"Rule the world?" said Simon. He thought about the two slit-eyed men in
silk robes he had seen disembarking from the galley a few hours before.
He remembered the look the older Tartar had given him, so unfeeling, as
if looking down upon him from a vast distance.

"They think it is their destiny to rule the world," said Friar Mathieu.
"And it is not a foolish dream. They have already conquered much of it.
You might sneer at me as your skeptical knight did, Monseigneur, if I
told you how vast the Tartar empire is. Take France, England, and the
Holy Roman Empire together, and they would be swallowed up in the lands
ruled by the Tartars."

"Please call me Simon, Father, if you will. It embarrasses me to be
addressed as monseigneur by one such as you."

Friar Mathieu patted Simon's hand. "Very well, Simon. That is kindly
spoken. It will be good for us to be friends, because we have a very
difficult and doubtful mission."

"Why doubtful?"

"We cannot be sure we are doing the right thing. These two men, John and
Philip, command great armies in the Tartar empire. Watch them, Simon.
Notice how they observe fortifications and weapons. The same monks who
made Christians of them also taught them how to write. Many times at
day's end in Syria and on Cyprus I have seen them talking together,
making notes, drawing maps. Whether they form this alliance or not, they
will have much useful knowledge to bring back to their khan."

_Then might it not be better for all of us if I fail to protect the
Tartars, and some enemy of Christendom succeeds in killing them?_

Simon felt an aching tightness in his forehead. He desperately wanted
the alliance to succeed, and thereby show the nobility of France that
neither he nor his family any longer deserved their scorn. If the
alliance failed, he failed, and the house of Gobignon would sink deeper
into dishonor.

Let others worry, he decided, about whether it was right or wrong to
protect the Tartars.

"Monseigneur!"

There was urgency in the voice that hailed Simon from across the square,
and a feeling of dread came over him. He turned to see his equerry,
Thierry d'Hauteville, his wavy black hair uncovered, running across the
piazza.

"They are fighting, Monseigneur!" Thierry panted. "Our Venetian archers
and those men from Tartary. You'd best come at once."

"Jesus, save us!" Simon heard Friar Mathieu whisper beside him.

Staring into Thierry's anxious eyes, Simon felt himself getti