"Envied me?"
"Yes. He saw you as one who had all that he never had—a home, a family."
Simon stepped forward and brought his face close to hers. "Did you tell him about my parentage?"
"No, never."
"Why not?" His voice was bitter. "Was that not the sort of thing you were expected to find out? Could he not have found a way to use it? Were you not betraying your war against us—what do you Byzantines call us, Franks?—by withholding it?"
"I told you that loving you both was tearing me apart," she said helplessly.
"But you loved him more—that is clear."
"Yes. I loved him more because he knew me as I was, and loved me as I was. You loved me, and it broke my heart to see how much you loved me. But you loved the woman I was pretending to be. Now that you really know me, you hate me."
"Should I not? How can you tell me all this without shame?"
"I am not ashamed. I am sorry. More sorry than I can ever say. But what have I to be ashamed of? I am a woman of Byzantium. I was fighting for my people. Surely you know what your Franks did to Constantinople. Look and listen to what Anjou's army is doing tonight to Benevento."