oge Zeno's threat to
have him thrown into the water of Venice's San Marco Canal. He
remembered the many times de Verceuil had been overbearing with him. To
think _that_ man would accuse anyone else of being too concerned with
his own glory.

He was about to shout defiance when he thought of royal councils he had
attended as a page to King Louis. Those close to the king often
disagreed with him, but they usually ended up doing what he wanted.
Louis was perhaps the strongest man, in his gentle way, Simon had ever
met, but he had never heard him raise his voice.

Instead of defying de Verceuil and the others, he tried to speak with
dignity, even humility, as King Louis himself might.

"His Majesty's brother, Count Charles, entrusted this task to me. Shall
I give it up at the first threat? Shall I turn over the ambassadors'
protection to men unknown to me, some of whom may be moved by the same
hatred of us French that moves the Filippeschi? I have a duty not to let
the ambassadors go beyond the walls I guard."

When he finished there was silence.

Friar Mathieu said, "Count Simon makes an excellent point. John and
Philip may well be safer guarded by our men, even under attack."

Now that they had agreed, Simon's heart sank. If the Tartars were killed
in the coming battle because he had insisted on keeping them in the
palace, he would bear the guilt. Instead of restoring his name, he would
end by plunging it deeper into the mire.

De Puys looked from Simon to the cardinal and said, "Perhaps our knights
and crossbowmen could go with the Tartars to the Pope's palace."

"No!" cried the contessa. "Now, when I am attacked because I opened my
home to the Tartars and the French, will you all abandon me? All the men
of my family are dead but the boy Vittorio." She turned to Simon and
seized his wrist with her clawlike hand. "You must stay and defend me.
You must be my cavaliere."

Simon pressed her hand in both of his and saw tears running down her
withered cheeks.

"I would not think of leaving you, Contessa."

"But, Contessa," said Friar Mathieu, "if the Tartars were to leave your
palace, the Filippeschi might not attack you."

"No, no." The contessa shook her head. "If they think they are strong
enough to attack me, they will. They have long sought to kill me and
Vittorio. Canaglia! May God send that little bastard Marco and all the
Filippeschi straight to hell!"

Friar Mathieu winced and made the sign of the cros