"Be silent!" Simon snapped, his rage against himself turning to fury at Sordello. "You are a fool, but being a fool will not save you."
"Your Signory!" Sordello cried. "How could I let him take the woman from me? My honor—"
"Your honor!" Simon raged. "What is your wandering blackguard's honor compared to the honor of France? The woman chose him over you. Look at her."
Sordello glared at Simon, but was silent. The red-haired woman crouched over the fallen Prince Hethum, crooning softly in Italian.
And yet, Uncle Charles would not want me to sacrifice Sordello. And the Armenian did try to kill him. My knights and men-at-arms will lose all respect for me if I let the Tartars have their way with Sordello.
But if he goes unpunished, if the Armenian prince goes unrevenged, there will be no alliance at all.
And it would be his fault. The little honor that was left to the House of Gobignon would be lost.
A wave of anger at himself swept over him. Had he dedicated himself to the alliance only so that he might free himself from the agony of his guilty secret and his house from dishonor? He thought of King Louis and how pure was his desire to win back for Christendom the places where Christ had lived. How impure were Simon's own motives!
As long as he put his own needs first, he would continue to deserve the burdens of guilt and shame.