Feeling pleased with himself, Simon took a long drink of the heavy red Roman wine. "Then, since the pope has publicly given his approval, shall I escort the Tartars to your brother the king, so they can plan the crusade?"
"The crusade?" Charles lay back on his cot, propped up on one elbow, and stared into his wine cup and said nothing further.
"Would it not be safest to conduct them to the king at once?" Simon pressed him. "Our enemies may still try to kill them, even though the alliance is proclaimed."
Charles shook his head. "The last attempt to kill them was many months ago."
True, Simon thought. The stalker in black seemed to have given up or disappeared.
"Yes, but that Sienese attack on Orvieto—"
Charles interrupted. "De Verceuil got the Tartars out of Orvieto safely. And that attack was aimed at the pope, not the Tartars. After all, who has been trying to kill the Tartars, and why? Manfred's agents, because they knew that if the pope approved the Tartar alliance, my brother would then give me permission to march against Manfred."
Simon remembered King Louis saying he wanted to be ready to launch his crusade by 1270, now only five years away.
"But preparations for a crusade take many years," Simon said. "Should not the Tartars go to the king now, so they can begin to plan?"
"I do not think they should visit my brother just yet," said Charles. "His mind so easily fills up with dreams of recapturing Jerusalem." Simon caught a faint note of mockery in Charles's voice. "The presence of the Tartars at his court might distract him from his more immediate responsibilities."