p of Verceuil
is God's spokesman. Have a care, or I doubt not God will show you how
fleeting is worldly rank."

_Is he trying to use God to threaten me?_ Simon thought, dumbfounded.

"If you overstep your bounds again," de Verceuil went on, "I promise you
my messenger will fly to the Count d'Anjou, demanding that you be
removed from this post. If the count must choose between you and me, I
have no doubt he will choose the more experienced head and the one more
influential with the pope."

"Do that," said Simon, his voice trembling with fury. "And I will make
my own report to the count."

He turned on his heel, and de Verceuil's shout of "What do you mean by
that?" was cut off by the slam of the heavy oak door.

* * * * *

It seemed to Simon as if the air were filled with motes of gold. He, his
equerry, Thierry, and de Pirenne and de Puys were riding high on the
western slope of a mountain thickly clad with pines. Shadow drowned the
valley below. The horizon to the west was an undulating black
silhouette. From beyond that range, the platinum glow of the setting sun
dazzled his eyes.

"Look ahead, Monseigneur," said Alain, gripping Simon's shoulder and
pointing toward a dark green hill with a rounded top to the north.
Simon's stomach tightened as he saw a party of riders strung out along
the road. They rode in sunlight, and he recognized the flame-colored
tunics of the Armenians.

_At last_, he thought, sighing and smiling. The Tartars' party had
ridden far. He had followed their trail most of the afternoon, and found
them only now because they were coming back.

He squinted, trying to see the Tartars. He clucked to his palfrey and
spurred her lightly from a walk to a trot. His three companions did the
same.

Two carts with high sides lurched down the road behind the Armenians. A
single mule pulled the cart in front, two drew the second. A man in a
red tunic drove each cart. Where the devil were the Tartars? Bringing up
the rear of the party on the back of a donkey, he saw a figure in brown.
Friar Mathieu. Simon began to feel panic again.

"Do you see the Tartars?" he asked his men.

De Puys snorted. "They are probably too lazy to ride. They are sitting
in one of those carts, fancying themselves lords of the earth."

"Tartars think it unmanly to be carried when they can ride," Simon told
de Puys, annoyed at the old knight's ignorance.

"But I see horses without riders," Ala