"Enough of your damned complaining!" a deep voice boomed. The flap of the tent flew open, letting in a blast of chill air, and Cardinal de Verceuil strode in. Terror raced through Rachel. She quickly dropped a quilted blanket over the chest containing her treasure.
De Verceuil threw back the fur-trimmed hood of his heavy woolen cloak and, though his words had been for the Venetian archers, glared at Rachel accusingly. She felt herself trembling. He was dressed in bright red, but like a soldier, not like a man of the Church. He wore a heavy leather vest over his scarlet tunic, and calf-high black leather boots.
God help me, what is he going to do to me?
Sordello, the capitano of the Tartars' guards, followed the cardinal into the tent. His lopsided grin was as frightening as the cardinal's angry stare. His eyes narrowed, and Rachel felt her face burn as he looked her up and down.
"Out!" Sordello snapped at the two Venetian crossbowmen. After they were gone, the tent flap opened still another time, and Friar Mathieu hobbled in, leaning on his walking stick.
"We do not need you," de Verceuil growled in his French-accented Italian.
"John needs me," said Friar Mathieu. "To translate for him. And I think Rachel needs me too."
"Stupid savage should have learned Italian by now," said Sordello.
Ah, you are very brave, capitano, insulting him in a language he does not understand, thought Rachel contemptuously.
De Verceuil glowered at Friar Mathieu.