bassy."

"His services are needed now," said d'Aquino. "Not summoning him here
was an oversight." He glanced coolly at de Verceuil. "The hospital is
not far away."

"I know where it is, Reverend Father." Simon had gone to the hospital to
inquire about the man shot in the street by the Venetians, he who had
died despite Friar Mathieu's urgent efforts.

"Then have the friar fetched at once, Count, if you please," said
d'Aquino.

Simon shot a quick look at de Verceuil before he turned to leave. The
cardinal was staring at him, his long face a deep crimson and his eyes
narrowed to black slits. Their eyes met, and Simon felt almost as if
swords had clashed.

Why was de Verceuil, who wanted the alliance, so angry?

_I know. He wanted to be the authority on the Tartars. He wanted to
carry the day for the alliance all by himself._

Hard to believe, Simon thought, but it seemed de Verceuil would rather
see his cause lost than have someone else win credit for its success.

"I shall fetch him myself, Fra Tomasso," Simon said loudly.

* * * * *

To his relief, he found de Pirenne, expecting an outing in the country,
with their two horses just outside the papal palace wall. Simon
explained his errand, and together they made the short ride through the
stone-paved streets to the Franciscan hospital. There the Father
Superior hastily summoned Friar Mathieu.

De Pirenne relinquished his horse to the old Franciscan. Friar Mathieu's
bare skinny shanks, when he hiked up his robe to sit in the saddle,
looked comical to Simon.

"I knew the Holy Father had called a council today," said Friar Mathieu,
"but I assumed Cardinal de Verceuil would send for me if I were needed."

"Better to assume that he will do the opposite of what is needed," said
Simon. Friar Mathieu laughed and slapped Simon's shoulder.

The pope's servants were passing flagons of wine and trays of meat tarts
when Simon and Friar Mathieu entered the hall. The arguments among the
prelates had risen almost to a roar, but died down as men saw Simon
escorting the small figure of Mathieu d'Alcon in his threadbare brown
robe toward the papal throne.

Fra Tomasso spoke softly and respectfully to the elderly Franciscan.
While de Verceuil glowered from the pews, Friar Mathieu stood before the
pope, seeming as serene and self-possessed as if he were in a chapel by
himself.

_And why should he not?_ thought Simon. After what Simon had hea