Within the ring, the sixth Armenian had a man bent forward over a table. The man's arms flailed feebly and his eyes bulged. Even in the poor light Simon could see that his face, turned on its side toward him, was purple. The Armenian was holding his bow behind the man's neck and was turning it slowly. Now Simon saw the string cutting into the neck. It hurt Simon to look at what was happening. He felt his own breath cut off, his heart pounding as if he were laboring for air. He wanted to turn away and knew he could not. He must somehow stop this before that Venetian died. "Blood of God!" he whispered. He recognized the darkened, distorted face. Sordello. All around Simon the Venetians were edging closer to the Armenians, their daggers gleaming in the candlelight. But none of the foot soldiers wanted to be the first to brave those sabers. That meant, Simon thought, heart pounding, that he would have to face them. _Where the devil are my knights?_ Looking to the right and left Simon saw Alain, Henri de Puys, and the four others, swords out but--like himself--unarmored, standing irresolutely between the Venetians and the Armenians. Against one wall he saw a huddle of women, their bare bosoms gleaming in the dim light. Standing protectively in front of the women was a man Simon recognized as the innkeeper. For the price Simon was paying, why could not this man keep order in his own house? "Aha, now we have the stinking figlii di cagne!" a man behind Simon cried. Simon turned and saw a crossbow leveled at shoulder height. He had ordered that the Venetians' weapons be kept under lock and key. Evidently someone had broken them out. Once the rest of the Venetians armed themselves with their bows, the Armenians would be slaughtered. Simon's body grew hot with anger. He would like to kill the fool who helped the Venetians to their arms. But the Armenians had their bows, too, and one by one they started to unsling them. Simon heard the ominous squeaking as the Venetians wound back their crossbow strings. The Armenians would never be able to get their arrows nocked and their bows drawn before the crossbow bolts began to fly. Simon's actions followed instantly on his thoughts. "Cessi!" he shouted, hoping the Venetians would understand him. Now all eyes were turned toward him. The muscles of his belly tightened as he cast about in his mind for the right thing to do. The hands of the Venetians hesitated on their crossbows as they recognized their master. "De Pirenne, de Puys, the rest of you. Make our men put down their crossbows." But just as Simon spoke, the Armenian strangling Sordello gave another turn to his bow, and the old bravo gagged and gasped.