Simon's actions followed instantly on his thoughts. "Cessi!" he shouted, hoping the Venetians would understand him.
Now all eyes were turned toward him. The muscles of his belly tightened as he cast about in his mind for the right thing to do.
The hands of the Venetians hesitated on their crossbows as they recognized their master.
"De Pirenne, de Puys, the rest of you. Make our men put down their crossbows."
But just as Simon spoke, the Armenian strangling Sordello gave another turn to his bow, and the old bravo gagged and gasped.
Simon realized that if he drew his scimitar, the room would be a charnel house in moments. He approached the Armenian nearest him, spreading his hands to show their emptiness. He prayed that the man, whose bow and arrow was aimed at his chest, would not see how those outstretched hands were trembling.
In his strongest voice he said, "Hold your arrow!" hoping the man would understand his tone. As he spoke, he firmly grasped the arrow near its head and pushed it aside. His heart thudded, and he could almost feel that steel tip stabbing into his chest. And how bare was his back to the crossbow quarrels!
The Armenian took a step to the side and let Simon pass. Simon let out a deep breath of relief. As he stepped forward, the soles of his boots slid a little. The floor, he realized, must be slippery with spilled wine.
Now he was facing the man who was murdering Sordello. A vagrant thought struck Simon: I do not like Sordello. I would not mind if the Armenian killed him. Why risk my life for him?
Because a good seigneur is loyal to his men, the answer came at once.