Now Simon saw where the third bolt had gone. Six inches of it, half its
length, was buried in a wall a few feet to Simon's right. The wall was
made of the same grayish-yellow stone Orvieto was built on.

The crossbow bolt in the man's shoulder was thick and made of hard wood.
Simon had nothing that would cut the man loose without hurting him even
more. He looked up and down the street. It was quite empty now, except
for a few people watching from a distance. The procession had gone on.
He glanced up and saw that the blond man had left his place on the roof.

Friar Mathieu knelt beside the dead young man, one hand moving in
blessing, the other resting on the shoulder of the weeping woman.

De Pirenne and Thierry, both mounted, the equerry holding Simon's horse,
looked at him uncertainly.

"Go, Alain!" said Simon impatiently. "Stay with the Tartars."

He himself was neglecting his duty, he thought, as de Pirenne galloped
off. But now that he was trying to help this poor devil, he could not
abandon him.

"Can I do anything, Monseigneur?" Thierry asked.

As Simon was about to answer, he saw a middle-aged man wearing a
carpenter's apron.

"Messere, can you bring a saw?" he called. "Hurry!"

It seemed hours before the man returned with a small saw with a pointed
end and widely spaced teeth. He held it out to Simon.

Simon wanted to shout at the carpenter, but he took a grip on himself
and said patiently, "You are bound to be better at sawing than I. Per
favore, cut away the end of the crossbow bolt so we can free this man."

Gingerly at first, then working with a will, the carpenter sawed off the
flaring end of the bolt with its thin wooden vanes. The pinned man awoke
and was sobbing and groaning.

Once the protruding part of the bolt was sawed away, Simon took a deep
breath, wrapped his arms around the sobbing man, and pulled him away
from the wall. The man screamed so loudly that Simon's ears rang; then
the man sagged to the ground. Blood flowed from the wound in his
shoulder, soaking his tunic. Blood coated the stump of the bolt, still
stuck in the door post. Simon dropped to his knees beside the wounded
man. A pool of bright red widened rapidly on the flat paving stones.

_Now what do I do with him? I must get back to my duty._

He spoke with the carpenter. "Press your hand on the wound, hard. That
will slow the bleeding." Simon took the man's hand and put it on the
hole the crossbow bolt had made.

"Her