CHAPTER XXI

HOW HUGH'S QUEST WAS ENDED

The black mutes who had answered Helena's call stood back when their captive was trussed helpless. With arms folded across their chests, they waited like bronze statues in the flickering light of the resin torches set in brackets on the walls. There were six of them, Ethiopian slaves of the palace, who were employed on matters where their dumb loyalty could be turned to account, imperturbably cruel and merciless.

Hugh drew himself erect. He was disappointed, not fearful. He had come expecting to meet Edith, and instead he had met treachery and hatred.

"You serve me most unkindly, lady," he said with simple dignity.

Helena laughed harshly.

"I serve you unkindly? Man, I tell you you know not what awaits you. What I have done will mean nothing. 'Tis but the beginning."

"You have betrayed a friend," replied Hugh steadily. "Certes, that is naught to boast of."

Again she laughed, shrilly, almost hysterically.

"Oh, you fool! What do your Western notions of chivalry mean to me? I am a Greek! I am a woman! When they decided to trap you, I bade them let me try other means first. I thought to save you—ay, to put you in the way of power and might above all other men. And you—you—poor blind worm that you are!—you scorn me—scorn Helena Comnena!"

"It is in my mind that did I accept your means of saving me, I would lose my honour thereby," answered Hugh. "But 'tis a matter we need not argue. If you will but give thought to what you have done, lady, I trow you will see that you may gain naught by imprisoning me or slaying me. My comrades without will ask swift accounting and exact a vengeance upon the Emperor and the city."

"Faugh!" She snapped her fingers in his face. "That for your comrades! Fools they are, as blind as you yourself. Why, my first aim was to save you from their fate! 'Twas so I planned. What can they do against Constantinople? They are helpless; anon they will come crawling on their knees begging food."

"They prevailed against the city once," returned Hugh calmly.

"They? You deceive yourself! 'Twas not they, but I. Oh, I wot well old Dandolo stormed a few towers, but what did he gain thereby? Naught but dead men and sore wounds. 'Twas all you could do with his aid to withstand the Greeks who came against you from the city. Had there been any one but the False Alexius, craven hound, to lead our people, they, would have torn you in pieces. Even so, 'twas my father and I turned the city from Alexius, and put Isaac back on the throne—and when the time is ripe we will put another in his place."

Hugh shrugged his shoulders.

"Have it as you will, lady. I will abide in patience whatever end God hath for me."

"'Tis a sorry end," she flashed. "A puling, bloody, tortuous end of whining misery. We will make use of you—as we made use of your host—and when we have that which we seek, we will cast you in a dungeon to die—as those of the host will die from battle and hunger and thirst."

Hugh held silent. By speech, he perceived, he only inflamed still further the woman's hatred. But she was not finished with him. She came close to him, so close that her breath fanned his cheek.

"As for that trumpery, white-and-gold demoiselle you thought to find, Messer Hugh, know that I shall make it my especial charge to see that she comes to no less pleasant an end than yours. Ah, that hurts, doth it? I have touched your fears. Be assured I will have her in mind. For the present, 'tis true, I may not touch her. But a time is coming when she will be in my power. Then——" She laughed again that shrill, hysterical peal, fraught with madness—"then, I say, I may choose to place the wreckage that was you so that you may see the sport these black men make of her."

Hugh's face grew purple; the veins swelled out on his forehead. Even Helena shrank back before the hatred in his face.

"You are not a woman," he said hoarsely. "You are a devil. May God condemn you to the depths of hell! May the Virgin turn her face from you and mark your wickedness before the world! May the Fore-runner and He who came after him condemn you in the Court of Heaven! May Holy Peter at the Gate——"

Helena clasped her hands over her ears.

"Take him away," she screamed to the blacks. "Take him to the Cæsar!"

As his guards hustled him from the room he had his last sight of her, collapsed in a chair. The fire had gone out of her; she was a mediæval woman, trembling before curses that she knew were justified.

The blacks conducted him through a long series of passages, continually descending into the foundations of the palace enclosure, deep down under the terrace upon which it was built. Torches or lamps lighted the way, and the guards encountered at intervals were all Æthiopians, for not even the Varangians were admitted to this secluded part of the palace beneath the Imperial residence. It seemed to Hugh that they walked an interminable distance before they reached a heavy door which swung open to the tap of one of his guards.

The room inside was stone-walled and scantly furnished. In one corner gleamed a brazier heaped with lighted coals in which were thrust long-handled iron contrivances. About the walls were ranged other machines, the use of which Hugh understood at a glance. There were a rack, a wheel, a machine for stretching apart the legs to cause a rupture, an iron boot for crushing the leg-bones, thumb-screws, a chair from the seat of which sharp spikes could be shot upward and divers other fiendish tools. It was probably the most perfectly equipped torture-chamber in the world.

After one swift glance around the room, Hugh's eyes fastened on the table at the farther end. On the opposite side of it sat Comnenus and Mocenigo. The face of the Italian was creased by a tigerish grimace.

"Ha, Messer de Chesby," he said with mock courtesy. "I greet you well. Belike, fair sir, you will recall the farewell I gave you upon the occasion of our last meeting? I have been looking forward to this day these many months past."

Hugh eyed him with contempt and turned upon the Cæsar, who affected to be deeply engrossed in a scroll of parchment.

"A right knightly rôle you play, Lord Cæsar," said Hugh cuttingly. "You set your daughter to trap a man who saved your lives, and then prepare to torture him—to gratify what spite I know not, save it be to satisfy the outcast beside you."

Comnenus ruffled the parchment abstractedly.

"'Tis not a pleasure to be compelled to seem ungrateful in your eyes," he answered. "But 'twould seem, Messer Hugh, that you are that type of impetuous youth who refuses to heed good advice. Do you bear in mind the warning I gave you not to venture to Constantinople?"

"That do I."

"But you would not heed me. I bade you forget your mad quest for your father. Again you would not heed me. Constantinople beckoned to you like an evil charm. Perchance, though, 'twas not Constantinople but the Treasure of the Bucoleon?"

He shot the words rapidly at Hugh, eyeing him keenly from under bushy brows.

"I know not what you mean," said Hugh indifferently.

"You know not of the Treasure of the Bucoleon?"

"Nay."

"Think well, Messer Hugh. An we use force upon you, you will have great dolour."

"I do not know even what it is. The Treasure of the Bucoleon? What may it be?"

Mocenigo intervened impatiently.

"Why debate with him, Cæsar? Let us show him first what suffering means."

Comnenus looked questioningly toward the instruments that surrounded them.

"Ay, we might give him a lesson. Summon Bartolommeo and bid him fetch in some wretch who awaits punishment."

Comnenus nodded approval.

"That is worth trying."

He touched a bell, and a door behind the table opened to admit another man, very short and broad in stature. There was something familiar about his pock-marked face and barrel-like chest, and when he squinted his eyes about the room Hugh recognised him for the swart shipman who had beset the cog Alice in the Narrow Seas, after striving unsuccessfully to induce the comrades to take passage with him.

"Hast seen this springald before, Bartolommeo," said Mocenigo.

"Ay, Magnificence. 'Tis a lusty youth and a wary."

"We have hopes to induce him to hold speech with us, Bartolommeo."

"That may be, lord, that may be."

"I dare swear you can manage it."

"Mayhap, mayhap."

Bartolommeo turned to Hugh.

"Dost bear me in mind, fair sir?"

"Right well," returned Hugh drily. "Satan must have come to your aid, for I had hoped you were drowned ere this."

Bartolommeo burst into a roar of laughter that echoed through the chamber.

"Said I not 'twas a lusty cock—ay, and can crow to perfection! Know, good youth, that I am dowered with as many lives as a cat! It takes more than a dose of the Greek fire to send me to my spit in hell. And whilst we speak of that, I beseech you, tell me was the device yours or that apple-faced English shipman's?"

"'Twas my comrade's," replied Hugh amusedly.

"The jongleur?"

"Ay."

"A wise man of his hands, by St. Bacchus. Well, lords, what am I to do for the young knight?"

"Show him upon another what may happen to himself, an he doth not tell what he knows," directed Mocenigo.

Bartolommeo pursed up his lips.

"As you will, fair sir, as you will," he assented doubtingly. "But I know this breed. 'Tis a stubborn one, a desperate one, a strong-backed one! Hast knowledge of——"

"Have done," said Mocenigo. "'Tis no pleasant thought—the prospect of looking forward to having his eyes burned out. Doubt not he will weaken."

"As ordered, Magnificence, as ordered," assented Bartolommeo. "Bide but a moment."

He withdrew through the door by which he had entered, to return immediately dragging a miserable young Greek, whose arms and legs were fettered together.

"There is naught about this to be sorry for," he remarked cheerfully, as he deposited his victim on the floor beside the brazier and beckoned several of the guards to his side. "He hath a foul record as an iconoclast, and is charged with conspiring against our good lord, the Emperor. So!"

He removed one of the long-handled irons from the fire, and the guards pinned down the hapless wretch upon the floor. Hugh shut his eyes and gripped his teeth together.... There was an awful wail of agony ... a smell of burning ... a meaningless babble of pain and expostulation.

"Neatly done, and I do claim credit for myself," said Bartolommeo, as he thrust the iron back into the brazier. "Take him forth, guards. An he doth not confess whence he had the poison found in his possession, he is to have his right hand lopped off this day week."

The pitiful figure was carried out, and Mocenigo addressed Hugh again.

"You did not enjoy that sight, Messer Hugh?"

Hugh took a step nearer to the table, so that his face was clear in every feature to his interrogators.

"Mark me well in what I say," he answered evenly. "An you venture to torment me in any way, by fire, by the rack, by bone-crushing, what you will, I will make an end of myself—I will strangle myself, if I may. If I may not, I will starve myself to death. And what I know—whether it is what you seek or otherwise—will die with me."

"Well spoken, well spoken," commented Bartolommeo impersonally. "Said I not so, Magnificence?"

"'Tis the answer the other made," agreed Mocenigo in a puzzled tone. "Strange, is it not? The same answer from both. What doth it mean?"

"Nay, then, they must have had intercourse," rejoined Comnenus, fretfully. "'Tis manifest. This is not accident. 'Tis the same attitude—identical."

"In that case, we may move slowly," said Mocenigo. "Ha, by the Panagia, I have an idea! How if——"

He inclined his head to the Cæsar's ear, and murmured rapidly in Greek. Whilst they talked, Bartolommeo leaned against the wall close by the brazier and whistled to himself.

"Ay, 'tis as good a plan as any," approved Comnenus at last. "There is much to be said for it. Let one work upon the other. 'Twill be an incentive to each. So be it, then."

Mocenigo turned to Hugh.

"For the time-being, Messer Hugh, you shall taste the pleasures of a dungeon under Blachernae. You have seen the fate we may give you, and doubt not we shall give it to you, an we see fit, despite your threats. But in the meantime we will let you think of it, turn it over in your mind, dwell upon the life of a blind man and the sensations of being chopped slowly apart, limb by limb. Bartolommeo!"

"Magnificence!"

"Take the Englishman to the Tower of Anemas. Put him in with the old one."

"With the old one?" Bartolommeo threw back his head and gave vent to another roar of his bull-like laughter. "Ha, ha, ha! By St. Bacchus, but that is a dainty play! No one hath the wit for devising pleasantries like Messer Mocenigo. May the devil smile upon me, but I would have looked forward to this, had I but known! Come, Messer Hugh, come with me! I will guide you. An you but knew, mayhap you would think fit to bestow a small dole upon one who hath guided you to your journey's end—as, belike, he may guide you yet to the end of a greater journey! A great guide is old Bartolommeo!"

The black guards closed around them, and once more Hugh found himself in the draughty passages under the Palace. But presently they ascended a flight of stairs, and emerged into a narrow, high-walled courtyard. Overhead the early stars were twinkling frostily in the wintry sky.

"Look your last on Heaven, Messer Hugh," counselled Bartolommeo as they hurried along. "Ay, by Bacchus, His like to be your last look! Tarry a moment—I do not grudge it to you!—'tis a fair sight, is it not? To be young, and to have the stars to look upon! Ha, I would I had not a life of joyous sin behind me! How much more merrily might I have sinned had I had the experience I now possess! This way, good youth. To your right—up these steps. So! The stars are gone."

An Ethiopian guard opened a metal gate, and swung it shut on their heels. They descended a corkscrew stair in the hollow of an immensely thick wall, their footsteps echoing hollowly in the cavernous space. At the lowest level, they came out upon a corridor as black as night, and the guards were forced to halt and light a lamp which was ready in a niche of the wall. A few paces on, and Bartolommeo stopped at a metal-bound door.

"May the devil smile upon me, but 'tis like visiting an old friend," he remarked, as he fumbled with a bunch of keys. "I must have a look before you go in. Belike, he will be pleased to see me again."

He opened the door and peered within.

"Ha, Magnificence, how pass the days?" he called. "'Tis Bartolommeo Caraducci asks. We have not met in many a long day."

"Doth the devil yet spare you, Bartolommeo?" replied a deep, ringing voice that sent a thrill up Hugh's spine. "How lonesome must be all the fiends!"

Bartolommeo chuckled.

"A rare spirit, by St. Bacchus! A rare spirit! We were talking of you but now. How you keep up I cannot see, fair sir. Never knew I one like you, and God knows I have served the devil over-long. But we have a change for you, a diversion, ay, a companion. How will it seem after—ha, 'tis seven years now, is it not?—ay, going on eight? I wish you joy of one another. There will be much to talk over. It may be—— But I talk too long. In with you, Messer Hugh."

He gave Hugh a push and the door slammed shut.

"Rest well, fair sirs. Bartolommeo will not forget you."

A roar of hoarse laughter, and footsteps retreating in the distance. Then—silence.

But gradually Hugh became conscious of a man's laboured breathing. In the pitch-darkness of the dungeon it was impossible to see the stranger, yet his presence was as palpable as though verified by touch. He stood a few feet distant, almost within reach, drawing in breaths in great, gusty sobs, uncannily speechless. At last Hugh could stand it no longer. Was the man, perchance, a lunatic, despite that resonant voice and quick reply to Bartolommeo? Was it Mocenigo's subtle purpose to subject him to the ravings of a madman, hoping thereby to wear down his spirit?

"Who are you?" he asked abruptly, scarce recognising his own voice as it rolled back and forth betwixt the stone walls of the dungeon. "Are you knight or common man?"

The stranger gasped. "You speak the lingua franca? Art not a Greek? My God, art really human? I forbore to speak when that demon left. I was afraid to. I was afraid it was but another of his tricks. But you are really there? Let me touch you, Messer. Ay, I can feel you. Armour? Art a knight! St. James, 'tis impossible to believe! Nay, but I wrong you foully thus to rejoice when you are brought down to this bitter captivity! Ha, fair sir, I cry your pardon. Prithee, believe I am nigh mad with joy at possessing human company. 'Tis years—I forget how long; that fiend told us; but I forget—since last I clasped a human hand. Ah, God, sweet Christ is my witness I have longed for this!"

Hugh felt the man's fingers wandering over his surcoat and mail, and when they came to the bonds which ill fastened his arms behind him, the prisoner exclaimed in quick pity:

"I will release you, Messer. You must be in sore pain to be so constrained in armour. By your favour! There, 'tis done."

The loosened cords fell to the floor, and Hugh was able cautiously to move his arms back into their normal position, strained joints creaking protestingly.

"I give you thanks, Messer," he said. "Are you French or Italian?"

"I am English."

A myriad lights danced in the darkness before Hugh's eyes.

"English? I—I, too, fair sir, am English."

"Then doth my pity for you grow, Messer," answered the ringing voice gravely. "'Twere doubly bad fortune that a fellow-countryman should come to this low estate. They have a saying in Constantinople that he who is sent to the Tower of Anemas comes forth a corpse."

Hugh reached out and gripped the stranger's shoulders.

"Your name?" he rasped betwixt gritted teeth.

"My name?" The stranger laughed pleasantly, and laid a soothing hand over one of Hugh's. "Certes, 'tis so long since I thought of myself by name that I am like to forget it. In the days when I lived, fair sir, I was called James de Chesby."

Hugh sank on his knees, dragging the other with him.

"Father, father," he cried brokenly. "I am Hugh! I am your son!"

CHAPTER XXII

THE TREASURE OF THE BUCOLEON

A shudder wrenched Sir James's body.

"It cannot be! It cannot be!" he groaned. "Nay, I go mad. 'Tis as I feared. At last it hath come. Oh, Holy Lady of Heaven, I conjure you by my sweet wife, take pity on this poor sufferer, and——"

For the first time Hugh knew tears.

"But it is I, Hugh, father," he insisted. "Be not disturbed. You do not dream. I am Hugh that you left with Prior Thomas as a little babe."

"Hugh? But how come you here?"

"I came seeking you." Hugh laughed bitterly. "I had hoped to save you, mayhap, or bring you such succour as you needed. Well, at the least, I may share your prison with you—thanks to the craft of my enemies."

"And mine, fair son. But prithee tell me how knew you where to seek me?"

Sir James's voice had steadied. He sat by Hugh on the dungeon floor, one arm encircling his shoulders.

"Nay, I knew not. But I have a friend, one Matteo of Antioch, a jongleur, a man wise and cunning in the affairs of Outremer, and from him and others I heard how you had disappeared in Constantinople. By his advice I journeyed hither, trusting that I might learn what had become of you. I had no settled plan. My one thought was to find you."

"But you took great risk, Hugh."

"Nay, for I came with the host."

"The host!" repeated Sir James. "What host, fair son?"

"Know you not——"

Hugh's heart leaped into his throat as he grasped the fact of the awful isolation in which his father had lain.

"I know naught," answered Sir James sadly. "For nigh eight years, Hugh, the world hath gone its way, and James de Chesby ignorant thereof. What kings have passed, who reigneth upon earth, what wars have been fought and lost and won—I know not. I have bided here in my dungeon, living in the memories of the past and in the hope that some day Heaven would welcome me none the less for a shameful end."

The tears came again to Hugh's eyes.

"There is much to tell," he began.

"Nay, it can wait," interrupted his father. "Before all else, I would hear of you yourself, Hugh. You completed your twenty-one years at Chesby, as my charter provided?"

"Ay, father, but with an ill grace."

"I doubt not, but I am glad of it, Hugh. It gave you a few years more of English freedom and the sunlight ere you came to this."

"But what avails this, an I have found you!"

Sir James hugged Hugh's mailed shoulders.

"Selfish I am, God wot," he said. "But I cannot find it in my heart to grieve. Ah, Hugh, for a score of years I have thought of you and wondered how you fared—ay, if you lived. I dealt ill by you, fair son. I was wrong to allow my sore dolour for her that was your mother to sway me from the duty of a parent. But St. James be my witness that I intended to return ere you came to manhood. When I voyaged to Constantinople for the last time 'twas with intent to fulfil my errand there and then return to England."

"If only you had!"

"God did not will it so. Doubt not, Hugh, our Lord dealt wisely when he brought me this suffering. Perchance, I had grown selfish in my quest for fame. But enough of this. I must have your story. 'Twill seem like a breath of the free world outside. This host you speak of, fair son—how came it hither?"

So Hugh recounted the history of the Crusade, and its diversion from Babylon, first to Zara, and then to Constantinople, and the falling-out between the Crusaders and the Greeks. He was interrupted frequently, for Sir James must ask questions as to the leaders and questions of policy, and how battles had turned. And after these had been explained, they came back to Hugh's own story, and Hugh detailed his adventures, beginning with the coming of Mocenigo to Blancherive.

"Mocenigo!" exclaimed his father. "That foul knave! Was there with him a swart, squat shipman——"

"Bartolommeo?"

"Ay, Bartolommeo Caraducci, he who brought you hither?"

"Nay, I met not Bartolommeo at that time. But after, when I came to sail for Outremer, he crossed my path."

Hugh told the story of the sea-fight in the Narrow Seas, and Sir James listened with keen relish.

"Ay, 'twas well-contrived," he applauded. "This Matteo is a man-at-arms of worth. I would I might meet with him. As for Bartolommeo, scoundrel that he is, I have a friendly regard for him, if only that he is no hypocrite and sins openly for the love of sinning. 'Twas he captained the galley Holy Dove, which brought me to Constantinople, and he, acting under Mocenigo's instructions, trapped me here."

"But how was that, father?" asked Hugh, amazed.

"'Tis a long story. But first we must have yours. Then I will make all clear to you."

So Hugh resumed the interrupted thread of his narrative, and described the journey across France, with the rescue of the Comnenoi in the forest near Troyes.

"This Comnenus, also, warned you not to journey to Constantinople?" exclaimed Sir James. "Then he is in it, too!"

"In what?"

"Nay, I will tell all, fair son, when the time comes. Do you finish first your tale. By St. James, 'tis one the jongleurs will make much of, or I do not know the breed of chivalry!"

Hugh described the meeting with the Marshal of Champagne, the passage overland into Italy, the arrival at Venice and the reappearance of Mocenigo. Sir James gave eager attention to every statement, but was especially interested in the sidelights Hugh was able to cast upon the intrigues underlying the conduct of the Crusade.

"And where was Lion-Heart all this time?" he broke in impatiently. "I say naught against Boniface of Montferrat. He comes of a good house. But there should have been a prince of kingly rank to lead such a host, and of all princes who is there like Lion-Heart?"

"But—but—" Hugh choked, knowing how hard the blow he must deal, "but Lion-Heart is dead—long since."

"Dead? Lion-Heart dead?"

Sir James was silent a long time, and when he aroused himself it was to sigh deeply:

"It brings home to me that I am become an ancient man, fair son. Lion-Heart is dead, and you are grown to manhood and the world goes well without my aid! Why should I fret for liberty?"

"Because there is many a good stroke to be given," replied Hugh. "I marvel at the breadth and thickness of your shoulders yet, fair lord. We shall win free. I was hopeless, but now I am resolved to be free. Ah, do not despair! Bethink you how much worse would be our lot, an we were separated in our captivity."

"Well spoken, Hugh! The true knight never falters. Let it be so. We will proclaim ourselves unconquered, and hope to the end. To say truth, 'tis only this feeling which hath kept me alive. I have said to myself that I would not yield, that I would keep my body strong and my heart clean and my head clear, so that if God in His infinite wisdom saw fit to recall me to the world, I might take my place without men saying: 'He was James de Chesby.'"

"But how have you kept your body strong?" asked Hugh.

"By labour. This dungeon is sufficiently large. For their own reasons, my captors have sought to protect my health. Therefore I have had sufficient food and covering. I have devised for myself numerous exercises and bodily contortions, which make pliable the muscles and preserve strength. I walk, run, leap and dance for hours in the day, until weariness assails me. For the result do but feel of my limbs."

Indeed, Hugh was amazed at the hardness of the knotted muscles on his father's gaunt body.

"You are a lesson to me," he acknowledged humbly. "An I had been in your place, the desolation would have driven me mad in a year."

"Ay, for you are but a youth, with all life before you," returned Sir James. "My life is behind me. I have memories to dwell upon, and the future holds few worries. Nay, for me the future is only death, and there are times when I would welcome it, an it would but come to me on a hard-fought field, with brave knights at my side. But enough of myself. Tell me more of this venture of yours."

Hugh took up his story, and sketched in detail how the comrades had followed Mocenigo to the Isle of Rabbits and what they had heard there. Sir James could not contain himself.

"The foul hound! So he would do. Not content with playing for two sides, he must try a third. Certes, he is in the pay of the Saracens and the Greeks, as well as the Venetians; and when the time comes he will sell out those two of the three who promise him least profit. I know him—and if I have one prayer I press beyond all others, 'tis that I may be permitted to send him to his doom in hell. But I prick you from your path, Hugh. What of this Comnenus and his daughter whom you met again?"

Hugh told of the Parliament held at Zara, and the introduction of the Young Alexius; the gradual growth of the Comnenian interest with the Prince and the Cæsar's eventual rise to be Chancellor of the Empire.

"Ha, there is another evil plotter!" Sir James interrupted again. "I place him now. He is a cousin of the Emperor Andronicus. I dare swear that he nurseth a hope of obtaining the vermillion buskins. 'Tis a pretty cross-work of villainy."

"Ay, his daughter boasted to me after I was made prisoner that they could place whom they wished upon the throne," volunteered Hugh.

"His daughter? What manner of woman is she?" enquired Sir James with reawakened interest.

Hugh blushed in the darkness.

"Most fair," he answered briefly.

"You have not told me how you were made prisoner, fair son?"

"'Tis not a story I am proud of," replied Hugh. And in as few words as possible he described the coming of the embassy, and the message which had been whispered to him by the page as they withdrew.

"Stay," exclaimed his father. "Who was this maid you thought had sent the page? Oh, a daughter of Sir Cedric Halcroft? She that you mentioned Mocenigo was sent for? Sir Godfrey's niece? Ha, I see. You have an interest in the maid, Hugh?"

Hugh picked at the straps of his armour.

"Ere she left England she gave me her gage to wear," he admitted slowly.

"You still wear it?"

"Ay."

"And she?"

"Nay, I know not."

"She is a good maid?"

"There never lived a sweeter."

"Ha, so, fair son. The Virgin guard her. Now, do you finish your tale."

Sir James sat speechless until Hugh came to the account of the scene in the torture-chamber and Comnenus's question about the Treasure of the Bucoleon.

"And then?" he pressed.

"He would not believe me when I told him I knew not even what it was."

"And you did not?"

"Nay, how should I?"

Sir James drew a deep breath of relief.

"You had no thought of gain in coming hither?" he asked almost jealously.

"Nay, fair lord, I wished only to seek you out, for I was sure always that you lived. I know not why I was so certain, but in my heart there was never doubt. It was as if a voice spoke in my ear, saying: 'Your father lives.' I was wroth with those who doubted it. I have thought—" Hugh hesitated, then plunged on—"I have thought my lady mother, watching over us twain from Heaven, hath whispered the message in my ear."

"Doubt not that she did," affirmed Sir James solemnly.

Both were silent for a space, murmuring prayers upon their knees, for they lived in the Age of Faith and they believed that they had experienced what was close to a miracle.

"Did Comnenus threaten you with torture?" asked Sir James after he had risen from his knees.

"Ay, and at Mocenigo's suggestion they demonstrated it to me on the body of a prisoner."

"What said you?" questioned Sir James eagerly.

"I told them an they tormented me in any way, I would kill myself."

"Said you so, indeed? By St. James, fair son, you are as I would have you! 'Twas so I have answered them, each time the threat was made, and because they knew I meant what I said and that if I died my secret would perish with me, they forbore to make good the threat."

"They said as much, but I did not then know whom they meant," replied Hugh. "Prithee, fair lord, an I do not ask what is forbidden, what is this Treasure of the Bucoleon? Is it the cause of your imprisonment?"

"Ay, so, Hugh. But that you may understand the matter wholly, I will tell my story from the beginning. 'Tis a long tale, and a fair bargain, mayhap, for the entertainment you have given me. Ah, God, Hugh, if you only knew what these hours have meant to me! My own son by my side, his love for me made known, brave tales of knightly venture in my ears and new hope for the future! It gives strength to my right arm again."

"God send that you may yet use your sword on these knavish Greeks," declared Hugh impetuously.

"An He wills it, doubt not 'twill come to pass! But to my tale. Hugh, as I have said, I owe you amends for the injustice I did you in leaving you to the upbringing of priests and strangers; but if you have known love for a woman you will understand the passion of desolation that possessed me when your mother died. I loved her not as many lords love wives. She was not a plaything, a toy, a source of diversion when I returned weary from the chase or the lists. I loved her with all my soul; she was everything to me. She seemed to represent life itself.

"When she died, I even hated you for being the cause of her death, and I could not bear to look upon your face. Prior Thomas knew my trouble, and his advice was that I should fare forth to Outremer, seeking in action surcease from the pain which threatened the welfare of my soul and eke the greater ease of my gracious lady. He offered to protect you and guard my lands. I accepted his advice, hoping that in service against the infidel I might not only win relief from the burden of sorrow I bore, but induce God to forgive me for the blasphemies I had been guilty of in the first realisation of my loss.

"It is not necessary, Hugh, that I should tell you now everything which occurred in the years that followed, but on my way to the Holy Land I visited Constantinople. In those days the Emperor who ruled was Andronicus Comnenus, a man of advanced years, but indomitable courage and enterprise. He had been an exile most of his life, and had suffered much. It was his policy to bear down upon the nobles and the clergy and to exalt the common people. Much ill is said against him now. He is accused of grave crimes and wickednesses, many of which—God rest his soul!—I doubt not he committed.

"But in the main he strove for justice for the oppressed, and that was something the nobles and the priests could not forgive him. They resisted as best they could, and he dealt with them heavy-handedly, slaying, torturing, mutilating and despoiling, and amassing vast treasures thereby. He was hated and feared. I cannot tell you how terribly he was hated. There was a fierceness in his temper which was almost inhuman. Mayhap, suffering in youth and over-indulgence had injured his mind. Howbeit he had few friends, and when I came to Constantinople he conceived a liking for me. Ere long he could not bear that we should be separated.

"Ask not why this was so. For one thing, I did not fear him. For another thing, being not a Greek, he had no cause for doubting my faithfulness. But I do not profess to penetrate the interior of his dark soul. Only God can know the reasons which actuated him. At his solicitation, I prolonged my stay and dwelt in a suite of rooms in the Great Palace. He was a true friend to me. He sympathised with me in my loss. He respected my endeavour to make reparation for the blasphemy of my grief. He trusted in me absolutely.

"One night when we sat together alone, he told me that he was convinced he should not reign long. The nobles were too eager in their hatred of him, and the Angeloi were then already lifting up their heads, anxious to seize the throne. The priests, too, were against him, and the common people would side with whoever gained success, forgetting quickly the justice he had given them. He asked me if I would assist him in a certain matter, and when he assured me that it would not involve the shedding of blood, I assented.

"Then he told me that all the treasure he had amassed from the nobles he had punished—truly, Hugh, a sum passing belief, millions of Byzants—he had set aside to constitute a fund for the rebuilding of the Empire. But he could not trust the rulers who came after him, and therefore he had hidden it in a certain place in the confines of the Palace of the Bucoleon. It was his desire that I should consent to have the secret of its location imparted to me, and after he was dead exert my own judgment as to whether the treasure should be revealed or not. It was his wish, in this respect, that I should carry the secret with me to my grave, an I had any doubt that whoever was entrusted with the wealth would employ it for aught save the advancement of the Empire.

"Shortly thereafter by the terms of my vow I was obliged to depart for the Holy Land, and not many months had passed when Andronicus was assassinated, as he had foreseen, and Isaac Angelos took his place. In some way—I know not how—the story of the Treasure of the Bucoleon had become known to the inner circle of Greeks who ruled the Empire. Isaac knew of it, and sent to me repeatedly, bidding me come and reveal it to him. But I was fighting lustily to preserve the Holy Sepulchre and, afterwards, to save what we could of the Kingdom of Jerusalem from Saladin, and moreover I doubted always Isaac's right to the treasure, for report said of him that he was more concerned with dissipation and pleasure than with the well-being of his subjects.

"But in Lent of the year 1196, he sent me a most urgent request, placing it in the light of a favour to him and pointing out that under the terms of my obligation to Andronicus I owed it to him to give him the opportunity of proving his right and claim. As I have told you, I was then hungering for a sight of you, the babe I had so unjustly hated, and it was in my mind to return to England. Therefore I resolved to go to Constantinople, saying naught as to my purpose to the knights of my acquaintance in Tripoli, where I then dwelt, and if, as I supposed, I was unable to agree to Isaac's claims, intended to journey on home.

"In some manner, it was arranged privily that I should sail to Constantinople in the Holy Dove, a Venetian galley, commanded by Messer Bartolommeo Caraducci. I learned afterward that Mocenigo was present in Tripoli at the time, and oversaw the plot, sailing on ahead of us by a swifter craft. Arriving in Constantinople, Mocenigo met me, and advised me that the Emperor wished to keep secret the purpose of my coming, lest some unscrupulous persons might attempt to secure my person and hold me for the ransom of the treasure. I thought little of such a danger, but I agreed to accept the advice, and so went by night to the Palace of Blachernae, where Isaac lodged. Here he spoke me fair, until I told him that I could not give up the secret to him, for in my bare passage through the Palace and my brief intercourse with him I saw sufficient to prove that he would misuse the treasure.

"When he understood that I would not give up the secret he waxed furious and threatened me with divers punishments. I laughed in his face, reminding him of his invitation, which amounted to a safe conduct. And he laughed back at me, telling me that he thought nothing of deceiving me an I would not give him what was rightfully his. I was carried by guards, as you were, to the torture chamber, and when I convinced Mocenigo, the Emperor's agent, that I could not be forced thus to reveal the treasure, I was brought hither to this dungeon. Here have I been since. Many times they have examined me; again and again they have threatened me. But I have never told, as I never shall."

"You have never been out of this place?" asked Hugh in horror.

"Never, save to go to the torture-chamber. I knew not even that Isaac had been dethroned until you told me, even as I knew not that his despoiler had been cast forth by your comrades of the host. They hold me here in hopes that some day my spirit will break, and it is to the interest of any Emperor of any party to keep me. 'Tis one point they agree upon. I am a stake in the game they play, as is the city itself—and the Empire."

CHAPTER XXIIII

HOW BARTOLOMMEO TRUSTED A STRANGE JAILER

It was morning before Hugh and his father grew weary of talking. Hugh looked up in amazement at the beam of sunlight that straggled through a narrow loophole in the wall.

"I had thought we were far underground," he exclaimed.

"Nay, fair son. This chamber is on the first floor of the Tower of Anemas in the outer walls of Blachernae. Betwixt us and freedom is naught but those stones."

Hugh examined the wall with interest. It was tremendously thick. Looking out through the loopholes was like peering through a tunnel, and midway of the space massy iron bars criss-crossed in an impenetrable barrier.

"Anemas and the nearby towers and walls," his father continued, "were built in part to buttress the terrace on which the Palace is placed. Hence they are vastly heavier than any other section of the fortifications. Around the base of the Tower of Anemas there is a counterfort, and this dungeon is constructed behind the protection of the counterfort as well as within the wall of the tower itself. Nay, Hugh, be not concerned with it. Escape lies not in that direction. An you had all the contrivances of a mason, still you must labour undisturbed for weeks to bore a path through the wall."

"Mayhap we can fall upon our guard when he comes with food," suggested Hugh.

Sir James shook his head.

"Three of the blacks come always together. Now that you are here, I make no doubt that six will come—and they are lusty knaves. Hugh, I like not to stifle your ambitions, but escape from Anemas is no light task."

"Art in the right, fair lord," assented Hugh gloomily. "But, by St. Cuthbert, it should be easier for two than one! And I would fain die striving for freedom, rather than exist at the sufferance of enemies."

His father smiled gently.

"Hast some understanding now, Hugh, of what I have suffered. But I would not hamper you. We will cast about and see what devices we may hit upon. You are like a draught of heady wine, sweet son. I am uplifted even now. Only, I prithee, be patient, for I am old and you are young."

Indeed, Hugh was obliged to commit himself to the routine of the dungeon. Study of the situation convinced him that his father was not exaggerating the difficulties of forcing an escape. The walls were impassable. The guards, who visited them twice a day to bring food and sweep out the dungeon, were alert and powerful, and even if they could be subdued, Hugh had a vivid recollection of the other gates and sentinels who must be overcome before the upper air was reached—and then their troubles would be just begun.

No, he agreed, escape by force was impossible under the present circumstances. He swallowed this unpleasant fact as readily as he could, and set himself to vie with Sir James in keeping his body strong and healthy, in spite of the inevitable languor of confinement. The two wrestled and contended, walked and danced. They had sufficient rough food to eat, and if the chill winter air found access to their chamber, it was proof against dampness. Save on days when the sun never shone they were not uncomfortable.

Hugh had been a prisoner two days when his guards forced him to remove his armour and accept in its stead a woollen cloak to cover his gambeson and quilted drawers. They searched him carefully from head to foot, and took every piece of metal in his possession, even to a medallion of St. Cuthbert which Prior Thomas had given him as a charm to ward off evil. His chief cause for regretting this deprivation was the disappointment his father experienced. Sir James had taken a child-like pleasure in donning the mail and accustoming his muscles to exercise again under the weight of armour. But it showed that their enemies were not forgetting them, and spurred Hugh on to seek a means of escape.

Several weeks passed without incident. Then one evening the door clashed open and Bartolommeo strode in, the six tongueless Ethiopians at his heels.

"Ha, fair sirs," he cried. "How like you this unwonted comradeship? Do you not owe old Bartolommeo a blessing for the service he hath done you? Ay, many folk have said that Bartolommeo had no heart and served the devil! Mayhap, mayhap! But certes he played the rôle of guardian angel when he brought you twain together. How now? How now? Hast talked things over? Art in better frame of mind, Messer Hugh? And you, Sir James—art prepared to be communicative? I have an offer for you, a pledge, an undertaking—ay, a veritable bargain such as one trader makes to another. Belike, you will chaffer with me."

"With you, Bartolommeo, or with your master?" asked Sir James drily.

"A shrewd wit, oh, a shrewd wit," chuckled Bartolommeo. "Ay, you are never sleeping when there is craft afoot. Well, what say you, Messers?"

"There is naught to go upon save Mocenigo's word, then?" said Sir James.

Bartolommeo cocked his head on one side.

"Hast clapped your finger on the worm-hole in the apple," he assented. "Ay, but beggers may not be choosers, an you please, Sir James; and we have you, as I might say, with a dagger to your throat and your helmet-laces cut."

"'Twas so I deemed it," returned Sir James. "There is naught to answer. You know me by now, Bartolommeo, and you know, too, that if you have me here, no less have I that which you seek here."

He touched his head.

"So you have, so you have," Bartolommeo agreed cheerfully. "Ay, and so hath the good youth, your son. 'Tis a tender morsel this sweet chit, Sir James, not used to dungeon fare or the torments of the rack. Mayhap, you would prefer to save him from the torment."

"I would rather he were torn limb from limb than that the secret you seek were imparted to your masters," replied Sir James shortly. "But an you tortured him you would gain naught. You know this, knave, so why clamour uselessly? 'Tis a false scent."

Bartolommeo chuckled again.

"Bravely answered. 'Tis as I expected. Well, Messers, we are busy in the world above, and we may not attend to you as your deserts warrant. But bide in patience. We shall yet give you good entertainment."

It was two weeks before he appeared again. They were weeks of the same dreary routine, the same conscientious exercise, the same utter silence save for what the prisoners said to one another. Yet Hugh did not find it so wearing as he had feared it might be. There was so much to tell his father, there was so much for his father to tell him, that the hours passed rapidly. The only times when his courage failed him were in the night whilst Sir James slept and he conned over Helena's threats and the danger in which Edith might stand. He wondered often if Edith thought of him, if his comrades had any idea of what had become of him, if any one still cared for him or missed him or strove for his release. One night he walked the dungeon until dawn.

The next morning Bartolommeo bustled in.

"I give you greeting, fair lords," the ruffian hailed them jovially. "We must part for a time. I am engaged upon other duties, the import of which I may not tell you. Ha, ha, ha! But I have a choice varlet to take my place. He will watch over you like a mother—ay, like a dam over its kid. Belike, you will regret Bartolommeo even so. Come within, Messer Ranulphio!"

A slender, hairy, little man stole into the dungeon, rubbing his hands together with a certain evil joyousness. His face bristled with a tangled beard, through which stared the sallow skin, and his eyes were very sharp. Hugh started at sight of him. He seemed vaguely familiar, uncannily suggestive of another personality. But there could be no mistake about the wickedness with which he eyed the prisoners.

"At your pleasure, Messer Caraducci," he answered in a cracked, high-pitched voice, with a malignant whine. "Are these the charges I am to take under my care? Ay, they will remember me. They will heed me. I have had knights in my care ere this, and they came to have high respect for me."

Bartolommeo regarded him with affectionate respect.

"Is he not a pleasant bit of a man?" he appealed to Sir James and Hugh. "A very trustworthy fellow, I can tell you. Ere he was fifteen he cut his mother's throat. A year later he slew the household of a noble in Florence for whom he worked, and made off with their ducats. He hath been outlawed from four cities, and hath been a pirate ten years. Oh, we are careful whom we select, Messer Mocenigo and I. We specialise in cut-throats. But this knave is after my own heart. I could envy him some of his deeds, and I take pride that he is a Venetian."

The new jailer bowed with mock humility.

"Two brave bodies for the torment," he whined. "They are no crook-boned scarecrows to fall apart at a twist of the rack. Nay, they will live long and suffer well. I will hold them in good care, Messer Bartolommeo."

"Why do you leave us, Bartolomeo?" enquired Hugh.

"A fair question, Messer Hugh, and I take it kindly that you ask it. Ay, it shows that you are not unmindful of old Bartolommeo's worth. Why, the truth is, there are affairs toward of which I may not speak. But the world will know in time, and Bartolommeo will be rewarded."

"How goes the siege?"

"Siege, say you? Nay, 'tis little enough of a siege. 'Tis more like a fly biting at the back of a bull. The bull flicks his tail, and the fly hangs on. But I say naught against the skill of my countrymen. Ay, I take pride in that I am a Venetian. For first, I have this incomparable compatriot here, Ranulphio, and next, I have those hardy varlets without the walls."

"What have they done?"

"The other night we launched fire-ships against them, planning to destroy their whole fleet. But think you they were dismayed or afraid? Not so. They sallied out in small boats to meet the fire-ships, turned them from their course and did not lose a single galley. A right seaman-like exploit. I am proud of such shipmasters."

"Art in a proudful mood, Bartolommeo," said Sir James. "And the priests say that pride cometh before a fall."

Bartolommeo roared with laughter and clapped his fellow-jailer on the back so hard that Ranulphio sputtered.

"What a treat you will have, Ranulphio! Now do you gauge my trust in you—ay, and my affection—that I turn over to you two such rare souls! I would I might increase our acquaintance, Sir James. But 'tis not every day I may strangle an—— But I say too much. Be assured, fair sirs, I would not leave you, save there was greater game in sight. Pride cometh before a fall! Ay, there is to be a fall for the proud—such a fall as will shake the world."

Ranulphio cackled shrilly in applause, and the two scoundrels left the dungeon arm in arm.

"Now what meant he by that?" said Sir James wonderingly. "But, certes, 'tis strange enough they should trust another with me—the first time in all these years. They must be very sure of us."

"There is some deep villainy afoot," replied Hugh. "Doubt it not, fair lord. Bartolommeo is the chief rogue of Mocenigo, and Mocenigo is the chief rogue of—well, whoever it may be hath paid him most. But tell me: hast ever seen this Ranulphio ere this?"

"Nay, Hugh, he is a stranger, a rat of a man, 'twould seem."

"Ay, but it sticks in my mind he is not a stranger to me. I would I might see clearly. But I may not. It is not the way he looks, but somewhat I cannot put my finger to."

Three nights later the door of the dungeon clanged open, and a lighted torch was thrust inside.

"Hugh!"

Hugh bounded to his feet, blinded by the sudden light, dazed, unbelieving. He put out one hand and touched his father, who had risen at his side.

"Who—who——" he faltered.

"Hugh, it is I."

The torch-flame etched clearly the hooded, muffled figure. Of face and hair there was not a sign. Betrayed once before in this wise, he could scarce trust his ears, scarce dared to credit his tingling senses.

"You—Edith——"

"Yes, it is I, Hugh."

"Who is with you?"

She turned and the light of the torch fell upon the figure of the man behind her who upheld it.

"Ranulphio!" cried Hugh. "Then they have——"

He leaped with hands outstretched, furious, intent to kill. But Edith forced him back. Her hood fell off in the struggle, and her golden hair, gleaming in the scanty light, was tangled in his hands. Perforce he hesitated.

"Hugh, are you mad?" she panted. "Do you not know him?"

"Who?" rasped Hugh.

She nodded behind her.

"Nay, I——"

Ranulphio stepped forward, a broad smile on his bearded face.

"'Twas well played, old comrade," he said. "Ha, to think that I have fooled you! 'Twas more than I expected."

The voice was the voice of Matteo. But still Hugh could not believe.

"Who is he?" he appealed to Edith.

"'Tis Messer Matteo in marvellous disguise. Ay, in sooth, Hugh. Doubt him not."

Hugh drew one hand across his eye.

"Father," he called abruptly. "Fair lord, art here?"

"I am here, Hugh."

"Do you see two figures as I see them?" questioned Hugh.

"I see them, fair son."

"Then am I sane. But——"

"There is no time for buts, Hugh," Matteo interrupted. "Hell bubbles overhead. Comnenus tries his skill once more at overturning a throne. In the confusion we dared to descend here, but if you are to escape we must hurry. There is no time to lose."

"Do you order us. We will obey. But how knew you where to find me?"

"Anon, comrade. For the nonce we have much to do. Follow me."

He led them out into the passageway, sweeping his torch overhead to light them, and barred the door of the empty dungeon. Then they traversed the corridors Hugh remembered on the lower level, until they came to a point where the passage divided. Here lay one of the black guards, stabbed to death.

"We have left a trail of blood," said Matteo with grim satisfaction over his shoulder. "The maid held the torch; I swung the knife. 'Tis a fit ending for such dogs. I would their master might have come within my ken."

"Where is he?" asked Hugh.

"He lurks above. Comnenus employs him with Mocenigo to do his killing. Old Isaac, they say, hath died of sheer fright. Alexius is seized and by now blinded or dead. In the Palace—all through the city—the contending parties riot over who shall be Emperor. But Comnenus and that tigress daughter of his pull the strings."

All this time Edith had been silent, walking at Hugh's side, betwixt him and Sir James. Now Hugh turned to her again.

"How come you hither?"

"'Tis a long story, Hugh. When the lords of the host sent word to the Emperors after your seizure, bidding them give you up or assume the consequences of treachery, I set to work to learn what had been done with you. My father hath ever stayed clear of the intrigue in the Palace, but I have friends of my own. 'Twas not difficult to learn how you had been trapped. The rest is Matteo's doing."

"Nay, she robs herself of merit," Matteo broke in. "All I have done she helped me to do. I was like a madman, Hugh, when Villehardouin came back without you. So were all of us. The Marshal went to Boniface and demanded permission to storm the walls that night, but Dandolo held us back. He counselled us to wait. If they meant to slay you, he said, they would do it before we could reach you. If you were a prisoner, we could afford to await a sure opportunity for your release. So we dispatched a cartel to the Emperors, and for answer came to me a message from your lady here, who bade me come to her in the city, prescribing the disguise I should assume and the part I was to play."

Hugh saw that Edith blushed red as the torch-flame, whose resinous light betrayed her confusion.

"Messer Matteo is over-modest," she insisted. "All I did was to advise him. He acted for himself. He entered the city; he came to Mocenigo as an outcast from the Venetian fleet, begging for service, convincing Mocenigo he was as great a villain as ever lived, and so obtained employment in the political prison. After that, 'twas only necessary to learn where you were imprisoned and await a favourable opportunity to set you free. To-night was made for us."

"Knew you of my imprisonment, my maid?" asked Sir James.

"Not so, fair lord—not until Bartolommeo took Messer Matteo to your dungeon. He was greatly surprised to learn who you were—as was I. My father hath always been told that none knew what had become of you."

Sir James sighed as he walked along.

"I grow bitter when I think of all the years I have languished here," he said, "and 'twas so easy to break loose when the right time came. Ah, well, the Virgin be thanked that there was a maid as brave and true as you, Mistress Edith, and a comrade as staunch and valorous as Messer Matteo. Lion-Heart would have loved a man like you, Sir Jongleur. God knows that without your aid we must have stayed in the hands of our enemies."

Matteo halted in front of a door set deep in the rocky walls of the passage.

"Is this the gate, lady?" he asked.

"Ay," she answered. "This is the postern of Anemas. 'Tis set in the angle of the tower where it joins the walls and is fronted with stone so that it may not be discerned from the outside. There is no moat to cross here, and you will find no further obstacles betwixt you and your friends."

"But you?" exclaimed Hugh.

"I must say farewell, Hugh. My place is here."

"Nay, that cannot be," he denied passionately. "Here you are in danger, Edith. Helena Comnena is your enemy. She hath sworn to me that she will——"

Edith smiled in the torchlight—and Hugh wondered why there was contentment in her smile.

"She may threaten, Hugh, but she cannot harm me. I am the daughter of the Grand Acolyth."

"Be not so sure, lady," intervened Sir James. "The Court is not as it used to be. The adventurers have the upper hand. The Comnenoi are the most powerful family in Constantinople to-day by all we hear. An they mean to injure you, doubt not they will achieve their purpose."

"I thank you, fair lord, for your warning," replied Edith with quiet dignity, "but an the danger were so great as you say, still is my place by my father's side. He hath none but me, and certes, the danger is as great to him."

Sir James bowed before her.

"Right knightly spoken, sweet maid," he said, "Hugh, we may not, with honour, plead further. She hath the right of us."

Hugh looked at her sorrowfully.

"But how will you regain your apartments from here?" he demanded.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"There is naught betwixt me and my chamber but dead men. Messer Matteo hath seen to that."

"Ay, she will be safe an she goes quickly," agreed Matteo. "There is a privy way from the wing of the Palace over our heads to the Grand Acolyth's apartments."

He fumbled at the bars of the door and made ready to swing it open.

"With your favour, Sir James, we must make haste."

"I follow you."

They put their shoulders to the postern-door, and for a brief minute Hugh and Edith stood face to face, alone. His fingers were searching in the breast of his gambeson; her cheeks were pink and her eyes very bright.

"Here is your glove," he said. "Wilt have it back, Edith, or am I still your knight?"

"Art still my knight, Hugh," she answered steadily. "There is none other—nor ever will be. And for that I wronged you when first we met in the Audience Hall above, I cry your pardon. Hast been true to me as I have been true to you."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. The postern-door creaked open behind them.

"Prithee, take the torch, lady," said Matteo. "Come, Hugh."

She stooped quickly and kissed Hugh fair on the lips. Then, before he could say anything, she pushed him through the postern and the stone-fronted door swung shut.