God forbid! thought Simon.
Sordello came back with a Venetian man-at-arms, who touched the brim of his polished kettle-helmet respectfully.
"This sergente has a message for you from His Serenity, the doge, Your Signory."
"Let him tell it."
Simon's command of the Venetian dialect was not good enough to follow what the man in the kettle-helmet said, and to make it harder, he spoke in what appeared to be an embarrassed mumble.
"What did he say, Sordello?"
"Forgive me, Your Signory," said Sordello. "The message may offend you. I will repeat it only if you wish it."
"What did he say?" said Simon again in a tight voice.
"The doge says you are to wait in quarters of your own choosing until the ambassadors from Tartary are ready to travel. At that time he will place them in your keeping. Until then you are to trouble him no more, unless you are a very good swimmer."
Simon felt rage boil up within him. He clenched his fists and fought it down.