Down below, two of Ugolini's servants brought out baskets of newly washed tablecloths and bedlinens and began spreading them on the branches of the trees to dry. Sophia spoke in a lower voice, giving details of the attack on Tilia's house by de Verceuil and the Tartars as if it were something she knew about only through hearsay, while Simon looked more and more unhappy.
He frowned at her. "I know of this girl. It is John Chagan who keeps her. But what is she to you? She is not even a Christian. I am surprised that a woman of good family like you should worry about a prostitute."
How easy for a count to look down on a girl like Rachel. She felt her back stiffen with anger.
How he would despise me if he knew what I was.
But what am I?
"Does it lower me in your eyes that I worry about such a girl?"
He waved his hands placatingly. "No, no. Such charitable feelings do you credit. I would like to help her, and I know Friar Mathieu has already tried. I just wondered how you came to know and care about this girl's case." He looked earnestly into her eyes. His eyes were a blue as clear and bright as that lake where they had lain together.
"The story is talked about by all the servants and common folk of the town. I feel very sorry for her. She is just a child. I find myself imagining how she feels—kidnapped, helpless, raped by this barbarian, a prisoner. Have you not seen her yourself?"
Simon nodded reluctantly, looking away. "Yes, glimpses. She stays in her room."
"She is forced to stay in her room." Sophia sensed that Simon knew more than he admitted about what the Tartar had done to Rachel and was ashamed to be connected with it.