An enemy had only to gain surreptitious entrance to
one of those great houses--not hard to do when everyone's attention was
turned toward the galley bringing the Tartars.

_What should I do? The doge's men-at-arms outnumber mine, and look to be
better soldiers. And it seems the Tartars have brought their own
warriors. Perhaps I am not needed now._

The thought brought him momentary relief. But then Simon realized that
he was yielding to the temptation that had assailed him throughout his
life, the urge to conceal himself.

_But did I not undertake this task to uphold my family's good name and
my right to bear it? And besides, it is not only my dignity that must be
upheld here, but the honor of King Louis. If anything happens to the
Tartars now that they are on Christian soil, I will have failed my
king._

Simon was about to push forward to demand room for his men when the
friar who had just disembarked raised his arm. Simon's gaze followed the
direction of the gesture, and came to rest at the head of the boarding
ramp.

There stood two of the strangest-looking men Simon had ever seen. Their
faces were the deep brown of well-tanned leather. The eyebrows were
little black banners flying above black, slitted eyes that peered out
over the battlements of jutting cheekbones. Their mustaches were thin
and hung down in long strands below small chins adorned with sparse
beards. One man's beard was white, the other's black. But even the
black-bearded man was not young; there were deep creases in his face.
Both men wore cylindrical caps, each topped with a polished, spherical
red stone. Their ankle-length robes were of maroon silk, brocaded with
gold thread, and they wore short jackets with flowing sleeves. From the
neck of each man hung a rectangular tablet on a gold chain.

Simon's wonder turned to fear as he realized what perfect targets the
Tartar ambassadors were making of themselves.

He threw his weight against the men and women in front of him, forcing
his way through the crowd--and found himself facing one of the doge's
archers. The man raised his crossbow threateningly, but Simon saw
immediately that it was not loaded. Fine protection for the emissaries.

"De Pirenne! De Puys!" Simon called to the two French knights nearest
him. "Follow me." He turned back to the Venetian crossbowman and
shouted, "Stand aside!" in his loudest voice. "I am the Count de
Gobignon."

As he had hoped, the sound of his command carr