"We were not attempting to do anything," du Mont said sourly, pushing his helmet back off his bowl-shaped hair. "Those were the bowmen I brought from Lincoln you used, Monseigneur de Gobignon," said FitzTrinian. "You did not have my permission." In his present mood, Simon wished the pock-marked knight would make an issue of it. "Do not make yourself more ridiculous than you already are, Sire Alistair," said Charles. "We still have not settled this question of pay," said Dietrich of Regensburg. "Go pick the purses of those dead men out there," said Charles with a scornful laugh. Again Simon was sickened by Charles's manner. He had expected that the count would punish his rebellious commanders. Hanging would be an excellent idea. Flog them out of the army, at least. Instead, he continued to argue with them, even banter with them, as if they were all a pack of merchants in a money changer's shop. To get away from the wretched business, Simon kicked his dark brown mare into motion and, followed by Thierry, rode out toward the city. He wished desperately that he were back in Perugia with Sophia. He had seen enough killing in Orvieto, especially the night of the attack on the Palazzo Monaldeschi, to harden him. Still, it made his heart feel heavy as stone in his chest to see so many lives cut short. And by his command. What pain it must be to die. To have your life stopped, forever. He recalled the arrow that had whizzed past him. He could easily have been killed. He rode toward the walls of Rome until they towered over him. The crowd of citizens who had come out to stop Count Charles was gone--those able to flee. There were only the dead and dying scattered in the stubble field around him. Simon tried to avoid looking at the wounded. If it had been one or two men, as it had been that day at Orvieto when de Verceuil ordered the crossbowmen to fire into the crowd, he would have tried to help them. But there were too many here. His contingent of English archers marched past him on their way back to the main army, their work done. They gave him a cheer, and he, in spite of his heavy heart, did as a good leader should and smiled and waved. "Good work, my friends! Well done." He looked ahead again, and saw that the nearest gate, the one through which most of the retreating citizens had run, hung open. He pulled his horse to a stop. _I am not going to be the first of these invaders to enter Rome. I have no right to be here._ Five horsemen appeared suddenly in the gateway. More resistance? These men were richly dressed, their scarlet capes billowing as they rode toward him. Their hands were empty of weapons. The rider in the lead was a man with a glossy black beard and a sharply hooked nose. He reminded Simon a little of the Contessa di Monaldeschi.