?
Surely God would not ask that of him.
And then, Simon might decide, with God's help, that he had the best right of anyone to the count's coronet. If he kept it, and kept the secret of his parentage, it would be through his own choice. No mortal would thrust that choice upon him.
He began to feel better. He started humming a tune, an old crusader song Roland had taught him, called "The Old Man of the Mountain."
Until now other hands had shaped his life. From this moment on he would hold his destiny in his own hands.
"May I disturb you for a moment, Your Signory, before you retire?" The Contessa di Monaldeschi's chief steward was a severe-looking man with long white hair streaked with black.