of the kitchen.

Attackers could be hiding here. But Simon knew he did not have enough
men to search. He must get to the Tartars and stay with them.

The pantry where the contessa kept her costly stock of spices imported
from the East was below ground. Stefan lifted a heavy trapdoor, and one
by one they climbed down a narrow flight of wooden steps without a
banister. Grigor, bringing up the rear, held a candle to light their
way.

A door of rough oaken planks bound together with iron straps stood
before him. He felt his stomach knot as he walked up to it. What if he
were too late?

Simon had ordered that the square black iron lock set in the door be
left unlocked in the case the Tartars should have to escape. He pulled
on the handle. The door was bolted from the inside, of course, with a
bolt he had only that afternoon ordered the Monaldeschi carpenter to
install. From the other side a voice asked a half-audible question.

"It is Count Simon," he said. "Let us in." Friar Mathieu added a few
words in the Tartar tongue.

The bolt slid back and the door opened inward. Simon stepped forward to
see how his charges had fared.

The storeroom was dimly lit by a small oil lantern. The two Armenians
within had risen from chairs. They had their bows in their hands,
arrows nocked. They stood in front of the Tartars. John, the
white-haired Tartar, and Philip, the black-haired one, sat on cushions
on the floor, leaning back against the shelves of spice jars that
covered three walls of the room. Their bows were on the table and their
curving swords, in scabbards, lay in their laps.

Simon was pleased to see that they looked alert. It must be maddening to
sit down here in semidarkness and do nothing while a battle raged above.

He reminded himself that if no one attacked the Tartars while the
Filippeschi besieged the palace, his reputation would be ruined. He felt
a momentary pang of anguish, and found himself actually hoping that the
enemy would come here. Quickly he stifled the feeling.

_Do not call on the devil. He may hear you and come._

XLIII

Hidden in the cellar behind a rack of wine barrels, Daoud watched the
Frankish count, the old priest, and the two Armenians as they paused
before the door of the spice pantry.

He thought: _Man can plan and plan, but God will surprise and surprise._

He had been just about to try to trick the Tartars into letting him into
the spice pantry when de Gobignon and the