Spears of destiny

CHAPTER XVIII

THE STORMING OF THE WALLS

The capture of Galata permitted the Crusaders to break the chain which guarded the entrance to the Golden Horn, and the next morning the Venetian fleet sailed triumphantly into the sheltered waters of the port of the Imperial City. Constantinople was now definitely cut off from communication by sea, but as much could not be said for the land blockade established by the host. Boniface led his battalions around the head of the Golden Horn to the hill which rises above its waters opposite the imposing bulk of the Palace of Blachernae, that forward-jutting bastion at the junction of the land walls with the barriers protecting the Golden Horn frontage of the city.

It was impossible for the Crusaders to attempt to hem in the capital. Their numbers were wholly inadequate to the task of warding the line of the land walls stretching for three leagues from the Golden Horn to the shore of the Marmora. The best that Boniface could do was to concentrate his attack upon one section of the walls, and the manifest course for him to follow was to select a section adjoining the scene of the marine operations of his allies. There was also to be considered the circumstance that the walls surrounding the Palace and quarter of Blachernae, strong though they were, lacked the outer bulwark which the great moat provided for the walls that ran southwest ward from the adjoining Palace of the Parphyrogenitus. This ditch, 61 feet broad and from 80 to 50 feet deep, scarped and counter-scarped with masonry, would have required the undisturbed efforts of an army to fill or bridge over.

As a matter of fact, the position of the host was anything but an enviable one. The Venetians on their ships were safe because of the total collapse of the Imperial navy. But the Crusaders ashore soon discovered that while they were besieging Constantinople, none the less was Constantinople besieging them. So frequent were the alarms, outfalls and forays that it became necessary for the host to fortify their camp, for the vast numbers of the Greeks enabled the enemy to advance simultaneously from three or four gates and from the open country as well. The collection of provisions was thwarted, and as the days went by the confidence of the Greeks increased.

But there was no slackening of determination on the part of the leaders of the host. On the morning of Thursday, July 17, 1203, ten days after the seizure of Galata, they launched their crucial effort. Boniface, with the men of Champagne and the Burgundians, mounted guard over the camp, whilst Count Baldwin led the other divisions to assail the walls between the Gate of Blachernae and the Golden Horn, and the fleet of the Venetians attacked the walls covering the quarter of the Petrion that lay between the Palace of Blachernae and the Gate of Platea on the side of the port.

The comrades were riding out from the camp to seek places in the assaulting columns, when they were hailed by Villehardouin.

"With your favour, Messers," he said. "The Marquis Boniface sends word by me to ask if you will remain at his side for the nonce. It may be that he will have need of messengers to pass betwixt the fleet and the shore, and seeing that you are known to the Doge he would rather have you do this service than others."

"We will serve him right gladly, Lord Marshal, thus or otherwise," rejoined Hugh.

"Then follow me."

Villehardouin led them to the brow of the hill in front of the camp, overlooking the valley, on the farther side of which rose the walls of Blachernae, and the waters of the Golden Horn. From this point Boniface and a group of attendant lords and knights watched the development of the attack. The comrades could see the whole panorama of the action spread out beneath them—the line of the Venetian fleet, full half a league from wing to wing, bearing down upon the harbour walls, and the phalanxes of knights and sergeants on foot, advancing toward the land walls, carrying with them wide scaling ladders that two men abreast might climb and hide-covered mantlets to protect the climbers against arrows, stones and the dreaded Greek fire.

The sun was shining brightly, and the warm air was filled with hurtling missiles from the mangonels, petraries and ballistæ, which were used in hundreds by both sides. Men were falling continually on the walls and amongst the ranks of the Crusaders, but many more were lost by the attackers than by the defenders. The shouts of the combatants came faintly across the intervening distance.

"Look, Matteo," said Hugh. "Who are those tall, bearded men with axes who hold the wall so manfully?"

"They are no less than countrymen of yours," returned Matteo with a laugh. "They are the Varangian Guard of the Emperor, and those few who are not Englishmen are Danes or mayhap Russians. And there is one you should note especially, Hugh. The officer in full armour with the scarlet surcoat and the winged helm. He is Sir Cedric Halcroft, brother to your neighbour, the Lord of Blancherive, commander of the Varangians—Great Acolyth is his Court title."

Hugh's eyes were fastened upon the far-off figure. So that was Edith's father! She seemed nearer with the thought, and his gaze shifted across the miles of house-roofs beyond the walls, as he speculated in what nook or corner she might be hidden. It was difficult to understand that he had come at last to the threshold of her new home, so many long, long leagues from Crowden Wood.... He looked up to meet Matteo's quizzical smile.

"You spoke, comrade?" he asked.

"Our people have two ladders on the wall. See! To the left of the gate. By Our Lady! Do but watch them swarm up! Ay, naught shall stop them! Brave hearts! A-aah!"

A huge stone rolled down the close-packed ladder and swept the rungs clean. All that it left was a heap of shattered bodies and splintered timbers.

"But they try again," exclaimed Hugh excitedly. "Beyond the round tower! There are three ladders placed—no, four! Others are coming. Mark how our archers shoot! I would we had a company of men like Ralph. Then—St. Cuthbert, but that is too bad!"

A petrary farther down the wall had jerked a stone fairly into another crowded ladder, which, in overturning, had upset a second one.

"It is those cursed Englishmen of yours," said Matteo gloomily. "The Greeks would never fight like that. There are no men-at-arms in the world better than the Varangian Guard."

"So much the more glory for us if we vanquish them," replied Hugh. "You are impatient, comrade. Ay, by St. James, 'tis so! We have the wall! We have won!"

There was a murmur of comment in the group surrounding Boniface. What had begun to seem impossible was actually happening under their eyes. A dozen or more of the assailants were on the wall, their swords clashing on the axes of the sturdy Varangians. The ladders behind them creaked with hurrying reinforcements; they had almost cleared the curtain between two towers. But in the very moment of victory the scarlet surcoat of Sir Cedric appeared in the ranks of the Varangians. The defence tensed, contracted and pushed back the invaders. The Varangian axes rose and fell resistlessly; the curtain was reconquered; one by one the Crusaders were thrust over the battlements or slain.

Undaunted by the defeat, the attacking battalions of the host recoiled only long enough to secure fresh ladders and mantlets. Then, shouting their war-cries, they returned to the hazardous assault of those mighty walls, beside whose massy cliffs men looked insignificant as flies. But a look of deep concern clouded the face of the Marquis of Montferrat.

"I like it not, Messers," he said uneasily. "We have lost many good knights, and naught gained thereby. Messer Hugh, I prithee take boat to Messer Dandolo. Tell him that we of the host have done all that men may, and unless his people can exert some diversion in our favour it is like to go hard with us."

"Ay, Lord Marquis," answered Hugh, and saluting with his lance, he rode off with Matteo to the basin behind the hill where certain of the smaller craft of the Venetians were beached. One of these he secured, together with the necessary shipmen, and, leaving Ralph in charge of their horses, the comrades bade the mariners row them down the Golden Horn to the fleet.

The ships and galleys were drawn so close to the shore that the boarding-parties on the flying-bridges which were rigged from the mast-heads were able to cross lances with the Greeks behind the battlements of the towers. But notwithstanding the clamour of the fighting and the volumes of arrows and other missiles, the Venetians were no farther forward in their project of seizing the harbour walls than were the Crusaders on the landward side. So much Hugh and Matteo saw for themselves in their progress behind the line of the fleet.

They found Dandolo on the prow of his galley Pilgrim, with the gonfalon of St. Mark beside him. Despite the burden of the day and the weight of his full armour, the gaunt, white face of the Doge gave no sign of fatigue, fear or other emotion. He stood serene amidst all the uproar and confusion, looking away over the masts and the city walls, seeming to scrutinise some vision that was only for him to see.

He received the comrades courteously, and heard their message without comment.

"I warned the lords of the host that we should risk failure if we divided our forces," was all he said when Hugh had finished. "But they would insist that your people could not fight to advantage on shipboard. Now it is for us to save the situation. Messers, I crave your attendance. Do you follow where I lead, and after, if there be question amongst the lords, tell them Dandolo did not fear to risk all for victory."

He summoned his officers to his side with one masterful gesture.

"Signori, so far our attack hath failed of its purpose," he said calmly. "The lords of the host have called upon us to relieve them. It is not enough to work the engines and exchange thrusts from the boarding bridges. Run the galleys ashore at the foot of the walls and set up the scaling-ladders."

The order was repeated from ship to ship of the line, and the oars urged the galleys closer. Ship after ship ran her bow into the mud of the bank or berthed beside the shallow wharves that stood in front of gates in the walls. The Pilgrim was the first to take ground, and Dandolo, with an agility almost unbelievable in a man of his age, caught hold of a rope that hung over the bowsprit and leaped ashore.

"Bring on the gonfalon," he called to his standard-bearer. "Let the Lion of St. Mark wave beside me."

A cry of amazed protest went up from the Venetian captains. Riniero Buondelmonti, one of the Vice-Admirals, ran to the prow of the Pilgrim and begged the Doge to return on board.

"You bear the fate of Venice on your shoulders, Magnificence," he pleaded. "Bethink you before it is too late. Without you we are lost."

"Without victory the Republic will be lost indeed," returned Dandolo firmly. "I have led you so far, Signori, for all my years. Now do you come at least as far, and the Greeks will see that you are people who may not be scorned."

The galley next in line to the Pilgrim was slow to move up to the foot of the walls, and when Dandolo saw this, his dim eyes blazed with rage. He ran to the edge of the bank, heedless of the bolts and arrows that hissed and spat around him, and shouted to the vessel's master:

"Come hither to my side or I will do justice on you with my own sword! Is this the time to tarry when the Republic is at stake?"

The gonfaloniere beside him waved the standard overhead, so that the crews of the shipping might see where it stood by the walls, and a wave of enthusiasm possessed the Venetians. Officers who had fought half-heartedly, holding that it was impossible for sailors afloat to capture walls on land, now plucked up their courage and followed the lead of the Doge. The ships spewed forth men by thousands. Ladders were reared against the walls; the flying-bridges were flung out from the mast-heads so close that the bolder spirits might jump from their ends upon the battlements. The archers, slingers and engineers at the machines worked tirelessly to keep down the hail of missiles which came from the walls. And through it all, Dandolo stood by the Gate of the Diplophanarion, guarded by the shields of Hugh and Matteo, overseeing everything with his wellnigh sightless eyes, directing and controlling the progress of the attack.

The battle which had been waged so languidly of a sudden flared into a conflagration of the utmost violence. The Greeks on the walls were bewildered by the abrupt change. As the attack waxed bolder and more desperate, their bewilderment became panic. Scores of ladders were raised from the shore; gigantic cats or rams made their appearance and commenced to pick at the foundations, already jarred by the blows of stones from the catapults on the ships. There were no Varangians here to brace the resistance. The defence had been entrusted to troops of the Scholarii, or Noble Guard,—a very different body from the Varangians,—and the train-bands of the city, together with certain mercenary corps. These fought well enough so long as the combat went their way, but courage deserted them at first sight of the banner of St. Mark waving on one of the towers.

The Venetians themselves were surprised at the ease of their victory, and once they had gained a footing on the walls, they pushed ahead at will. Twenty-five towers were taken; the gate was thrown open and the Doge entered the city. The Greeks fled before them. From the streets that led away from the walls there came the wailing and lamentation of the people, who feared the ruthless hand of an enemy and the tortures of the sack. But there was only brief opportunity for looting. The Venetians were still exploring the possibilities of the warehouses which filled the water-front streets when the look-outs posted on towers gave warning of the approach of fresh bodies of Greeks.

So soon as word had reached the Emperor Alexius at Blachernae of the success of the Venetians, he had withdrawn the Varangian Guard and other bodies of picked troops from the land walls and hastened as fast as he could to repair the situation on the Golden Horn. After leaving enough men to hold in check the disheartened attacks of the Crusaders, he was yet able to bring against the Venetians an overwhelming body of tried troops. But in Dandolo he had to reckon with a captain who was second to none in the wiles of warfare.

The Doge heard of the approach of the Greek reinforcements with perfect equanimity.

"Bid the men withdraw to the wall and the towers," he directed. "But first they are to fire the houses in their front betwixt them and the Greeks."

The wind was blowing across the Golden Horn on the backs of the Venetians and drove the flames southward into the faces of the Greeks. Their advance was halted immediately, and their efforts diverted to the essential task of checking the fire. But notwithstanding all the toil of the troops, assisted by the citizens, who were fearful of the destruction of the entire city, it burned over an area of many blocks on the waterfront of the Petrion and wrought untold damage before it was finally stayed by the dying of the wind and the wrecking of buildings in its path. It was the first of many scourges which were to descend upon the Imperial City for its sins, a mere foretaste of the doom to come. But it was no small tribute to the splendour of the New Rome that even those of its attackers who were obliged in self-protection to give it to the torch experienced a sensation of remorseful compunction at the immolation of so much that was beautiful and worth while.

Both Hugh and Matteo were grieved by the spectacle of warehouses, monasteries, churches and mansions, to say nothing of hundreds of meaner buildings, disappearing in clouds of smoke and pillars of flame. They stood behind Dandolo on the tower above the Gate of Petrus, waiting to take from him a report of his operations to Boniface. He brooded over the scene of destruction he had created, remote, unimpassioned, the incarnate spirit of judgment.

"It awes you, Messers?" he said suddenly, stretching out one hand toward the sea of flames.

"Ay, Lord Doge," answered Hugh.

Matteo could not find words. His artist's soul was enthralled by the horrible magnificence of the picture.

"There are as many houses burning here mayhap as there are in all Venice, Pisa or Florence," continued Dandolo detachedly. "Well may you be awed, young sirs. It is seldom given to us to witness Divine retribution administered to the culpable, yet I say to you that that which you see here is just so surely the vengeance of God as though St. Mark himself had descended from Heaven to scatter brands. Woe to the wicked city! Woe to the oppressor! Woe to the selfish! Woe to the monarch who set pleasure and luxury on a pedestal, and neglected the well-being of those he was charged to protect!"

He was silent a moment. Then his hand struck out again in a gesture of denunciation.

"This that you see here is the healing of a sore, for it is often necessary in healing evil to sweep clean the seat of the affliction, in order that healthiness may take root and grow. We will purge Constantinople, and make it whole. We——"

A messenger panted up the stairs of the tower.

"Lord Doge! Lord Doge!"

"Well?"

"A messenger from the lords of the host. The Emperor Alexius is issuing from the gates of the land walls. A hundred thousand men march with him. The host are surrounded, and in sore peril. They cry your aid and counsel."

"Say to them—— But hold!" He turned to Hugh and Matteo. "Messers, you will favour me by carrying the message. Tell the Lord Boniface that I am coming. They have but to stand firm. The Greeks fear us."

They left him on the tower despatching orders to captains, still standing on his feet in full armour as he had stood all day since dawn, wearing the mantle of his ninety-two years like a demi-god.

"Is he human?" asked Matteo with a shiver.

"Truly I know not," answered Hugh. "I could hope he is not, for in sooth we are in a sad plight. The day goes badly, after all."

CHAPTER XIX

HOW THE FALSE ALEXIUS FLED

The fate of the host hung poised in the balance for several hours that afternoon whilst the sun sank slowly in the west. When Hugh and Matteo reached the camp the leaders were in desperate straits to know what to do to avert being submerged by the apparently endless armies of enemies who continued to pour out of the gates in the land walls. Thousands of armoured horsemen, tens of thousands of steel-clad footmen and scores of thousands of light-armed skirmishers, archers and slingers were forming their array in the plains north of the Gate of St. Romanus. It was the supreme effort of the Emperor—he whom the Crusaders called the False Alexius to distinguish him from the youth whose cause they had espoused. Stung by the menace of the Venetians' success on the Golden Horn walls, he had determined to put his fortune to the touch in one smashing blow at the army of the Crusaders, without whose aid, he knew, the Venetians would be helpless.

His strategy met with instant success. Dandolo was obliged to relinquish his grip on the Golden Horn walls and throw every man who could be spared from the crews of the fleet into the camp of the Crusaders. The wise old Doge was quick to understand that this was no time for half-measures. He was loath to abandon the fruits of the day's fighting, but he knew they would be useless to him if his allies were crushed. And what had been won that day, he reasoned, might be won another day, providing the enemy was thwarted in this new attack. So the Venetians moved to the aid of the Crusaders fast on the heels of the messengers who announced their coming. Hugh and Matteo had scarce delivered their assurances of succour when the galleys were spied rowing up the Golden Horn.

Upon Dandolo's landing, he found the Crusaders already heartened by the news of the successes he had won. They had reaped nothing but losses by their efforts, and it encouraged them to know that the Venetians had disproved the traditional impregnability of those tremendous walls.

"It goeth sore against our pride, Lord Doge, that we have had to call upon you so and compel you to abandon that which you have won right hardily," Boniface greeted him. "But you may see before you the powers that move against us."

Dandolo's eyes were not equal to spanning the distance which separated the camp from the Greek army, but his uncanny knack of envisaging a situation which he could not see permitted him to gauge the relative facts. One division of the Crusaders, commanded by the Lord Henry, brother of Count Baldwin of Flanders, were mounting guard over the machines erected by the host in front of the Gate of Blachernae. The remaining six battalions were formed in front of the palisades of the camp—the archers and cross-bowmen in front; behind them the mounted knights and sergeants; and in the rear of all the sergeants and squires on foot. One division of 800 knights who had lost their horses fought likewise afoot, being held in reserve as a force to be used to close any gap or seize upon an unlooked-for advantage.

The Doge conned over the arrangements in silence, and then asked for the disposition of the Greeks.

"There are some forty divisions of them, Lord Doge," returned Boniface. "And this is without counting a foison of their people who have but now issued forth from the Gate of Blachernae and are assailing the guards upon our machines."

"Do they prevail against the Lord Henry?"

"Not so, by God's grace. We hold our own. An we made a sharp assault upon them I think we might do them great hurt."

"Nay, do not quit your ranks," answered Dandolo sharply. "If you take my counsel you will not stir a step from this place where you stand. For know, lords, if you do move hence it is likely that you will be swallowed up in the Greeks as a sinking galley is swallowed by the waves of the sea. Never before this did so few people venture against so many, and I advise you with all the wit that I have to do nothing to make it easier for the Greeks to encompass you round about. Bide here, and with such help as my people can give, it may be we may withstand the enemy until they weary of their efforts."

The barons of the host all approved of Dandolo's suggestion, more especially because he assured them in no uncertain words that he was determined to cast in his lot with them no matter what happened. The host joined its ranks in close order and stood motionless whilst the Greeks drew nearer. Old men-at-arms who had fought on many fields, at Acre and Ascalon with Lion-Heart, watched that approaching horde with wondering eyes. More than a hundred thousand strong, the Greeks spread over hill and plain and menaced the host on every side, except toward the Golden Horn. Thousands of other Greeks watched the manoeuvres of their brethren from the walls, expecting to witness the final humiliation of the invaders whom they looked upon as barbarians.

But there was something forbidding in the quiet, vigilant ranks of the Crusaders which quenched the ardour of the attackers. The battalions on the hill stood firm in their positions. When columns of Greek horsemen galloped to the front and sought to draw them into separate combats they lowered their lances to meet a charge—and remained where they were. Perceiving that they could not lure the Crusaders into breaking formation, the Greeks next sought to induce them to advance as a body. The forty divisions of the enemy surged forward, trumpets blowing, cymbals clashing and drums thudding. Hundreds of banners waved. The Greek archers darkened the sky with their arrow-flights. But still the Crusaders clung to the hill and refused to be drawn down to the plain. Their archers and crossbowmen answered the discharges of the Greeks, but that was as far as they would go.

The confidence of the Greeks seemed to wane as twilight came on. Several times they made preparations to deliver a charge, but when they were about to come to the shock they drew off. Those bristling lances, those tall, armoured men on the gigantic horses of Western Europe, exerted a grim spell upon the Greek chivalry, and when the Greek footmen saw that their lords would not endure a charge, they, too, weakened and held back. With the gathering darkness the Greeks began a slow withdrawal toward the farther gates in the land-walls, and Dandolo and Boniface gave order for the host to follow them. Slowly and cautiously, the Crusaders and Venetians advanced from the camp, gained the foot of the hill and passed out upon the plain. But now the Greeks refused to come forward. They followed their Emperor in precipitate flight.

There was no elation in the Crusaders' camp. The men of the host were too weary and dispirited from their toil and the loss of many brave comrades. The Venetians nourished the bitter memory of the victory they had been compelled to sacrifice. Moreover, no man could be sure what the morrow would bring forth. It might be that the Greeks would come out again with still greater numbers and force battle with disastrous results to the host. And to crown all, there was but little food for the hungry men. Provisions were running low, and the rations served out consisted of a handful of mouldy flour and a slice of bacon.

Matteo summed up the situation in a single sentence.

"We are come hither to conquer," he said, "and we are now come to the point that we must conquer or perish. For we cannot go back."

None disputed him, and many thought that he was over-confident in presuming they had left even a chance of conquest. But in the night whilst the tired warriors of the host slept in their tents on the hill over against Blachernae, a panic was let loose behind the bulwarks which had hurled back each assault by daylight. The comrades were awakened in the morning by loud shouts and hurrying feet.

"Is it an attack?" exclaimed Hugh, struggling into his hauberk.

"Belike," returned Matteo. "We must——"

The curtain of the tent was torn away as Ralph stumbled in.

"A miracle, Messers," he cried. "The False Alexius is fled. Messengers have come from the city. The Emperor Isaac, he that is father to our Lord, the Young Alexius, is made Emperor, and he hath invited the barons to come to him with his son."

The comrades stared at him unbelieving.

"Nay, Ralph, you dream," said Matteo, shaking his head. "Or mayhap some camp scoundrel hath——"

"Were you struck in the fighting yesterday?" demanded Hugh, afraid lest his follower might be suffering from some unknown injury.

But Ralph denied stoutly these and other imputations.

"Do you but come with me to the Lord Marshal's pavilion, and you will see that I speak no more than truth," he declared. "For he hath the messengers there, entertaining them the while the Marquis Boniface and the Doge deliberate on their words."

He assisted the comrades in buckling on their armour, and then they hurried with him to Villehardouin's quarters. There they found full confirmation of his news.

"The varlet hath put it straightly when he calls it a miracle," said the Marshal soberly. "I have been low in my mind these many hours past, fair sirs. But now we are safe from all trouble. These Greek lords within—" he waved his hand towards three Greeks dressed with the regal magnificence which was the common standard of the nobility of Constantinople, who sat in his pavilion eyeing curiously the motley throng of knights and Venetian shipmasters who pressed about the entrance—"are come bearing an invitation for the barons to enter the city with Alexius the Younger. It seems there hath been a revolution over-night. The False Alexius fled under cover of darkness with what treasure he could carry and those who would accompany him. The partisans of our Lord Alexius went to the Prisons of Anemas and there released the blind Emperor Isaac and him they crowned and he now awaits us in Blachernae."

"I will vow a prime relic to the shrine of St. Cuthbert of Crowden for this aid which Heaven hath vouchsafed us," quoth Hugh.

"And I one to St. Remi at Rheims," asserted Villehardouin. "But nay, I may not. Good St. Remi hath been ever the patron of my house, but I bethink me that on retiring last night, I repeated St. Denis his orison, which hath been cited to me as a prayer of great worth when danger threatens: 'Lord God, grant that we may despise the prosperity of this world, and not stand in fear of any adversity.' It is in my mind that St. Denis heard my words, more by reason mayhap that I never appealed to him before. I will build me a chapel in his honour at Villehardouin that he may have more merit in Champagne."

"It is a sad pity that we may not take Constantinople by assault, if many such vows are to be made," said Matteo, laughing. "For it possesseth a vaster store of relics than did Jerusalem, before Saladin captured the Holy City. But see who approaches!"

Winding through the streets of the camp came an imposing procession, including the chief barons of the host, the principal churchmen, and the leaders of the Venetians. In front of all rode Boniface and Dandolo, with the Young Alexius between them, his dark, sullen face for once lighted up with savage joy.

"To horse, Messers," exclaimed Villehardouin. "We are to enter the city, it seems."

The comrades fell in with the Marshal's company, congratulating themselves on their luck in being included in the small escort, as the Greeks had stipulated that the main strength of the Crusaders should remain without the walls, urging with evident sense, that to admit so many armed foreigners would be tempting the self-restraint of both sides, in view of the hostilities just concluded.

The column descended the hill, crossed the valley before the walls and entered the Gate of Blachernae. Hugh stared around him with unaffected wonder. The fortifications were even more imposing at close range than when seen from a distance. Wall rose behind wall. They left the gateway in the outer wall only to traverse a series of courtyards which brought them to a second and higher barrier. Beyond this was situated the Palace of Blachernae, itself a fortress, built upon a terrace, partly artificial and buttressed by masonry, girded by an enceinte that dwarfed all adjoining structures and embracing within its precincts churches, barracks, storehouses, baths and pleasure-fields.

The way along which the Crusaders rode was lined by files of the Varangian Guard, immense, upstanding men in complete mail, leaning upon their huge, double-headed axes. Two out of three, Hugh noted, were of the same blonde Saxon type as Ralph. They bore themselves with the conscious pride of men who know their own worth, and met the glances of the Frankish knights with level eyes.

On the walls above were other soldiers, Greeks who shouted and sang as the Young Alexius passed by. In the windows of the buildings were many ladies, gaily dressed and debonair, who waved their hands and flung down flowers to the knights.

Hugh let the reins lie loose on Beosund's crupper, and raised his eyes to study each fair face. Time and again hope leaped high in his heart, but always disappointment smothered it. Edith was nowhere. Once he was all but certain she had smiled from an overhanging balcony; again he saw one like her on a terrace crammed with beauty. He could have sworn for an instant that her golden head peered from behind a group of dark Armenians. Each time he had to own himself mistaken.

"Be not so disturbed, comrade," said Matteo softly beside him. "Remember that she whom you seek knows not of your coming. Also, it is likely that all the great ladies of the court will be awaiting us in the Emperor's Hall of Audience."

Hugh turned gratefully to the jongleur. He had not spoken of what was irking him, yet Matteo had read his thoughts and known when to drop the needed word of sympathy. A lion in battle, Matteo was gentle and kindly as a woman in ministering to a friend.

"It is feckless of me to chafe so," Hugh admitted. "But I have a fear that the maid has been harmed by this idle court life—and I grew up with her as with a sister."

Matteo smiled discreetly.

"As the daughter of the Grand Acolyth," he replied, "she will be one of the principal dames of the Court. Her father's office is to follow the Emperor wherever he goes. Therefore she should be in close attendance upon the Empress."

The cavalcade was halted presently in the outer courtyard of the Imperial residence. The lords and knights dismounted, formed their ranks anew, and under the guidance of Court chamberlains, marched through the inner courtyard, paved with marble and decorated with flowering trees and spouting fountains, up a broad flight of tesselated steps, past a portico of granite monoliths and so into the Hall of Audience. Hugh caught his breath at the first glimpse of that gorgeous vista.

"May the Virgin aid me!" he stammered. "'Tis as long as a jousting-field!"

Columns of Parian marble, onyx, jasper, malachite, jade, polished granite, supported the lofty roof. The walls and floor were covered with mosaics of contrasting stones, cunningly carved and blended. The effect of the whole was a dazzling perspective of glowing colours, interspersed with portraits of Emperors, Empresses and generals. From the roof hung bronze lamps, supported by golden chains and burning scented oil. At the farther end, on an elevated throne that blazed with jewels, sat the Emperor Isaac, a frail, quavering, white-haired old man, who trembled under the weight of the crown that mocked the contrast of his gaudy vestments with his senile lips and seared-out eyes. His Empress, the Augusta Margaret, sister of King Emeric of Hungary, a stately dame who had been spared the rigours of his captivity, sat on a slightly lower throne beside him. Around them were clustered a brilliant court, and at the doddering Emperor's elbow Hugh marked the scarlet surcoat and winged helm of Sir Cedric. But of Edith he saw no trace amongst the bevy of beautiful ladies who attended the Empress.

The Crusaders, so different in their stained and rusty armour and tattered surcoats from the richness of the Greeks, paused in front of the steps to the throne; and Boniface stood forward with the Young Alexius.

"Fair lord," he said, "behold, we bring back to you your son!"

"Eh? Eh?" mumbled the Emperor. "My—my son? Yes, yes. My son."

One of the group of courtiers behind the Emperor leaned over and whispered in his ear. Hugh nudged Matteo. The courtier was the Cæsar Michael Comnenus.

"Eh? Yes, yes," Isaac continued as Comnenus stepped back. "You have brought my son. I thank you, lords. I have been sorely tried. The majesty of Cæsar's heir hath been set at naught. The wicked have prevailed a while. But God hath—hath——" He seemed to fumble for words and turned the hollow cavities that were his eyes from side to side.—"Where is my son?" he ended querulously.

Alexius knelt on the topmost step of the throne, and kissed his father's limp hand. Neither one of the pair showed any emotion, but they spoke rapidly together in Greek.

"What do they say?" Hugh whispered to Matteo.

"The old Emperor is not such a fool as he looks," returned the jongleur. "He asks what brings these Franks in his son's train, and how much their services cost."

"They find no joy in each other's company," commented Hugh. "Nay, not even the Empress shows pleasure that her son is returned to her safe and whole."

"The Angeloi are a cold-blooded race," replied Matteo. "They have no affection. Fathers murder sons; sons blind fathers. It is all one to them, so be it there are power and luxury for them after the crime. As to the Empress, she is not this youth's mother. He was born of an earlier marriage."

Alexius rose from his knees, and faced the Crusaders.

"Lords of the host," he said in his harsh, unpleasant voice, "my father thanks you by me for the great services you have done him, and he bids me say that he wots well that these services are such that he could not reward you too much an he gave you the whole of his empire. But he craves now that you will permit him to withdraw with the chiefs of the host and his own counsellors that they may devise means whereby all shall be satisfied. And he bids those other Frankish lords and knights here present to take their pleasure as they will during the conclave and to treat his palace as their home."

The Emperor tottered to his feet, and leaning on the arms of his son and Comnenus, who came promptly to his side, led Boniface and Dandolo through a doorway which communicated with the private Imperial apartments. The remaining lords and knights stood about the hall, either talking among themselves or with such of the Greek nobles as understood the lingua franca. Pages appeared with goblets and jars of wine, offering to serve all who were thirsty.

Hugh surveyed the room again, and in despair came to a sudden determination.

"I will present myself to Sir Cedric," he said to Matteo. "Certes, he will know who I am, and can tell me of——"

"Ay, do so, comrade," returned Matteo, smiling merrily. "It may be she is not so far away as it seemeth you."

"I misdoubt she is wed or gone hence," said Hugh gloomily.

He swung his shield to his back, and started to walk toward the dais where Sir Cedric stood in converse with Villehardouin and Count Baldwin. But he had not walked three steps when a silvery voice saluted him.

"By your leave, sir knight! Pray do not haste so! And have you no thought for old friends of the days before you had golden spurs to your heels?"

"Edith!" exclaimed Hugh.

He turned, with a clash of arms, and stared uncomprehendingly at the elegant, slim figure in the clinging silken draperies and high conical headdress. Could this be the Edith he had known? The comrade of boyish escapades, the breeched and jerkined rider of the black mare, the woman-child, hoydenish and demure, creature of tears and smiles? This wondrously beautiful person, with the haughty manner of a princess born to command?

"It is even I, oh, conqueror of Galata!"

"You knew me?" he gasped.

"Ay, verily, sir knight. I waited long for you to step up and greet me, and in the end I cast away my poor pride and sought you, supposing that perchance you had dropped me from your memory."

"I forget you?" said Hugh bewildered. "Nay, Edith. Hast—hast——"

His fingers sought instinctively the place under his hauberk where there nestled—had nestled for two years now—a frayed and soiled little glove.

"Do you seek for somewhat else than memory, Messer Hugh?" she questioned.

"It is a glove—you gave me," answered Hugh stumblingly.

She flushed.

"We will not speak of that now. Hast no curiosity to learn how I heard of you?"

"And Galata? Ay."

"There came one hither in the night—oh, a lady most fair to see, a very queen!—she and her father compassed the downfall of that clown Alexius. When the Empress made us known to one another she asked me if I knew of you. She sang your praises like a jongleur, Hugh. No knight in all the Frankish host to rival you. You must have served her well."

Hugh frowned.

"You mean the Lady Helena Comnena?" he said coldly. "She——"

"Who speaks my name?"

The dark, smiling face of Helena emerged from the nearby circle of courtiers.

"Ha, by the Panagia, 'tis my Lord Hugh! And hast found your old friend, Messer Hugh? Right glad she was of the news I gave her of you! You must come and see me, Hugh. We lodge in the Palace of the Porphyrogenitus beyond the Tower of Anemas. God keep you!" Still smiling, she was gone.

"You saved her from robbers in France, did you not?" asked Edith negligently.

"Ay," said Hugh dully. "She told you that?"

"Even so. Ah, Hugh, I dare wager there are a-many ladies to sing the praises of such a knight!"

Hugh shook his head stiffly.

"You mock me. Before I go hence, may I present to you my comrade, Messer Matteo of Antioch?"

"The jongleur? Ay, that may you! I have heard reports of his skill."

Matteo bowed low before her when Hugh beckoned him forward.

"May the Virgin guard you, lady," said the jongleur. "It is right pleasant for me to meet so staunch a friend of Hugh's—and those who are friends to him are friends to me."

"Is he so true a friend, this Hugh, Messer Matteo?" she asked.

Matteo's face lighted with the glow of an affection that was almost feminine in its intensity.

"He is as true a friend as the Lord God may give to a poor wanderer on this earth," he said simply.

"I hear great things of him," replied Edith. "I would all I heard came from lips like yours. You——"

The trumpets of the Court heralds brayed to announce the return of the Emperor and the chiefs of the host.

CHAPTER XX

TREACHERY

Search as he might, Hugh found no trace of his father in Constantinople. Through Villehardouin he obtained the interest of Boniface and Dandolo, and with their aid he brought his quest to the attention of the Emperor. But the brief audience with the blind Isaac was no more satisfying than his researches in other directions.

"Messer de Chesby, say you?" gabbled the old man. "Hee, hee, hee! Yes, yes, yes! He came hither before misfortune overcame me. I was a power in those days. By the Panagia, but men feared me! An I raised my finger they trembled. I remember I said to him——"

Comnenus, standing vigilantly at the Emperor's elbow, interrupted suavely.

"With favour, Augustus! The English knight asks not what you said to Sir James, but if you know what happened to him."

"I should be right glad to hear what the Augustus was pleased to tell my father," said Hugh curtly.

"Nay, 'twas naught," the Emperor answered hastily. "Some talk of my predecessor on the throne, belike. Men feared me, but they feared Andronicus more! Hee, hee, hee! There was a merry soul for you! And a quaint! He had vast love for the common people, and hate for the nobles! Not a senatorial family but felt his arm. He amassed great wealth, but there was naught to be had of it when I made search. The foul offspring of the Evil One! May the demons rend his limbs! May he broil on hell's coals! May he be in torment for water and shivering with cold! May the Panagia——"

Isaac rocked with emotion. A slight froth gathered on his lips that were drawn tight over gaping yellow teeth.

"Be calm, Augustus," adjured Comnenus. "You will do yourself harm an you yield to this excitement. Messer Hugh, I like not to seem rude, but the Augustus hath suffered much, and he is not overstrong. An you will permit me to suggest——"

"All I seek from the Emperor is his aid in my search," snapped Hugh, conscious of a growing feeling of resentment against this sly, oily creature, so ready of tongue, so elusive of facts.

"The Augustus is only too happy to aid one of his deliverers, Lord Hugh. I do not overstate, I trust, Great Sovereign?"

"Yes, yes—give him my aid—tell him what you please—what matter?" mumbled the Emperor. "I like not to talk of Sir James. I disappeared myself. Hee, hee, hee! Strange things happen to men who disappear."

Comnenus struck a silver bell in token that the audience was over, but Hugh held his ground.

"Hast undertaken, then, to furnish me with a charter from the Emperor certifying to my right to question any and all in Constantinople?" he pressed.

"Ay, Lord Hugh, that may be arranged, an you will. Certes, there will be no difficulty. 'Tis no light task to rearrange the affairs of an Empire brought nigh to ruin, but an you will have patience, you shall have every help we may summon for you."

He raised his hand to strike the gong again, but still Hugh refused to move.

"One question more. What hath become of one Mocenigo, a Venetian renegade who was in the service of the False Alexius?"

"Mocenigo?" fenced Comnenus, blinking owlishly.

"Ay, Andrea Mocenigo," returned Hugh impatiently. "You knew him, Lord Cæsar. He was in your company at Venice."

"Oh, ay, now I remember the fellow," Comnenus agreed quickly. "The name is a common one, fair sir. But the man you mean—yes, I recall him. It is said in Constantinople that he hath fled with the False Alexius. At least, he hath gone hence. Mayhap there were enemies he feared an he had ventured to remain."

"Mayhap," said Hugh drily, and withdrew.

He repeated the conversation to Matteo, as they rode back to the Crusaders' camp, now re-established at Galata.

"There is somewhat strange in all this," assented the jongleur thoughtfully. "Ay, Hugh, Mocenigo was a spy for Venice, and Dandolo did not lie to us—which I do not credit for an instant. And we know that he consorted with Comnenus, who beyond question hath had a considerable hand in this business and is now the chief counsellor of Isaac. To be sure, there is the chance that Mocenigo feared to meet you."

"But why?" returned Hugh. "I like him not, but the man is no coward. And 'tis to be remembered that he hath the friendship of Dandolo. Nay, I see it not. There is more to this than appears on the surface."

During the ensuing weeks, Hugh pressed his search without encouragement. Sir Cedric Halcroft, a bluff, plain-spoken man, in every detail like his brother, the Lord of Blancherive, gave such aid as he could, but said frankly that the quest was hopeless.

"Bethink you, Hugh," he declared kindly, "these many years I have quartered the ground you seek to cover, and I took up the scent when it was still fresh! I talked with men who had seen Sir James in Constantinople, but you will find such scarce to-day. Nobody knew aught of him or where he had gone. Nor is this strange. Constantinople is a vast place, compared to our western cities. It is no uncommon thing for a man—even a great man—to walk forth into its streets and not return. It may be he hath offended some noble or it may be he hath been overcome by a band of robbers or it may be that black magic or witchcraft have been called upon to do away with him. Among so many people who heeds it if one man—a stranger—disappears? There are miles of streets to search, thousands of houses to enter. I wish you all success, and what I may do for you that will I do right joyfully; but I counsel you not to build false hopes."

In the end, Hugh was compelled to agree that Sir Cedric had been right. He visited and questioned the chief officials of the city—the Prefects of the quarters, the Senators and Judges, the commanders of the municipal police; the Patriarch and the lesser clergy; the monks in charge of the rest-house maintained by the Hospitallers, where Crusaders journeying to and from the Holy Land were wont to stay; the officials in charge of the Posts; the asylums and hospitals. Nowhere did he find a hint of evidence to go upon. As Sir Cedric had warned him was probable, he did not even find a single person who professed to having seen his father in Constantinople, seven years before last mid-Lent. He had run up against a blank wall.

And to add to his disappointment he was constrained to the belief that his worst fears about Edith had been realised. He saw her frequently after their first meeting in the Hall of Audience, but they never came any nearer to their old footing. She was capricious, contemptuous, aloof, spontaneously friendly, mischievous, domineering and patronising by turns, but she was never the good comrade of the days in Crowden Wood. It almost seemed to Hugh that she feared he might demand a return to their former comradeship, and in his stubborn pride he adopted an attitude more unyielding than her own. Yet it puzzled him that she should constantly be twitting him on his knight-errantry for Helena Comnena.

The daughter of the Cæsar shared with Edith the attention of the varied Court that grew up about the Young Alexius, who, by reason of his father's infirmity, became the governing force of the Empire. They formed a startling contrast, the dark beauty and the fair; and each had her circle of admirers. When Edith frowned, Helena smiled; and more than once Hugh asked himself why he declined to develop a friendship proffered so openly as Helena's. But some instinct taught him to beware the subtly passionate advances of the Greek.

He would have been miserable, indeed, had it not been for the staunch devotion of Matteo, and the rapid progress of developments which permitted no man to mope over his own troubles. When he had satisfied himself that his search for his father was unavailing, and he was convinced that Edith would have none of him, he made up his mind to push on ahead of the host to Palestine, intending to make inquiry of the Saracens if they knew aught of his father's fate. He was aware that this was a line of investigation which had been worked unsuccessfully hitherto, but in his unsettled state he was eager for anything which promised action.

But Villehardouin, to whom he broached his project, persuaded him to remain.

"It is not alone in selfishness that I say this, Hugh," said the Marshal. "In sooth, I know not what I should do without your cheerful aid and your ready pen. But setting that aside, there are reasons why every lance should remain with the host. Art young, lad, and hast a future before you. This venture of ours is not ended yet. I can say no more—ay, and I know no more. But in any case we are bound to remain here until the Emperor fulfils his treaty with us."

Alexius was then on progress through the Empire, attended by the Marquis Boniface of Montferrat and other lords, both Frankish and Greek, making arrangements with the local governments for the collection of the funds to defray the expenses of his undertakings with the host and showing himself to his subjects. He had made an initial payment toward the 200,000 marks he was pledged for, but thereafter he had fallen short consistently in the sums he had promised to deliver, and in answer to the protest of Boniface and Dandolo he had begged them to remain at Galata until the following spring, offering to provide the necessary provisions for the host and alleging that it would require at least that much time to collect the money he owed them. He also contended that the presence of the host would strengthen him against any disaffection which might be raised by the party of his uncle, the False Alexius, and would render easier the conclusion of the negotiations for the return of the Empire to religious subservience to Rome.

But the effect of the continued presence of the host was exactly the opposite to that which Alexius had anticipated. No two peoples could have been more opposed in their manners and habits than the Greeks and the rugged, impulsive French, Flemish and Italian warriors. One disagreement led to another, the knowledge of the Greeks that they must pay heavier taxes to reward the invaders of their country being no palliative for the misunderstandings that arose. Finally, the resentment of the Greeks flared up in an attempt to massacre the Latin colonists of the commercial and trading quarters within the walls—for the most part Pisans, Genoese, Florentines and other Italians, in no way allied to the French or Venetians.

In the street-fighting which ensued, one of the Latins started a fire near the Golden Horn walls, in the region which had been ravaged by the Venetians during the siege, and, fanned by a strong gale, the flames raged for two days and two nights, sweeping a broad belt of devastation across the city as far as the Marmora shore and narrowly missing the quarter surrounding the Augustaion, including the Great Church of the Divine Wisdom of the Incarnate Word—Justinian's St. Sophia; the Palace of the Senate, the Palace of the Patriarch, the Law Courts and the Palace of the Bucoleon.

The Greeks were frenzied with rage, and the first result of the catastrophe was to cement them all into one firm bond of hatred for the Crusaders, to whom they ascribed all their troubles. The survivors of the Latin colonies, some 15,000 in number, fled across the Golden Horn and took refuge in the camp of the host. Alexius hastened his return to the city, urged on by the news which reached him of the existing situation. He came back apparently more devoted than ever to the cause of his Western friends, but within a week he had changed his outlook completely.

Instead of friendship, pleasant words and free promises, the leaders of the host met with coldness and ill-concealed displeasure when they visited the Palace. More significant still, it began to be difficult to secure the provisions needed for the maintenance of so many men. The money payments dwindled and stopped. The steps taken for raising a force of 10,000 Greeks to assist the Crusaders against the Saracens were abruptly rescinded. The negotiations between the Patriarch and the clergy of the host for the reconciliation of the Greek Church with Rome were dragged out until they became a dawdling bicker. Winter was approaching, and the lords of the host understood that they were facing a new crisis.

So matters stood at the end of November. The barons acted with their accustomed decision. A parliament was summoned and the situation was discussed in open assembly, for no modern republic is more independent and self-governing than was that feudal army. The cardinal principles of its government were that the leaders could act only with the consent of the rank and file and that the majority must always rule. In fact, the expedition was so democratic in character that it must have fallen apart from lack of cohesion and discipline had it not been for the outstanding personality of Dandolo. The barons, who were jealous of one another as equals, were willing to serve him and take his advice, partly because of his age and undoubted wisdom, and partly because he was an independent sovereign, with no feudal position.

It was Dandolo who dominated this parliament at Galata, exactly as he had dominated other gatherings of the host. He waited until the other chiefs had spoken. Then, without rising from his seat, he began:

"Lords, we are again come to a place where two roads divide before us. If we take one we shall leave here, denouncing the Greeks to the world as forsworn and take up our voyage at a time when it is difficult to travel on the sea and when we may not fight in Outremer. If we take the other, we shall call upon the Greeks to say what they mean to do, telling them that if they abide by their oaths we will continue in friendship with them and do all that men may to live in amity, but that if they do not, then shall we war upon them until they admit we are masters."

"How should we advantage ourselves thereby?" questioned a knight.

"We have taken their city once, lords," returned Dandolo coolly. "Certes we may take it again."

"Well spoken! Well spoken, Lord Doge!" applauded the barons. "What is done once may be done a second time! Let the Greeks look to themselves! We have condoned much! A just cause—God will aid us!"

When the clamour had died down Conon de Béthune, the Marshal of Champagne and Miles the Brabant were chosen to represent the host, with three captains of the Venetians to speak for the Doge. As the Ambassadors filed out of the pavilion in which the parliament was held, Villehardouin beckoned to Hugh.

"Art armoured, lad?" he whispered. "'Tis well. Ride with me into Constantinople. I shall be right glad to have another good sword by my side."

Whilst Hugh mounted Beosund, Matteo hurried up and pleaded with the Marshal to take him, too. But Villehardouin was adamant.

"There is naught would please me more, Messer Matteo," he said. "But the only reason I take Hugh is that we may have one amongst the embassy who can write down afterwards what passes. Art ready, lords? Then prick on, and St. Remi guide our way."

The ambassadors rode from Galata, crossed the head of the Golden Horn by the Bridge of the Camels and halted at the Gate of Blachernae. Here, when they announced their purpose, the warders admitted them, but insisted that they must leave their horses. They were conducted under guard through the outworks of the precincts of the palace, and after some delay were ushered into the Hall of Audience. The gorgeous room was crammed with nobles and their ladies dressed in the shimmering stuffs of the East; on the dais sat the Emperor Isaac and the Young Alexius. Comnenus, as Chancellor, stood before the throne. But instead of the smiles and pleasant greetings that hailed their first entrance into Constantinople, now the ambassadors encountered sour looks, muttered threats and disdain.

Hugh searched the throng for familiar faces. He saw Sir Cedric, resplendent as ever in scarlet surcoat and silvered mail, standing like a hoary old pine-tree at the Emperor's back, his face wooden in its impassivity. He saw Helena Comnena flitting through the group of ladies about the Empress. And despite himself, his glance was drawn to Edith's face that eyed him sadly from under her immense draped head-dress. His heart beat faster as her eyes met his. He hoped—he dared to think—that they were kinder than they had ever been, reminiscent of—— But Comnenus was speaking, and he forced himself to wrench his attention back to the weighty affairs of the moment.

"The Augustus greets you, lords, by me," said the Cæsar smoothly. "He asks the object of your visit, unannounced?"

"The Augustus has been wont to talk to us direct and not through his underlings," answered Conon de Béthune, who had been nominated spokesman of the embassy. "Why doth he change his policy?"

A rustle of anger shook the Court, and Alexius flushed on his throne. The blind Isaac only nodded his head and mumbled to himself, unheeding and unheeded.

"It is not for the Augustus to explain his policy," replied Comnenus coldly. "He withholds his favour for those he deems worthy of it."

"If he is a just prince, then why doth he not bestow his favour on those to whom he owes his power?" retorted Béthune. He turned directly to the two Emperors, ignoring the Chancellor. "Sires, we have come to you on the part of the barons of the host and the Doge of Venice. They would put you in mind of the great service they have done for you—a service known to the people and manifest to all men. You have sworn, father and son, to fulfil the promised covenants, and we have your charters in hand. But you have not fulfilled your covenants. Many times have we called upon you to do so, and now again we call upon you, in the presence of your barons, to make good your oaths.

"Should you do so, all will be well. The barons of the host and the Doge of Venice will hold you as lords and friends. But if you do not do so, they will cease to hold you as lords and friends, and they will endeavour to obtain their due from you by all the means in their power. And of this they give you warning, seeing that they would not injure you, nor any one, without first defiance and challenge given; for never have they acted treacherously, nor in their land is it customary to do so. Now, Sire, you have heard what we have said. It is for you to take counsel and decide on your answer thereto."

Alexius leaped to his feet.

"A madness hath possessed you, Franks," he shouted furiously. "Take counsel on your words? I hurl them in your teeth! Think you that the Augustus, my father, must rely upon your arms for strength to-day? An you do not mend your manners we will show you the might of Rome; we will crush you, dogs; we will scatter your bones and throw them into the Bosphorus! Get hence! You try me over-much. Think well on your evil deeds and seek my pardon, else you may be food for ghouls and vampires. Get hence, I say!"

"Away with them!" howled the Court in ready anger. "Tear them asunder! Stab them!"

A swirling mob of Greeks closed around the little group of Franks, but at a wave of the hand from Sir Cedric Halcroft, the Varangian Guards lowered their axes and surrounded the ambassadors with a barrier of steel. Isaac mumbled and gibbered on his throne; Alexius cursed and threatened. It was Comnenus, white-faced and trembling, who managed to keep his head.

"Ay, protect them, Guards," he called. "Nay, lords, hold back. Let the barbarians depart in peace. It is not for senators and patricians of New Rome to forget themselves under insult."

Proudly erect, as became men who had bearded a ruler on his throne, the ambassadors passed from the Hall of Audience, leaving behind them a tempest of hate and baffled rage. Only the giant figures and sharp axes of the Varangians had stood betwixt them and death.

In the inner courtyard the Guards were replaced by under-chamberlains, who hurried them through a labyrinth of unfrequented passages toward the gate. They had not proceeded very far on their way when a page slipped up and touched Hugh on the arm.

"A lady must see you, Messer," he whispered.

Hugh thrilled. He had not been deceived; he had read Edith's eyes aright.