Without trying to defend himself, Simon described the disturbance.
"Could you not control the rabble?" de Verceuil growled, and turned to take a position beside the Tartars' sedan chair.
Simon's face burned, and his hands trembled as he stared after de Verceuil.
When they passed the yellow stone building, Simon looked up and saw the blond man still there on the roof. The man was staring down at the Tartars with that same burning look he had thrown at Simon, but there were no weapons in the hands that gripped the battlements.
Simon heard a slapping sound and an angry cry. He turned to see de Verceuil, his right cheek smeared brown.
God's death! Someone threw shit at him! And hit him right in the face.
The cardinal, his face distorted as if he were about to vomit, was staring at the stained hand with which he had just wiped his cheek.
There was laughter from the crowd, mixed with angry cries of "Bestioni! Creatures from hell!"
For an instant Simon felt laughter bubbling up to his lips, but cold horror swept all amusement away as he sensed what was about to happen.
De Verceuil turned to the nearest crossbowmen, who had not suppressed their own smiles.