Chapter XX: Treachery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mocenigo?" fenced Comnenus, blinking owlishly.

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

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

"Mayhap," said Hugh drily, and withdrew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexius leaped to his feet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How----" he started to ask.

"Follow me."

The boy turned and scuttled into the shadows. Hugh, after a brief hesitation, dropped out of the line and followed him. If Edith had sent for him, she must have some message she wished to give him before they were parted again by hostile arms. And with her father's influence he did not doubt she could see him safe out of the palace.

Presently, they came to a door heavily curtained, and the boy stepped aside.

"Enter, Messer."

Hugh found himself in a room dimly lighted, carpeted and hung with Saracen rugs. He looked around him--but saw no one. Then, of a sudden, two arms stole around his neck from behind; his head was drawn back.

"So you came, Hugh," a voice whispered softly.

He twisted around, and caught her to him.

"Edith!"

Then he started back.

"St. Cuthbert! 'Tis you!"

Helena Comnena looked at him with eyes still moist and lustrous. Her breast rose and fell.

"Are you so disappointed, Hugh?"

Hugh found himself breathing no less hard.

"Disappointed? Nay. Why would you make me out uncouth? But----"

"But!" she mocked him.

"I expected not you."

"Ah, you expected not me! What----"

"What right had I to suppose that the message came from you?" said Hugh. "You wrong me, lady. I am beholden to you for your kindness, but my comrades----"

"They are gone! Do not trouble about them. We speak now of you and myself. Hugh, am I fair?"

He regarded her, wondering.

"Very fair, lady."

"Is there one fairer?"

"Nay, I think not."

"Would you like to have me, Hugh?" She came closer to him, and it seemed as though she imparted a fluid quality to the atmosphere, as though they two existed in some impalpable, shadowy essence which must dissolve them into one. "Would you like to hold me--as you held me a moment since? Would you like to feel my arms around you--so?" Her arms went around him again, and he stood motionless, paralysed. "Would you like to feel my lips on yours--so?" Her lips burned his, clung, caressed. She threw back her head a little, and looked up at him out of bold, blazing eyes that dared and questioned. "No woman can delight you as can I, Hugh. No woman can----"

Hugh fought his way blindly back to self-control. He pushed her from him.

"Nay," he whispered hoarsely. "It may not be. I want you not."

Her eyes darkened; a terrible light flashed in them. But he met their gaze full and square, thankful for his newfound manhood.

"You fool," she hissed.

She wound herself around him with a strength more than human.

"Ho, guards!" she called in a high, shrill voice, vibrant with hate. "Ho, guards! Take him!"

Hugh was too bewildered to struggle. A hand jerked his sword from his side; other hands lashed bonds about his arms.

Across the room from him stood Helena Comnena, her hair blown loose, her eyes twin hells, her hands opening and shutting spasmodically.

"You fool," she said to him again. "You might have had--anything. Now you shall have nothing. You will be begging me on your knees to save you from the torture, to spare you one eye of your two, to have you killed quickly. Oh, you poor fool! You could have had Helena Comnena and an Empire! Now you shall have a dungeon--like that other fool who spawned you!"