CHAPTER V

HUGH GAINS A FRIEND

The jongleur softly fingered the strings of his instrument. He sat with Hugh on the dais of the Great Hall in the keep of Chesby Castle, a counterpart of Blancherive, solidly-built in the Norman way, but crude and comfortless. The evening shadows lengthened on the rush-strewn floor. The ale-horns stood filled on the table before them.

"I would not have you take my word for gospel, Messer Hugh," he said slowly, as he put aside the gittern. "But what you say stirs echoes in my memory. In Outremer men sing and talk of Sir James as dead, but in their hearts they think of him as living. The jongleurs always say that he is gone, but will return to perform deeds of greater worth than those which won him deathless fame. In my romaunt, which you shall hear anon, I, too, sing of him as one over whom for a little space the curtain of time is drawn. Many proud lords have applauded me that song—and with cause, for I feel in my bones there is truth in the story. Sir James cometh again in his own good hour."

Hugh leaned forward in his chair, face tense with interest.

"You feel it, you say," he broke in. "Ay, but how? What reason have you?"

Matteo stared into the nut-brown ale.

"No reason that would justify my words, mayhap," he answered after a pause. "Hast ever tracked a deer in a well-worn slot, and sensed of a sudden the quarry had broached to right or left? Well, deem it so. But dismiss instinct, an you will. Consider this, lordling. I am a wanderer. My home is anywhere I am welcome. I sing my romaunts, tell my gests. In return men sing me songs, recount the stories they know. I have heard many a strange tale in many a strange place.

"When I was composing my romaunt of Sir James, I had heed for any bit of castle gossip or galley rumour that would shed light upon his life. Full oft I encountered men who told me there was more to the story of Sir James than his disappearance. 'Mark you,' quoth one, 'hast ever seen the master of the galley that bore him his last voyage? No, nor hath any mortal.' 'If he was drowned,' said a second, 'why heard we not so from a member of his company?'"

"The galley he sailed upon vanished from those seas," interrupted Hugh. "So much have I learned."

"Ay, with all her company," agreed the jongleur. "Passing strange, is it not? She was the Holy Dove, of Venetian registry, Messer Bartolommeo master, a craft well-known in the coasting-trade. She was accepted for entry by the Prefect of the Golden Horn the first Tuesday in Lent, 1196. Some time thereafterward she left Constantinople, and has not been seen since. But of Sir James we can say only that he sailed upon her from Tripoli, being escorted to his berth by the Master of the Hospitallers and other knights, who were loath to see him leave the Holy Land. If he ever landed at Constantinople, it is not known. It is not even known if he continued on the galley to the Golden Horn."

"In sooth, 'tis a sorry case you make out for me," said Hugh bitterly.

"Have patience," answered Matteo. "I am not ended, fair sir. It was told me by a knight who was of those who went down to the quay with the Master of the Hospitallers and Sir James—his bones lie now beyond Jordan, God rest his soul!—that when the Master remonstrated with Sir James at leaving them in such an hour, Sir James waxed very dolorous and made answer that it was not of his own choosing that he went. 'I am going in answer to a summons I may not disobey,' he said, 'since in a manner it nearly concerneth one who is dead and hath laid a task upon me.' The knights were very curious of his meaning, but he said nothing further. He kissed them right heartily, commended their souls to the protection of the Holy Virgin and Our Lord, and went to his seat in the stern-castle. Now, Messer Hugh, know you aught that would explain those last words of his?"

Hugh shook his head.

"They mean as little to me as they do to you," he replied.

Matteo dabbled his finger thoughtfully in the ale-lees on the table.

"You know that Sir James, on his first journey to the Holy Land, tarried in Constantinople some months and was made much of by the Emperor Andronicus Comnenus, who then sat on the throne?" he asked.

"Yes, he was there a year or close thereto," returned Hugh. "The Emperor pressed him to remain, but my father had taken a vow that he would serve Christ against the Paynims for the greater rest of my mother's soul."

"Ay, so it was. But it was passing strange for any man to win the friendship of Andronicus as did Sir James. You must know that Andronicus was one of the bloodiest tyrants who ever sat on the blood-stained throne of the Eastern Rome. But there is this to be said for him: he oppressed, robbed and tortured the noble and the rich amongst his subjects; the poor he cherished and honoured. He found corruption wide-spread, and he did what he could to cut it out, taking the ill-gotten gains of the officials to spend upon the Empire's needs. He lived only a few months after your father left him. He died by assassination, as he had lived by assassination."

"Interesting, but I see not where it leads us," returned Hugh.

"Only thus far," said Matteo quietly. "I have been told by one—who had it from another—that your father set sail from Tripoli in response to a message from the Emperor Isaac. Isaac was shortly afterward dethroned and blinded by his brother Alexius and rests now in the dungeons of the Tower of Anemas under the Palace of Blachernae. And 'twas Isaac who slew Andronicus, and so won to the throne."

"But the Emperor Alexius hath denied all knowledge of my father's fate," cried Hugh. "He hath offered his help—hath rendered it. Our King Lion-Heart himself pressed the case. And the Commander of the Emperor's Varangian Guards is Sir Cedric Halcroft, brother of my neighbour, the Lord of Blancherive and a boyhood friend of my father. He hath interested the Emperor in our suit. In all sooth, he must have heard if trickery bested my father."

"Not so," the jongleur disagreed. "I know Sir Cedric, and a braver, stouter heart never wore mail, but he is a soldier, bluff and honest—a thought dull-witted, too, like all your Saxons. By the very nature of his office he mixes not in the politics of the Court. He stands apart. A more unlikely aid you cannot find. He would believe whatever he was told. For the rest—fair sir, you know not these Greeks. A treacherous race, without honour, chivalry or virtue, and none of them more conscienceless than their Emperor, who reached the throne by overthrowing and blinding the brother who ransomed him from the Saracens."

"Then you think——"

Hugh hesitated.

"I would recommend that you begin your quest in Constantinople," said Matteo. "The road to the Holy Land leads through Byzantium. From there you can journey at need to Tripoli and Antioch, to the Land of the Assassins, to Jerusalem and Damascus, Emissa and Baalbec. But go first to Constantinople."

Hugh sat hunched down in his chair, twisting the alehorn on the table in front of him, his brows bent in thought. It was many minutes before he spoke, and whilst he thought, Matteo the jongleur watched him betwixt draughts of ale.

"I like your advice," said Hugh suddenly. "You are frank to say you are guided by instinct, and I trust you for it. Now, I would crave your opinion in another matter."

"Such as it is, you may have it, lord," the jongleur answered.

"I spoke to you on the road of an enemy who sent yon varlets against me. Hast ever heard in Outremer of one Andrea Mocenigo, who holdeth the confidence of the Emperor Alexius?"

"Andrea Mocenigo!" repeated Matteo. "There is no strangeness about that name, Messer Hugh. A greater rascal—and a defter—never drew breath."

"You know him, too?"

There was astonishment in Hugh's voice. Matteo laughed.

"I would not have you think me a boaster, fair sir," he said quaintly. "I have lived but some thirty years, 'tis true, but in that time I have travelled Outremer from Babylon to Constantinople. There are few men of note I have not sung before or exchanged gests with, and we jongleurs soon learn the inner natures of those we meet.

"This man, Mocenigo, is a renegade Venetian, exiled for stabbing the nephew of a Doge. He should have died for such a crime, but he hath powerful relatives, and so gained liberty. He is an agent of the Emperor Alexius, and if rumour is truth, a spy of the Sultan of Babylon at times. In sooth, he is no one to put your trust in."

"He is the enemy I spoke of," said Hugh.

The jongleur made a gesture of amazement.

"By Our Lady of Tortosa, this hath the makings of a pretty tale!" he exclaimed. "Tell me more."

So Hugh told at length of Mocenigo's coming to take Edith to Constantinople, of their meeting on the London Road, of Mocenigo's veiled warnings to him, of the attempt to knife him as he rode home from Blancherive that evening. The jongleur followed the story with an interest that never flagged.

"And see you not," he cried when Hugh had finished, "that this bears out fully what I have said to you?"

"How is that?"

"That your quest begins of right in Constantinople."

"I do not follow you, sir jongleur."

"But, Messer Hugh, here is an attempt, repeated, to keep you from setting forth upon your quest, and in it you think you trace the hand of one who is no less than the shadow of the Emperor Alexius. What more would you have?"

"True," admitted Hugh reflectively, "an your suspicions be justified."

"Have you a more definite plan to work upon?"

"No."

"Then why not accept them, failing somewhat more definite to follow? But I fear me, fair sir, I am over-bold in my interest. I cry your pardon, an you deem it impertinent——"

"Not so," protested Hugh warmly. "Messer Matteo, I take kindly all that you have said. I know not why it is, but by St. James, I have talked to you more freely than to any man, save it be my guardian, the Prior of Crowden. I like your counsel. You came to my aid when I was in mortal peril, and stood by me loyally until I was safe. Why should I not trust you?"

The jongleur's thin face flushed.

"Right knightly said, fair sir," he acknowledged. "You give me courage to ask of you a boon that I crave more than anything else in the world."

"It shall be yours, if it is within my power to grant it," answered Hugh.

He felt very lordly, for this was the first time a man his equal in rank had sought a boon from him.

"First, I shall burden your ears a little longer," said Matteo. "It is meet that before you undertake to grant the boon you should know somewhat of him who asks it."

He put down the alehorn, and picked up his gittern, and as he talked he plucked now and then at the strings, so that, although he played no set melody, there was an effect of accompanying music to the words that he recited, after the manner of the jongleurs, in a clear, bell-like voice, that was exquisitely sweet.

"Know, lordling," he began, "that your servant, Matteo of Antioch, is the son of a Christian knight and a Saracen lady, who was of the lineage of the Paynim Princes of Emessa. I was born in one of the Frank castles on the edge of the desert beyond the Dead Sea, a child of love and sorrow. In those days, before Jerusalem had fallen to the infidel, there was endless war between the Franks of the Holy Land and Saladin, and it chanced that in a foray into Saracen country a party of Christian knights captured a convoy of high-born Saracen maidens on their way from Emessa and the cities of Roum to Damascus. My father's share of the spoils was the lady who became my mother.

"Now, it chanced when I was a few years old that some of my mother's brethren learned of her fate, and they laid plans with Saladin for vengeance. My father's castle was built in a place whence it commanded the caravan routes of the Saracens from the north and the south, and Saladin was glad to help any effort to capture it. My mother's brethren concerted in secret, and when the time was ripe they swept down upon the castle in the dead of night. They climbed the walls whilst the warder slept—he may have been bribed—and the first the garrison knew of them was the sight of their bloodied scimiters.

"My father fought to his death with only his sword for armour, and when my mother spurned his murderers they slew her over his body, for a shame to their house and a reproach to Islam. I was saved by the diligence of a squire of my father's, who let me down from the wall and fled with me to Antioch. There I was taken under the protection of the Prince, who reared me with his pages and saw to my schooling in arms. But the story of my birth had reached his ears, and when I attained the grade of squire, I found that knighthood was denied me, for that I was but half of Christian blood and there was a blot on my name."

The eyes of the jongleur smouldered with that fire Hugh had seen in them when he first burst his way through the greenwood men. His fingers smote the strings with gusty passion. Through all his words there ran the soul-torn resentment of the outcast, who felt himself wronged and powerless to resent it.

"It is not for me to chant of my deeds," he went on, "I bore lance and sword in the last fights for the Holy Sepulchre. I learned the arts of war and music under the great Lion-Heart. 'Twas an idle word of praise from him made me resolve to wipe out the stigma put upon me by practising arms as a jongleur, instead of as an unsuccessful aspirant for knighthood. Messer Hugh, you may ask any knight of Outremer, the Grand Masters of the Templars and Hospitallers, any lord of the land—and he will tell you there is no shame in the past of Matteo of Antioch."

Hugh reached out his hand.

"I need not ask," he said. "The answer is in your face, Messer Matteo. And now your boon?"

The jongleur thrust aside his instrument and leaned forward across the table, his eyes fixed earnestly upon Hugh's.

"'Tis this: I would have your leave to travel with you on your quest. Not as a paid retainer, fair sir, but as a friend and comrade. I knew not why I ever came to England, until I saw your face amidst that crowd of knaves this afternoon. I crossed the Narrow Seas from France, because I had some vague wish to see the realm that bred a king like Lion-Heart. He was the friend and patron of jongleurs, a lover of brave songs and brave men! In my ignorance I thought to find many like him here. But you English lords consider me a travelling minstrel, to be seated below the salt and called upon for a song to pay for my meat.

"Your story hath interested me strangely, Messer Hugh. As you have heard, 'tis one not altogether new to me. I have seen your father and applauded him from afar—ay, ridden at the tail of his charger in more than one shock with the Paynims. It is my thought that I may be of use to you on a path sure to be set with pit-falls at every step. All the reward I seek is leave to turn your deeds into a romaunt that shall endure whilst men sing of brave ventures."

He looked Hugh squarely in the eye, and Hugh met his gaze. So they regarded each other for as long a space as men may without blinking. Then Hugh said, wonderingly:

"If a man had told me yestereve I would be eager to ride on my quest with one I knew not then I would have laughed him to scorn. Now, I can only say that St. James himself must have sent you hither, Messer Matteo."

"You grant my boon?"

"Ay, gladly. This day week we ride hence for Outremer."

Matteo tossed his gittern to the ceiling and caught it again.

"What a tale it will make!" he cried. "By Our Lady of Tortosa, Messer Hugh, this is a decision you shall never regret! Men will sing the romaunt of Sir Hugh the Venturous when Roland and Sir Huon of Bordeaux are forgotten!"

"I have yet to become Sir Hugh," returned Hugh, laughing.

"Have patience, fair sir. Knighthood should be the smallest reward in the path you have to travel."

CHAPTER VI

THE SWART SHIPMAN

From Chesby and Blancherive, all the way to the gate of Crowden Priory, the way was lined with villagers, hinds, franklins, men-at-arms, castle and Priory servants and the riff-raff of the countryside, gathered to wave farewell to Hugh and his comrades. Stout old Sir Godfrey Halcroft stood at the Priory gate with Prior Thomas, before whom Hugh knelt for a final blessing.

"Our Lady keep you," said the Prior with a choke in his voice. "I pray not for your soul, Hugh, for that is as safe as human soul may be; but for your life. Be not over-venturous."

He cast an appealing eye upon Matteo and Ralph, who knelt a pace in rear of Hugh.

"To you, also, fair sons, I give the same advice," he added. "And I pray you, be careful, one of another."

"That will we right heartily, Holy Prior," returned Matteo, rising and dusting his knees. "And we shall be watchful to guard the back of our young lord here."

Ralph mumbled an inaudible assent. To say truth, Ralph was more than a little woebegone at the prospect of leaving solid English earth for the uncertain substance of the sea and the vague lands of Outremer—not to speak of the flaxen-haired daughter of one of the franklins of Chesby. He was of two minds, was Ralph, honestly zestful of the great adventures Hugh had promised him, and secretly hopeful that some mishap might put off their departure.

Sir Godfrey was openly jealous of the comrades.

"Such luck it is to be a stripling!" he clamoured. "Unskilled and unschooled, and all must come your way! A tried man-at-arms, and I am doomed to sit close in Blancherive, guard my lands and play the King's man! Welladay, what use to complain? Be of good cheer, Hugh. Hast good company, a valiant purpose and the world before you. An you see Edith, bid her remember there is always a home awaiting her in Blancherive."

And the old knight put both arms around Hugh's neck and embraced him.

"There is a rheum in the air this morning," he complained. "Beshrew me, but I weep."

Hugh wiped his own eyes as he mounted the grey stallion, and struck hands for the last time with Sir Godfrey and Prior Thomas.

"Fear not," he said. "I shall return."

"Ay, that he shall," reiterated Matteo.

There was a chorus of blessings and outcries, and the little cavalcade clattered off into the forest depths on their way to Hastings and the sea. The group by the Priory gate watched them as long as the glint of armour shone between the trees, for the comrades made a brave show.

Hugh and Matteo rode side by side. Hugh wore the new armour Ralph had fetched from London, a cunningly-wrought, double-linked suit of chainmail that had cost the worth of four hides of lands. The hauberk, or mail coat, protected his arms to the wrists and fell to the knees, being slit behind for greater ease in riding. Under it he wore a gambeson, or quilted jacket, to keep the mail from chafing the skin. Mittens of chain-mail swung at his wrists, ready to be donned for fighting use. Below the waist he was protected by leggins of chain-mail, which were fastened at the waist to the underside of the hauberk. They terminated in mail-shoes, so that from head to neck he was guarded by flashing steel.

Over his armour he wore a surcoat of heavy linen, embroidered by the monks of Crowden with his own device of an open eye, signifying his quest. On his head perched a light cap of cloth, but a massive square helmet hung at his saddle-bow. Plate-armour was then unknown, but the science of tempering and fashioning steel had made tremendous strides since the Crusades had introduced Western Europe to the tricks of Asiatic smiths, and the chain-mail was both lighter and in some ways stronger, than plate-armour, for it lacked the tricky joints that were the weakness of plated suits.

On his left arm Hugh carried a small triangular shield, an evolution from the big kite-shaped shield which the Norsemen had brought to Southern Europe. His right arm supported an ashwood lance, unpennoned. To his side was strapped a great war-sword, a mighty, broad-bladed, two-edged weapon, with a blunted point, so delicately balanced that it swung in the wielder's hand as easily as a wooden ferule, despite its ponderous weight.

Matteo was armed in much the same fashion, save that his armour was Eastern-wrought and showed such novel features as fingered mail gloves and a loose hood of mail that could be thrown back over the shoulders or drawn at will around the head under the conical helmet, with nasal, that formed his headgear in action. And instead of the war-sword of Frankish Europe, the jongleur bore the scimiter of the Saracens, a weapon distinguished as much by its exquisite keenness as by its peculiar facility for slashing in-fighting. He also carried a steel mace, hung by a thong from his saddle. His lance, too, was of lighter structure than Hugh's, and could be thrown like a javelin at close quarters.

Ralph rode behind the two others, leading a pack pony. He wore a short mail-jacket, made over by a local armourer from an old suit of Hugh's, the length having gone into patches to broaden the shoulders and chest. To his back was strapped his long-bow, unstrung. His armament was completed by a sword and well-filled quiver.

The comrades rode in silence until they had reached the highroad. Then Matteo struck up a lilting song, and Hugh's melancholy took flight at the visions conjured up before his eyes anew.

Passing fair was Mellisante,
Passing fair and right content.
Never wooed a gentler knight
Than Sir Gui de Bras.

In the darkened forest-glade
Oft she waited unafraid,
Starry-eyed and maiden-white—
For Sir Gui de Bras.

Matteo broke off with a little laugh.

"We might better be singing the Benedicite than such love verses," he jibed. "What say you, Hugh, shall we go upon our way pilgrim-solemn or shall we take joy in the wine of life and let all the world know of it?"

"No pilgrim-gait for me," answered Hugh lightly. "I am all for music and laughter. How now, Ralph, what say you?"

Ralph heaved a deep sigh.

"There is that in the song Messer Matteo was singing that makes my heart ache all the more, Messer Hugh," he said. "An it please you, let us sing and talk of arms and battle, for I have many sad thoughts I would forget."

"Well spoken, Ralph," applauded Matteo. "That is the proper spirit for such a venture as ours. Of arms and battles, of sieges and splendid deeds, then, shall we debate and sing. Hark ye to this."

And leaning back in his saddle, he raised his voice in the full-throated burden of a Burgundian tilting song, savage and challenging, punctuated with the crashing of chargers, the blasts of the heralds' trumpets and the clash of armour. This brought Ralph out of the dumps, and for the rest of that day they rode carefree, finding entertainment in the sights of the roadside and in discussion of future plans. At night they lay at the castle of a knight who was a distant cousin of Hugh's.

So they journeyed for three days, and in the afternoon of the third day they reached Hastings port, and from the uplands behind the town saw the blue waters of the Narrow Seas rolling before them.

"It looks to be a vast deal of water," said Ralph dubiously. "There is an end to the land hereabouts, 'twould seem. I doubt me there is more water than land."

"Art frighted, Ralph?" mocked Matteo. "Take heart, man, for an you could see a few miles farther you would find the water giving way to land again. Straight ahead of you is France, and it is a country that could take your England into one corner of it and still have enough over to make a puissant realm."

"That I do not believe, saving your grace," retorted Ralph. "Bigger than England? Sure, and he does but taunt me, Messer Hugh?"

"Not so, Ralph," replied Hugh, smiling. "You have yet to learn that our England is but a little sliver of land beside the bulk of the world. We shall soon be riding over countries as large as Messer Matteo says—into which you could slip all England and Scotland, too—ay, and wild Ireland—and not diminish materially the power of their lords."

"It must be a big place, this world," said Ralph, in an awe-struck voice.

"It is," rejoined Matteo. "Do but wait until you have seen the snow mountains beyond France, Ralph. That is a sight like none other. You would not believe me if I told you of it. Rivers of ice and snow and mountains that reach beyond the sky."

"God save us!" muttered Ralph devoutly.

As they rode into the town, Matteo's keen eyes examined the vessels in the harbour.

"There is little shipping," he said with disappointment. "See, there are no more than two of a size to venture across the Narrow Seas."

He pointed to a high-built cog, with flapping purple sails, that rode close inshore, and to a long, lean craft, low in the waist, with a single mast supporting a slanting yard.

"That galley is not of these parts," he went on, shading his eyes with his hand. "She hath a look of the Inner Sea to me. But the cog is as plainly English as Ralph here. Mayhap one or other will serve our purpose."

They sought an inn within the walls of the little town, and Hugh explained to the landlord their desire for conveyance over-sea.

"And where would you be going, lords?" he enquired.

"To France," answered Hugh. "An it be possible, we prefer to land at one of the northern ports."

The landlord stroked his bristly chin.

"At most times you might have your pick of any port on the Narrow Seas," he said. "But what with the King's new port-dues and the hiring of shipping in Flanders for the Crusade, there are but two vessels here such as your lordships would care to sail in."

"Do you know aught about them?"

"Little enough. The cog there belongs to one Messer Nicholas Dunning, a worshipful mariner of Dover. He may be for France, and he may be for Flanders. I will make inquiry for you. The galley is a Cypriot, come hither some two weeks or more agone, with a cargo of wine. He hath lain here since, but what is his business and the port he sails for next I cannot say. Shall I enquire of him, too?"

"Ay, do so."

The landlord withdrew, and the comrades set themselves to the supper of roast fowl, bread and ale that was served by his wife. They were in the midst of the meal, when Ralph happened to look up at a nearby window and exclaimed:

"Marry, there is a tarry son of the sea for you, Messer Hugh!"

Hugh glanced through the window in time to see a swart, pock-marked face, with beady black eyes under a gaudy kerchief that was wound around sinister brows. The owner of the face bowed profusely, and disappeared in the direction of the inn-door. A moment later he entered the room, still bowing and scraping. In stature he was very squat and broad, with a huge barrel-chest and short, sinewy legs. He was clad in baggy white trousers and a dingy red jacket.

"It has come to my ears that your lordships are awaiting passage across the Narrow Seas," he said in passable French.

"That is true," answered Hugh.

The swart man bowed again.

"I am a merchant of Cyprus," he said. "I am but recently come north with a cargo of wine. Now my cargo is unloaded and I am preparing to sail home. I shall be glad to take you wherever you will."

Hugh hesitated and looked at Matteo. Seeing his indecision, the shipman continued:

"And you journey to Outremer, how much easier it will be to sail thither all the way in a good stout galley than to travel over-land for weary months, facing robbery and danger at every step. My galley is well-armed, lords, and if the corsairs attack us you shall have pleasant fighting, without danger to yourselves. What say you?"

"How know you we journey to Outremer?" asked Matteo sharply.

The man made a gesture very like an Eastern salaam.

"There is a Crusade being preached," he answered innocently. "Many stalwart knights are sailing from Flanders. I thought two such well-appointed lords would be journeying in the same direction. But if I am wrong I beg you will consider the words unsaid."

"We do not seek passage to Outremer," returned Matteo.

"Ah, but wherever you wish to go, there I will gladly carry you," returned the swart shipman quickly. "Name the port, lords, and it shall be done."

"You are very anxious to have us, 'twould seem," interjected Hugh.

"I am not too anxious to prevent me from driving a good bargain with your lordships," answered the man with a leer. "I would not have you think me careless of my pocket. But for the money you will be more comfortably lodged than on any other vessel, I pledge you the word of Bartolommeo Caraducci."

"What would you call a fair price?"

"Name me your port, and I will make you an offer," countered the man.

"Let us say Rouen," spoke up Matteo.

The shipman considered.

"There will be three horses with you? Horses are the devil at sea, lords. Let us say two silver pennies for each of you, a penny for your servant and three pennies each for the horses."

There was a bustle at the inn-door, and the landlord entered, escorting a bluff giant of a man whose ruddy face was flushed with haste.

"What's this?" bellowed the giant. "Did I hear this Italian knave—or Cypriot or whatever he calls himself—asking three pennies each for horses? To Rouen, said you? Marry, but the man is as dishonest as he looks! Now, I——"

The swart shipman scowled at him.

"I will take your horses for two pennies each, lords," he offered.

"That is more like it," said the giant. "But I am an Englishman, mark you, and I will take you all, bag and baggage, horses and man, to Rouen for ten silver pennies in hand at Rouen quayside."

The swart shipman pushed forward.

"Heed him not, lords," he shouted. "I will take you for nine pennies!"

"You are too eager," said Hugh haughtily.

"Eager, say you? Marry, lord, I am but eager to do what I may for the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre and——"

The English sailor laughed heartily.

"He eager to rescue the Sepulchre! St. Edward, 'tis good hearing! Why, the fellow's crew are three-quarters hang-dog Saracen hounds or I never stopped a corsair in the Inner Sea!"

"'Tis a lie, fair sirs," pleaded the swart shipman, his ugly face crimson with rage. "Look you, and——"

"Enough," answered Hugh. "We are done with you, fellow. Ralph, open him the door."

Ralph heaved up his impressive bulk, and advanced ruthlessly upon the man. The Cypriot's eyes lit up with rage, but he controlled himself, and made another low bow.

"You do greatly wrong me, lords," he said protestingly. "But I pray for you a safe journey."

As the door closed behind him, Hugh turned to the English shipman.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Nicholas Dunning, shipman, of Dover. My cog, the Alice, lies in the harbour yonder, lordling. As for that rogue——" he gestured out the window toward the retreating form of the swart shipman—"my guess is that he is a pirate when he is not trading. An I were a citizen of Hastings I would take heed to my gates when he was about. There is no good in him, I'll warrant you, with his swaggering blackamoor crew."

"Be that as it may, we are through with him," said Hugh, amused by the man's manner. "Now, what terms do you make to carry us to Rouen, sailing not later than the morrow?"

The English shipman's lips shut tight.

"I never make but the one offer, and that is an honest offer," he asserted. "Ten pennies I named it, and ten pennies I bide by. If there were more of you I might shave it down, but for your number that is a fair charge."

Matteo leaned forward and whispered in Hugh's ear:

"The fellow speaks truth. Moreover, he hath us at advantage, for save our friend of the galley, there is none here to compete with him."

"Then shall we accept?" asked Hugh.

Matteo shrugged his shoulders.

"Hast any desire to sail with the Cypriot?"

Hugh shook his head.

"I know not why, yet——"

Matteo leaned closer.

"Dost mind what the greenwood man said as he died?" he whispered.

A light of understanding leaped into Hugh's face.

"'Twas a swart, pock-marked man from the sea hired them!" he exclaimed.

"Ay!"

Hugh drew a deep breath.

"Then we must away from here," he said. He turned to Nicholas Dunning. "Messer Nicholas," he went on, "we accept your offer. An you start with the morn, it were best we came aboard your vessel to-night."

"All shall be ready for you, lords," assented the shipman. "We sail with the morrow's tide. And you will be in honest English company, fair sirs, and not with slit-nosed mongrel scourings of the Inner Sea."

He sniffed with contempt of his rival as he left the room.

"A monstrous brave man, by Our Lady," remarked Ralph admiringly.

CHAPTER VII

THE SEA-WOLVES

"The galley is gone!" exclaimed Matteo, as he emerged from the stern-castle.

"Ay, and a good riddance," returned the master of the cog.

Messer Nicholas was holding the tiller of his craft, steering her out of the harbour entrance. The spring breeze blew rich and warm off the land behind them. Below the little poop on which the comrades stood, the sailors ran to and fro about their duties, hauling at ropes, stacking cordage and dressing sails. Hastings port already was become a toy town set on the harbour's rim.

"You seem not to like our Cypriot friend," remarked Hugh with a smile.

"Marry, and why should I, fair sir?" retorted the shipman fiercely. "A runagate knave, you may swear. What business has he trading in these seas? Let him keep to his own preserves, say I. The Inner Sea for his kidney, and the Narrow Seas and the North Ocean for us of the Cinque Ports. 'Tis sorry enough having to contend with the Frenchmen and the Flemings—let alone our good King John!"

It was evident that Messer Nicholas liked the sound of his own voice, especially when it dealt with his own affairs, and Matteo hastened to Hugh's rescue.

"How long is the passage to Rouen?" he enquired.

"That is a question no wise shipman would answer on the very morn of his setting forth upon the voyage," replied Messer Nicholas importantly. "For, look you, lords, how can mortal man prophesy the course of the wind an hour hence?"

"We will cry your pardon for the absurdity of that question," interceded Hugh, "an you tell us at least the distance betwixt the two ports."

"Ah, fair sir, that is a different matter. I make the distance betwixt Hastings port and Rouen quay a matter of fifty leagues or maybe sixty, depending, as I said, on the wind and the course we take. It hath been sailed by the Alice in three days, and I venture to predict she will do it again."

"So, good shipman, you are not above prophecy, after all?" jeered Matteo.

"In my own terms—no; that is true," acknowledged Messer Nicholas composedly.

And he took advantage of the opportunity unwisely afforded by Matteo, to launch into a lengthy disquisition on the mystery of navigation—to which craft, he asserted, St. Peter had belonged, with conspicuous success, as well as divers other distinguished and saintly characters. Matteo and Hugh were forced to flee to escape the deluge of words. In the waist of the ship they sought out Ralph to inquire the condition of their horses. But they were more speedily interested in Ralph himself. He was leaning over the bulwarks amidships, his head hanging on his hand, and a pasty green look upon his face. At sight of them he gasped and sank down on the deck.

"Oh, Messer Hugh," he moaned. "St. Cuthbert be my witness, y'have brought me to my death! Only this morning I was mine old self. Now, I am ridden with the plague or some such parlous complaint I make no doubt. My end is on me. Would there be a priest on board, do you think?"

Hugh was much concerned by this plaint, but Matteo laughed and clapped Ralph on the shoulder.

"An you suffer never any illness more dangerous than this you must burn an hundred candles at your name-altar," he said. "Take heart, man. 'Tis naught but the sickness of the sea. You have been below in the stenches of the hold, and that, with the motion of the ship, hath disturbed the comfort of your stomach. Let the clean breeze fan your face, and you will be whole anon."

"Mayhap, mayhap," answered Ralph, "but I am mortal weak in my body for a hale man, Messer Matteo. Could you not be having the shipman turn about and leave me behind? I have no bowels for this kind of venturing."

"There will be shame in your heart for those words in a few hours, Ralph," said Hugh sternly. "Do you come up to the poop with us and lie out there in the open. Perchance that chicken-heart of yours will win back the allegiance of your belly."

Groaning and protesting, Ralph suffered himself to be led up the steep ladder-stairs to the narrow space in front of the stern-castle, where the rudder-post came up through the deck-planking. Here he was deposited in a recumbent position, and very shortly, lulled by the rocking of the cog and the creak of the rigging, he dropped off to sleep—to the great relief of Hugh, who was half-inclined to believe him really smitten by one of the little-known epidemic diseases which ravaged the mediæval world.

"But an it be the sea-illness you speak of," remonstrated Hugh, "why have I escaped? I am as new to it as Ralph, and must as surely succumb."

"Not so," objected Matteo. "There are men who never feel the ship-nausea, and there are others—stout captains of the Venetians, Pisans, Genoese and other seafaring races, I have known—must always inure themselves anew to the experience at the start of each voyage."

"They must be greatly wedded to the sea to suffer such discomfort."

"Ay, that they are. You will comprehend it when you meet the Venetians and see their wonderful city. Ah, Hugh, there are a people for you! They have made the sea their servant, and on it they traffic to the ends of the world. Kings and Empires fear them. Without them our barons of Outremer could not stand a month against the Saracens."

"Ay, they have the idea of it," chimed in Messer Nicholas from his post by the tiller, now in the hands of one of his subordinates. "With them merchants are nobles. To be great, in their estimation, is to be successful in trade. They have none of your finicking notions of gentilesse."

"But surely, good Messer Shipman, you will admit that a strong feudal structure is necessary to the welfare of any state," said Hugh haughtily. "A community of merchants could never last long, if it came to a question of the sword."

"Ah, lordling, but that's where you are wrong," returned the shipman. "The Venetians are warriors, as well as traders. They fight for what they want, and they will fight anybody to keep what they once get their hands upon. Is it not so, fair sir?" he appealed to Matteo.

"Ay, Hugh, that is the right of it," agreed Matteo. "They are a peculiar people. There are none like them, save it be some of the free cities of Germany and the Flemings."

"I have had some small dealings with the Venetians," boasted Messer Nicholas. "By St. Edward, they should know me!" He gave a jaunty twist to his moustaches. "Warriors though they are, they met their match when they tried to tell Nicholas Dunning where he could not trade. I am a bad man to threaten, lords. I will not down my head for any man on the seas. Wherever I go, I am an Englishman, and I say to all shipmen, of every tongue: Sirs, I say——"

A cry of alarm rose from the forecastle.

"What's that? What's that?" demanded Messer Nicholas.

He ran to the larboard rail and peered under the edge of the great square-sail on the mizzen-mast.

"Oh, 'tis the galley," he said carelessly. "But what does the fellow on this course? He makes back for Hastings." Of a sudden his face went ashen grey. "The Red Crescent! By Our Lady, a Saracen corsair in the Narrow Seas!"

He wept and wrung his hands.

"Oh, lords, I never thought to see this! And there is great store of wealth in the hold. What shall I do? I am a peaceful shipman, and yon varlets will have me at their mercy. What shall I do?"

"Put your ship in order for defence," directed Hugh. "St. James, man, are you sunk before you are come to battle?"

"Take advantage of this wind," suggested Matteo. "Bear away, so that you have them over your stern."

A flicker of hope lighted the shipman's face, and he bellowed an order to the sailor at the tiller. The cog heeled and bore off across the wind, as it were. The galley was plainly revealed by this manoeuvre to the comrades on the poop. The lean, slender craft, half as long again as the cog, but less than half as high out of the water, raced along, with foaming oars. Steel flashed on fore and stern castles and amongst the rowers. From her mast floated the dreaded ensign of the Moslem rovers.

"He gains on us still," whined Messer Nicholas. "We shall be butchered like sheep."

"Ay, and you bestir not yourself to give the Paynims a warm greeting," returned Matteo.

The jongleur swept a calculating eye over the two speeding vessels. Aboard the galley all was quiet. The decks of the cog were crowded with disorderly groups whose lamentations rose momentarily louder.

"We have some small chance, Hugh," he said calmly. "The galley is swift and in this light wind will easily overtake us. 'Tis a question only of time, to be protracted somewhat by skill in ship-handling."

Hugh nodded.

"We are beginning our adventures earlier than had been my expectation. To say truth, I see not what we may do, save it be to make a good end."

"Nay, we are not yet in that plight. I have a plan. Messer Shipman, bid one of your fellows bring me a half-keg of tar, and you have such a commodity in your stores. Eke a barrel of oil."

The shipman goggled at him.

"It shall be done, fair sir," he answered finally. "Ah, good my lords, I pray you save us from these demons of corsairs. They will flay us alive, an we do not accept their Al-Koran—or belike they will slay us anyway for sufficiency of slaves to pull at their oars. Do but——"

"Silence," interrupted Matteo. "You talk like a woman—or a Greek. Have you arms for your crew?"

"Some few."

"Then do you serve them out. Make haste. And fetch me the tar and oil."

As Messer Nicholas disappeared down the poop-ladder, Hugh turned to his friend in amazement.

"Tar and oil!" he exclaimed. "What engine of defence are you devising, Matteo?"

For answer, Matteo led him inside the stern-castle, where a bed of coals glowed in a stone oven. On it their breakfast had been cooked by Ralph.

"Here we have fire," announced Matteo, "When I have procured the oil and tar I shall compound a very fair copy of the famed Greek fire—a most deadly compound, Hugh, and a weapon these corsairs will not be expecting from a peaceful merchantman. 'Tis a surprise they will not relish, or I know not the breed."

Hugh clapped him on the back.

"Hast a most fertile brain," he cried. "There is a plan, indeed. But what is my part therein?"

"Your part is to put some spirit into these scurvy shipmen, and nerve them to come to blows with the Saracens. 'Tis vital for my plan that we should be close aboard the galley before I launch my stroke."

"Trust me," responded Hugh heartily. "I will keep them to it, an I have to slay them myself. Now, whilst you brew your witches' draught, I will see if the prospect of a fight hath medicinal powers on Ralph's carcass."

Worn out by his retching nausea, Ralph had slumbered through all the uproar on the cog's decks, and Hugh found waking him no easy task.

"What ado now, Messer Hugh?" he protested. "A-hum! Can't you let a body be? My stomach is clean dropped down through my heels, and the top of my head is gone."

"Alas, then, you may have no share in the fight," said Hugh with studied indifference.

Ralph interrupted a leisurely stretch to glance sharply upward at his master.

"A fight, say you? Certes, Messer Hugh, you are jesting."

"Never a jest."

"What manner of fight can men have out on this wobbly water that will not let a body stand steady on the two legs under him?" returned Ralph sceptically.

"If you would but stand on those two legs of yours, you might see the beginning of such a fight," answered Hugh.

His curiosity at last aroused, Ralph caught hold of a piece of rigging beside him and made shift to struggle to his knees.

"I see no fight," he complained. "There is naught but another devil's machine like to this bouncing over the water."

"Ay, Ralph, and 'tis full of hairy blackamoors and bloody Saracens with a mind to cut your heart out."

"Saracens, Messer Hugh? What do they hereabouts?"

Hugh became serious.

"They are sent by my enemy you wot of—he who sent the fellow with the knife and the greenwood men. This is an ill day for us, Ralph, and if we are to win forth from it we must fight as becomes Englishmen."

Silently, Ralph clambered to his feet and stood swaying against the rail.

"I will seek out my bow and mail," he said. "My muscles seem flabby as a babe's, Messer Hugh, but I will do what I may."

In the waist of the cog Messer Nicholas dealt out a sparse supply of bows, hangers and spears to the trembling crew. But Hugh realised that the shipmen were so chicken-hearted the weapons were of little use to them. Messer Nicholas, himself, shuddered as he fingered the blade he had allotted to his own portion.

"What now, merry men all," Hugh addressed them cheerily. "Take heart o' grace! Bethink you, we are in a sad pickle, but an we do not make it easier, 'tis like to be worse. The Saracens will see to it none gets back to Hastings port to tell of a lost cargo. There is but one safe path, wot you all, and that is to hurl the villains into the sea when they would come aboard."

"Brave words, lordling," snarled Messer Nicholas, "but you are clad in steel. We have no hauberks to protect us against arbalests and arrows. What shall we do?"

"Fear naught," answered Hugh good-temperedly. "I have by me a longbowman can stand off all the archers in Paynimry. What ho, Ralph?"

The giant descended the poop ladder with compressed lips and a very white face. He lurched a little in his gait, but he tried hard to smile in reply.

"Why, Messer Hugh," he said, "an I ever get the hang of the crooked lifts of this cursed sea, I shall contrive somewhat with my bow. But this illness which hath gripped me is no friend of the belly. And——"

"A truce to your belly, Ralph," Hugh broke in. "Take station beside me here at the foot of the poop-ladder. Messer Nicholas, bid your varlets spread out under the rail, and place those with bows on the forecastle."

When these dispositions were made, Hugh looked over-side to see the galley dashing towards them only a bowshot distant. Her decks, crammed with men, were absolutely quiet. Not an arrow or bolt heralded her advance. Every sail of the cog was drawing, but, propelled by her swinging oars, the galley overhauled the sailing ship almost as if she had been standing still. As the Saracen's bow came abreast of the stern-castle, Matteo stepped out on the cog's poop beside the helmsman, who crouched low in fear of the arrow-hail which he knew would first be aimed at him.

"Art prepared, Hugh?" Matteo called down.

Hugh waved his hand along the deck.

"You see," he returned. "And you?"

"The brew is in the cauldron."

Before Hugh could answer, the galley drew alongside some twenty ells away. Her oars churned the water into foam that splashed up to the oar-lock ports. Her decks were abristle with pointed Saracen helms and gleaming scimiters. In a cage atop of her one mast amidships three or four archers lurked. At a word of command shouted from her stern-castle, the oars were backed and her headway checked until she was travelling at the same pace as the cog.

Dark, ferocious faces stared across the narrow gap of water at the helpless merchantman, but not a hand was raised to hurl a spear or draw a bow. The silence was broken by a hail.

"Ho, Englishmen, is Messer Nicholas Dunning there?"

A swart, stocky figure stepped to the railing of the galley's stern-castle. It was Messer Bartolommeo Caraducci. He waited expectantly, but Messer Nicholas cowered abjectly behind a water-butt under the stairs to the fore-castle. It was Hugh forced him from cover.

"What would you, noble sir?" he quavered.

"This: I am after a bigger prize than your beggarly cargo or the lives of your rascal crew. Give me what I want, and I let you go free."

Messer Nicholas picked up courage.

"I will pay any price in reason," he replied.

"I want no price," the corsair roared back. "You have three voyagers on board. They are no friends of yours. I have an interest in them. Deliver them to me—or suffer me to come and take them—and I will do you no harm."

Messer Nicholas hesitated and cast an evil look at his three passengers.

"Careful, Messer Nicholas," said Hugh softly. "You are on dangerous ground."

"Fair sir, I would do you no harm," clamoured the shipman. "Indeed, and I would not. But what choice is a man to make in such a case? I cannot sacrifice the lives of all my crew."

At these words, his men rallied around him, obviously in complete agreement with his sentiments. Hugh tried again.

"Your names would be infamous an it became known you had driven such a bargain," he declared. "More, you would be hung by the King's men."

Messer Nicholas shook his head stubbornly.

"I would rather chance that than certain death and torture. And we are not giving you up. It is only that we cannot protect you."

The galley still kept abreast of the cog, gradually narrowing the distance between them. Her commander hailed impatiently.

"Well, what say you, English dogs?" he cried. "Death and torment—by the Prophet's Beard, I will flay you alive, inch by inch!—or a fair bargain?"

"We ag——"

Messer Nicholas broke off his acceptance, as Matteo appeared on the poop, with a flaming torch in his hand.

"The Saracen does well to call you English dogs," shouted the jongleur scornfully. "Dogs you would be to give up your own countrymen to the Paynim hounds! See you this torch? With it—and what I have by me—I could kindle your ship in flames at one stroke. I give you a new choice: fight off the corsairs or else prepare to perish like rats. I swear I will put this torch to the cog, an you refuse to stand by us."

A new chorus of protests went up at this threat. Messer Nicholas fell upon his knees, hands raised imploringly.

"Spare my beautiful ship, fair sir," he begged. "Bethink you, is it not more Christian to give up your own few lives and save ours, than to drag us all down to death together?"

"You fools!" snapped Matteo. "Do you believe the Saracens would keep the bargain, if you made it? They would come aboard, and once aboard they would massacre all at will. Stand to your arms, and fight like men. We will aid you, an you do as I say. We shall beat the corsairs yet."

Hugh seized the moment for definite action.

"Shoot me that swart fellow on the galley's stern-castle," he whispered to Ralph. "Quick, man, before they suspect!"

Ralph notched his arrow, drew the bow-string to his shoulder and loosed. But the arrow slipped over Messer Bartolommeo's shoulder and sank to the feathers in the breast of a man behind him. A yell of anger rose from the galley. Her commander stepped back from his exposed position, and a cloud of arrows and cross-bow bolts tore through the cog's sails or spatted into her planking. One of the sailors was pierced in the throat and fell choking.