Simon followed his pointing finger and saw a gray mass spreading out into the field near one of the city's gates, flowing around cottages and groves of trees. It appeared to be a great crowd of several thousand citizens. Fully alert now, Simon heard a dull roar, like the hum of a swarm of bees, that sounded decidedly hostile. He felt a twinge of fear. "Get your helmets on, the three of you," Charles snapped. "Set an example for the rest, or may the devil carry you away!" The three commanders slowly and sullenly pulled on their helmets, which had been hanging down their backs from straps under their chins. The manner of the three marshals toward Count Charles shocked Simon. If these were the leaders, what In God's name could the rank and file be like? _Any one of my Venetian archers or the Tartars' Armenian guards would be worth a dozen of these._ As the army of Anjou, with Charles and Simon and the three marshals in the lead, advanced slowly, Simon noticed that six or so men, several hundred paces in front of the shouting citizens, were walking to meet them. In a short time the small delegation stood before Count Charles, blocking his path. Charles raised his arm, and the knights behind him shouted the order to halt down the line. How would Count Charles deal with the representatives of an unfriendly populace, Simon wondered. This should be interesting. He might learn something. The count turned to Dietrich von Regensburg, his third commander. "I want a troop of the Burgundian pikemen up here now. Surround these fellows." Von Regensburg, a knight with hard blue eyes, a flattened nose, and a huge jaw, saluted and swung his dun horse around to ride back to the long line of men-at-arms following Charles and his knights. Anjou's order made Simon uneasy. Why try to frighten these Romans? Would it not be better if he could enter the city with their approval? Then he beckoned Simon to bring his horse up beside him. "No doubt you speak Italian better than any of us. Translate for me." He glowered down his long nose at the Romans who had approached him. "I am Count Charles d'Anjou. I have come here as protector of the city of Rome, at the request of His Holiness, the pope." Simon repeated this. "Rome needs protection only from you!" one of the men shouted. "There is no pope," another called out. "The old one is dead and the new one has not been crowned." Simon could hardly believe his ears. He had heard that Roman citizens were unruly; that was why the pope had moved away from Rome. But the way these men addressed the Count of Anjou, the brother of the king of France--it was unthinkable. It was madness. The count might not understand their words, but the disrespectful tone was unmistakable. Hesitantly, he translated. Charles stared at the six Romans, his swarthy face expressionless.