lying, his arms
upraised. At his sudden appearance the Armenians, who were ready to make
mincemeat of Sordello--and perhaps de Pirenne with him--hesitated.

_Oh, thank God!_ The weight of struggling to control this dreadful
situation was no longer Simon's alone to bear.

Friar Mathieu spoke several sentences to the Armenians. Simon could not
tell from his tone whether he was scolding them or trying to placate
them. There were in the room five angry men who looked to be formidable
fighters, armed with swords and bows and arrows. And, Simon realized, he
had just sent away all but one of his knights and all of his
crossbowmen.

Simon cursed himself for letting Sordello wound the young man.

_Alain said Sordello dropped a dagger. Why did I not think to look for
it?_

He felt himself growing hot and cold as he realized this incident might
wreck everything--for Christendom, for Louis, and for the honor of the
House of Gobignon.

Now Friar Mathieu fell to his knees beside the young Armenian, whose
white tunic was splashed deep scarlet with blood. He spoke comforting
words to him and then turned an agonized face to Simon.

"This is Prince Hethum," said the friar. "The Tartars will be furious
when they learn what has happened. This may destroy any chance of an
alliance. At the very least, they will demand satisfaction."

_I am to protect these emissaries, and one of my own men has stabbed a
prince of Armenia._

Despair was an ache in Simon's chest.

"What sort of satisfaction?"

"I fear they will require that man's life," said Friar Mathieu sadly.

"By God's beard, I have done no wrong!" Sordello rasped. His voice was a
croak.

"Be silent!" Simon snapped, his rage against himself turning to fury at
Sordello. "You are a fool, but being a fool will not save you."

"Your Signory!" Sordello cried. "How could I let him take the woman from
me? My honor--"

"_Your_ honor!" Simon raged. "What is your wandering blackguard's honor
compared to the honor of France? The woman chose him over you. Look at
her."

Sordello glared at Simon, but was silent. The red-haired woman crouched
over the fallen Prince Hethum, crooning softly in Italian.

_And yet, Uncle Charles would not want me to sacrifice Sordello. And the
Armenian did try to kill him. My knights and men-at-arms will lose all
respect for me if I let the Tartars have their way with Sordello._

_But if he goes unpunished, if the Armenian prince goes unrevenged,
the