He reached under the blanket that covered her, and she shrank away from his hand. "Forgive me," he said. "I mean no harm." Without looking at her, and hardly touching her, he managed to loosen the rope around her chest so that it fell to the ground. She stepped out of the loop, and it slid away from her. She looked up and saw John coil the rope and tie it to his saddle. His face was reddened and his mouth compressed with anger. "It is useless to try to outrun a Tartar on horseback," said the priest. "They are like centaurs. What is your name, child?" As she told him, Rachel felt a glimmering of hope. The priest had spoken to John in his own language, and the Tartar seemed to have some respect for him. At least he was no longer trying to drag her away. "I am Friar Mathieu d'Alcon," said the white-bearded priest. "What does this man want with you?" Rachel felt a blush burn her face. "He has lain with me, and he paid money to me and Madama Tilia," Rachel said, barely able to choke out the admission of her shame. "Now he is leaving Orvieto, and he wants to take me with him." Friar Mathieu sighed and shook his head. "And so young. Jesus, be merciful." He turned to John and spoke to him in a soft, reasonable voice. Rachel sensed that the priest was chiding the Tartar gently. John's answer was a series of short phrases, shrill with anger. He finished by slicing the air with his hand in a gesture of flat refusal. Rachel's heart grew heavy with despair. "He will not listen to me," said the friar. "He thinks he has a right to take you. His customs are not ours." "But you are a priest. Does he not have to do what you tell him?" "Sometimes he does what I tell him to, because he _is_ a Christian, and I have been his companion and confessor for some years. But he is more Tartar than Christian, and Tartars keep many women." Rachel's limbs turned to ice. "Does he think he owns me?" Colder than the rain pouring down on her was the terror of being torn from the few friends she had, to be used for pleasure by a man who could not even speak to her. She put her hands to her face and started to sob heavily. A burst of loud laughter from John made her look up. At first she thought he was laughing at her tears, but he was pointing at Cassio's dangling body. Still chuckling, he said something to Friar Mathieu. "He says that man used to be the stud bull hereabouts. Now he is dead beef." Rachel shook her head. "He has no pity for Cassio--nor for me." Filled with revulsion, she thought she would rather die than spend the rest of her life with that brute. Friar Mathieu looked off into the distance. "That is how it is with the Tartars." Rachel shuddered. To John, Cassio was just a bundle of rags to be laughed at, and she was a plaything to be dragged through the world. "Please help me get away," she begged Friar Mathieu. "I think I will kill myself if I have to stay with him."