The crossbow bolt in the man's shoulder was thick and made of hard wood. Simon had nothing that would cut the man loose without hurting him even more. He looked up and down the street. It was quite empty now, except for a few people watching from a distance. The procession had gone on. He glanced up and saw that the blond man had left his place on the roof. Friar Mathieu knelt beside the dead young man, one hand moving in blessing, the other resting on the shoulder of the weeping woman. De Pirenne and Thierry, both mounted, the equerry holding Simon's horse, looked at him uncertainly. "Go, Alain!" said Simon impatiently. "Stay with the Tartars." He himself was neglecting his duty, he thought, as de Pirenne galloped off. But now that he was trying to help this poor devil, he could not abandon him. "Can I do anything, Monseigneur?" Thierry asked. As Simon was about to answer, he saw a middle-aged man wearing a carpenter's apron. "Messere, can you bring a saw?" he called. "Hurry!" It seemed hours before the man returned with a small saw with a pointed end and widely spaced teeth. He held it out to Simon. Simon wanted to shout at the carpenter, but he took a grip on himself and said patiently, "You are bound to be better at sawing than I. Per favore, cut away the end of the crossbow bolt so we can free this man." Gingerly at first, then working with a will, the carpenter sawed off the flaring end of the bolt with its thin wooden vanes. The pinned man awoke and was sobbing and groaning. Once the protruding part of the bolt was sawed away, Simon took a deep breath, wrapped his arms around the sobbing man, and pulled him away from the wall. The man screamed so loudly that Simon's ears rang; then the man sagged to the ground. Blood flowed from the wound in his shoulder, soaking his tunic. Blood coated the stump of the bolt, still stuck in the door post. Simon dropped to his knees beside the wounded man. A pool of bright red widened rapidly on the flat paving stones. _Now what do I do with him? I must get back to my duty._ He spoke with the carpenter. "Press your hand on the wound, hard. That will slow the bleeding." Simon took the man's hand and put it on the hole the crossbow bolt had made. "Here, let me do that." Friar Mathieu was on his knees beside the hurt man, his hand covering the wound. "Messere," he said to the carpenter, "ride my donkey to the hospital of the Franciscans. Tell them there is a man badly hurt here and Friar Mathieu d'Alcon says they are to send brothers to take him for treatment." Simon stood up slowly as the carpenter climbed on Mathieu's donkey. "It is not safe for you to stay here," he said to Friar Mathieu. "The people know you were part of the procession and may blame you for what happened." Mathieu shook his head. "No one will hurt me. Go along now." Simon jumped into the saddle and spurred his palfrey to a trot. Thierry rode beside him. "Those two didn't throw anything," Thierry said.