tar out of his hand. Anguished, he felt
for it, but it was as if it had fallen into a well.

"Simon! Where are you?" Friar Mathieu shouted.

"Ah! Ah!" Simon let his breath out and sucked it in, gasping. He wanted
to cry for help, but he could not use his voice. His body shook with
terror.

And he felt the body under him moving with swift and terrible power. The
cord snapped tight again.

But not before Simon got his right hand under it. The killer gave a
vicious jerk on the thin cord, and it felt as if it might slice through
his fingers. But Simon pushed against it with all the strength in his
right arm, and loosened the cord enough to be able to pull air into his
throat. He worked his other hand under it.

His shout burst from his throat. "M'aidez! Help me! Here! Here!"

Boots pounded toward him. He felt men around him. He heard them coughing
and sneezing from the spices that filled the air. A sword poked him
through his mail.

"Under me! Stab! Stab! You cannot hurt me!"

The cord went lax. The attacker had let go of it. Simon drew air
frantically through his tortured windpipe.

Before he could get to his feet, an arm, hard as if clad in mail,
whipped around his neck, clamping him to his enemy. He felt the edge of
a dagger at his throat.

Simon could hear the devil's breathing right by his ear. Frantic, he
jerked his head forward and drove it back, ramming the back of his head
into his attacker's face, slamming the enemy's head against the stone
floor. Simon felt stunned, but the other must have been stunned, too. He
heard a whispered gasp.

_How can the devil be so silent?_

He heard men speaking above him and feet shuffling around him, but
despite his command, no swords were jabbing downward. They were afraid
of stabbing him, even though he was wearing mail.

He arched his body and brought all his mailed weight down hard. He felt
the edge of the enemy's dagger scrape across the chain around his neck.
A bolt of terror shot through him. If not for that medallion, he would
be bleeding to death right now. Simon thrust his steel-encased elbows
into his enemy's ribs. The gasp was louder this time, and with a violent
heave he freed himself.

He twisted over, arms reaching to wrap around his enemy.

_I have to pin him down. I cannot let him get loose in this room again._

But the knees below him drew up and the feet kicked against him,
throwing him back.

"Right in front of me!" Simon cried. "Get him!"