He wanted to hurry to the corner, but the street narrowed here, with the windowless white ground floor of a palazzo on one side and an iron railing on the other. There was no room to bypass those ahead. Simon hurried his pace until he was all but treading on the leather-shod heels of the spearman in front of him. He turned the corner into the small square in front of the doge's palace. He saw the doge's sedan chair and that of the Tartars pass through the gateway between the palace and the great basilica of San Marco. Then he stopped short, feeling as if he had crashed headfirst into a wall. The tall gates leading into the palace swung shut, and facing him was a triple line of men-at-arms of the Most Serene Republic, in green and gold tunics and armed with long spears. "Mere de Dieu!" he whispered. He could not force his way into the palace. If he even tried, he would only look ridiculous. Indeed, he doubted that his men would fight. The ill-disciplined mercenaries were Venetians, too, and why would they obey the command of a French seigneur, who had hired them only yesterday, to fight their own countrymen? "It appears we are not welcome at the palace, Your Signory," said a voice at his side. Simon turned and glared at Sordello, whose weather-beaten face seemed to mask amusement. Simon tried to think of a way to rescue his dignity. "Find the leader of the palace guards and tell him I want to speak to him." Sordello shrugged. "As you wish, Your Signory." Alain de Pirenne, his gauntleted fist clenched on the hilt of his sword, blustered out, "Damned Italian discourtesy! It would serve them right if somebody did slip a dagger into those Tartars while we stand out here." _God forbid!_ thought Simon. Sordello came back with a Venetian man-at-arms, who touched the brim of his polished kettle-helmet respectfully. "This sergente has a message for you from His Serenity, the doge, Your Signory." "Let him tell it." Simon's command of the Venetian dialect was not good enough to follow what the man in the kettle-helmet said, and to make it harder, he spoke in what appeared to be an embarrassed mumble. "What did he say, Sordello?" "Forgive me, Your Signory," said Sordello. "The message may offend you. I will repeat it only if you wish it." "What did he say?" said Simon again in a tight voice. "The doge says you are to wait in quarters of your own choosing until the ambassadors from Tartary are ready to travel. At that time he will place them in your keeping. Until then you are to trouble him no more, unless you are a very good swimmer." Simon felt rage boil up within him. He clenched his fists and fought it down. "Tell him I thank His Serenity for his courtesy and will forever honor him for it." Sordello nodded, and there was a look of respect in his craggy face.