"What will your protection cost us?" Tilia's voice was heavy with scorn.
Sordello spread his hands. "Why, whatever your lives are worth to you. You have had much practice putting a price on that which is precious."
"The battle—King Manfred?" Sophia pressed him.
Sordello's grin broadened, showing more stumpy, crooked teeth. "We—Anjou's men—are here in Benevento, are we not? Manfred von Hohenstaufen is dead. With my own eyes I saw him fall."
Sophia felt sick to her stomach. Blindly, she staggered to the bed and sat down heavily.
A long, high-pitched wail came from Ugolini. He threw his book to the floor and rocked back and forth with his face in his hands. Tilia rushed to him and held him.
Manfred, dead.
Sophia's cry of grief was as heart-tearing as Ugolini's, but she kept it inside herself. She had loved Manfred once, and even after that was over, she had delighted in attending his court and had marveled at the felicity of his kingdom.
Gone in a day! What a loss, what a waste!
"Manfred died in a most chivalrous manner," said Sordello, showing no sympathy for the anguish he was causing. "He fought to the end, a few faithful followers beside him, surrounded by enemies. Cardinal de Verceuil killed him. I think I will write a poem about it."