Blood of Jesus! He must have come here to kill the Tartars.
Terrified people had opened a circle around the white-robed man, and as he moved toward the front of the cathedral the open space moved with him.
"Stop!" Simon cried.
Baring greenish-looking teeth in a snarl, the man swiveled his shaggy head toward Simon, then immediately rushed at him.
He's crazy, Simon thought, a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He crouched, holding his sword out before him, diagonally across his chest.
"Do not kill him!" boomed a deep voice that Simon recognized as de Verceuil's.
The man with the dagger hesitated now, just out of reach of Simon's sword.
Am I to risk my life to keep this madman alive?
But de Verceuil's demand made sense. They must try to find out who sent the man.
Simon took a deep breath. He had practiced sword fighting innumerable times, but only twice in his life had he come up against an armed man with a look in his eyes that said he was willing to kill.