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!"