At first sight of him she felt a glow of joy. Simon lived. And she was safe from Sordello. Triumphantly she glanced over at the bravo and felt even better at the sight of his scarlet color, his clenched jaw, the swollen veins throbbing in his temples.
Then suddenly it came back to her that Simon was an enemy too.
It has always been too easy for me to forget that.
She would have to face his questions, his accusations, his pain, his rage. She felt like a bird in flight suddenly struck by an arrow and plummeting to earth.
And a worse thought struck her, piercing her heart like a sword. What was it that Sordello would have told her about Daoud? In God's name, what terrible thing had happened to him?
Simon's being here meant he, too, must have learned where she was from Daoud. Where, then, was Daoud?
She saw figures in the shadows outside the door, one white-haired and white-bearded, the other a small woman wearing a mantle over her head.
Simon took a few steps into the room, his mail clinking. She could tell by his movements that he was exhausted. She felt a surge of pity for him, at what he must have done and suffered. She reminded herself he had been fighting against Manfred and Daoud, on the side of Anjou. Still, she felt sorry for him.
"What the devil are you doing here?" Simon said, glaring at Sordello, his voice crackling with anger.
Why so much hatred, Sophia wondered.