o outguess a hidden enemy
who is trying to murder the Tartars. But I cannot endure the way this
man humiliates me and my friends. I will go back to Gobignon now._

"You must not let a bit of fatherly correction wound you so deeply,
Count," said the cardinal, his voice still deep and dirgelike but no
longer full of scorn. "I would never suggest the Count of Anjou had made
a mistake in choosing you for this post."

_Fatherly! What a disgusting thought!_

But Simon could see that his resigning worried de Verceuil. Uncle
Charles wanted Simon to guard the ambassadors, just as he had wanted
Sordello to head the archers. He had his reasons. And de Verceuil did
not want to cross Charles d'Anjou.

Friar Mathieu laughed gently, and patted Simon on the shoulder. "If you
please, be kind enough to change your mind about resigning. All of us
are aware that you have carried out the task with intelligence and zeal.
Is that not right, Your Eminence?"

"Of course," said de Verceuil, his mouth puckered and sour. "Count, I
would have you present these Tartar dignitaries to me."

"I will be happy to interpret for you, Your Eminence," said Friar
Mathieu. De Verceuil did not answer him.

As they crossed the vineyard, the cardinal stretched out his long arm
and said, "I have brought musicians, jongleurs, senators of Orvieto,
men-at-arms, two archbishops, six bishops, an abbot, and many monsignors
and priests." A long line of men stretched down the road into the nearby
woods. Most of them wore various shades of red; a few were in
cloth-of-gold or blue. The points of long spears flashed in the
sunlight. Banners with fringes of gold and silver swung at the tops of
poles. Seeking protection from the mid-August heat, men walked horses in
the shade of the woods.

Beyond the treetops rose a distant pedestal of grayish-yellow rock
crowned by a city. An astonishing sight, Orvieto.

"The Holy Father will be meeting us at the cathedral and will say a
special mass of thanksgiving for the safe arrival of the ambassadors,"
said de Verceuil. "I want the entry of the Tartars into Orvieto to
impress both the Tartars themselves and the pope and his courtiers."

* * * * *

"Monsters!"

"Cannibals!"

Rotten apples, pears and onions, chunks of moldy bread, flew through the
air. Small stones that did not injure, but stung. And worse.

The shouts and missiles came from both sides of the street, but always
when Simon w