Chapter XXV: Vengeance

Dame Alicia twisted her fingers in the folds of Hugh's surcoat.

"Art never going off to leave me again, Messer Hugh?" she pleaded. "Ah, fair sir, the sight of English faces is like home! Certes, you will not abandon me in this awful place. They will come and cut my throat, the wretches. They will----"

Hugh contrived to wriggle free as gracefully as possible.

"Peace, peace," he adjured her. "There is no more to fear, good dame. The Greeks are fled. The French are occupying the Palace, and with them you are safe. Now, do you bestir yourself to see what may be done for your lord. He is sore wounded, but he still breathes."

"Harrow and alas that he should come to his end afar among strangers," she wailed. "Do but look at the blood on him! Oh, Messer Hugh, do not leave me with all these dead men. Alack for that I ever came hither, and a fool I was to listen to Sir Godfrey when he----"

But Hugh could stand no more. He turned and fled, his father and the others at his heels. In the courtyard outside they met Villehardouin and a party of knights, to whom Sir James reported the desertion of the Palace and the intention of the comrades to pursue the Comnenoi.

"I would lend you a foison of spears, an I had the men to spare," said Villehardouin, "but I have few enough to hold the Palace, and we can not risk its capture. May St. Remi aid you, sweet friends."

"Our numbers will serve--an we are in time," replied Sir James grimly. "In God's keeping, friends!"

They galloped out of the Palace gate and turned westward through a tangle of narrow streets, lined with high-built houses, interspersed with monasteries and nunneries. This route brought them to the Mesè, the main thoroughfare of Constantinople, a wide, handsome avenue, set with trees and terraced porticos. They passed the gigantic Cistern of Aspar on their left and began to meet advanced parties of the Crusaders and Venetians, plundering the fine buildings on either hand.

A horde of foot-sergeants had battered their way into the Church of the Apostles, whose gilded bronze roof sheltered the mausoleums of the most famous Emperors of the East--Constantine the Great, Justinian, Heraclius and dozens of others, with their Empresses. The rabble of the camp, composed mainly of the Latin colonists who had been driven from the city by the Greeks, were tearing open the tombs in search of jewelry and valuables. The contents of the vestry was scattered about the church, pearl-embroidered copes, dalmatics, chasubles and vestments, gold and silver relic-cases, the prey of whoever coveted them.

Beyond the Church of the Apostle the comrades rode under the shadow of the Aqueduct of Valens, whose sturdy arches marched across the valley between two of the city's seven hills. The street was crowded with people, Greeks and Crusaders, all in apparent amity. Indeed, the inhabitants of the city were forming processions to greet the conquerors, saluting the Franks and Venetians with songs and speeches of welcome.

But the comrades never stayed their pace to note what happened beside them, and those who stood in their path risked death. They thundered through the huge Forum of Theodosius, rimmed with palaces, baths, public buildings and luxurious shops. A short distance farther on they entered the Forum of Constantine, a beautiful elliptical space, surrounded by double tiers of marble porticos, crowned by verdant terraces, and pierced at either end by a marble arch. In the centre stood the statue of Constantine the Great in the rôle of Apollo, crowned with seven golden rays, high aloft on a soaring pedestal of porphyry. On the north side rose the Palace of the Senate, its broad flights of steps and columned porch, which had seen eight hundred years of history, jammed with curious Greeks, who watched the hurried passage of the little knot of Frankish warriors.

Ahead of them, as they emerged from the forum, loomed the white dome of St. Sophia, floating like a bubble above the houseroofs. To their right the stone walls of the Hippodrome, bristling with statues, cut off the view. Sir James turned here from the Mesè into a meaner street running southward. After passing the gates of the Hippodrome they saw in the distance, across a maze of smaller palaces, homes of merchants and better-class citizens, the far-flung walls of the Palace of the Bucoleon, the traditional residence of the Byzantine Emperors.

Onward they raced at headlong gait. People shouted to them as they went by. Parties of Greek soldiers scurried to cover. In the distance appeared a streak of silver--the waters of the Marmora glimpsed between the houses. Sir James spurred on. They came to a church on a hill, St. Thomas's, and there, drawing rein for an instant, the comrades saw below them a crescent indentation in the sea-walls, where the Imperial galleys lay in ordered ranks beside stone wharves.

"The Kontoscalion!" said Sir James.

Down the hill at a mad gallop, horses foaming and reeking with bloody sweat, and out upon the level again. The harbour gate gaped wide. Customs officers, naval guards and police had disappeared. There was nobody to halt the comrades as they rode through the gateway.

"See!" cried Matteo, pointing with his scimiter.

At the far end of the harbour a twelve-oared galley was backing from its slip. In order to reach the sea the vessel had to traverse the length of the basin and then row out through the narrow entrance between the mole which guarded the harbour and the tower at the apex of the sea-wall. Sir James grasped the situation in a single glance.

"Hither, Ralph!" he shouted. "'Tis for you to stop them. We must rely on your yew-bow this day. Pull string, lad, and St. Cuthbert be your aid!"

Ralph slipped from his horse and ran to the edge of the quay, notching his string with one crook of his knee. He loosed his first arrow whilst the galley was swinging around to set its head for the harbour entrance. The shaft quivered in the planking of the deck below the stern-castle.

Ralph pursed his lips.

"An my father hears of that shoot he will tan me with my own bow, belike," he muttered. "Steady arm, now. Ha!"

"Harrow! Harrow!" cheered Hugh. "Well shot!"

The galley's helmsman had pitched forward with a shaft in his breast. Another sprang to catch the tiller before the vessel yawed seriously, but Ralph was ready for him. The long bow twanged and the arrows buzzed like angry hornets. The second helmsman sank to the deck, pierced through the thigh. An oarsman choked and fell over his sweep. Another dropped his oar and leaped overboard in fright when a shaft drummed into the wood of his rowing-bench.

Mocenigo, in full armour, with shield upraised, sprang from the protection of the stern-castle to take the helm, but he was too late. The confusion amongst the rowers and the swaying rudder had thrown the galley off her course. She veered, even whilst Mocenigo tugged at the tiller, and drove her sharp bow amongst the boulders which were strewn about the base of the mole. The rowers backed water and strove to work her off; but the bow was anchored fast.

"Hast done right well, Ralph," said Sir James. "It will go hard with us, an we do not punish these caitiffs. Comrades, here is required an escalade. Forward!"

They left their horses on the quay, and clambered out over the slippery boulders of the mole. Mocenigo and Bartolommeo, with a handful of the Ethiopians, were bracing the crew to meet the attack. But when Ralph began to loose again, the shipmen broke and dived overboard, swimming for the quay across the harbour.

"Ralph," commanded Sir James gently, "do you wreak what harm you may on the blacks, but an you graze Mocenigo or his familiar I will leave you behind us when we fare home."

Ralph grinned and extended his quiver. Only two arrows remained.

"So!" exclaimed Sir James. "That is better, for I have a fancy for sword-play. The more knaves slain, the greater shall be our glory. But see that you make both shafts count."

They gained the cluster of rocks in which the galley's bow was wedged, and paused to study the approach to her deck.

"Ha, messers," Mocenigo hailed them ironically. "You are welcome guests. An you will come aboard we will do what we may to put you at your ease. Mayhap we have some small surprise in store for you."

"Mayhap," rejoined Sir James. "I have looked forward long to this day. What, Bartolommeo, hast no word for me?"

"Words in plenty when I have you on the rack," replied the ruffian composedly. "For the nonce, Messer James, I will trust to my sword."

Hugh surveyed the bare well of the galley, cluttered with oars and ropes and deserted save for the group of six Ethiopians headed by the renegades. There was no sign of Edith or Comnenus and his daughter.

"She that you seek is safe," jeered Mocenigo, noticing his glance. "But we hold her hostage for your retreat. An you threaten us, her fate will not be a pretty one."

Hugh jumped blindly from his boulder, a bleak fury gripping his soul. By sheer luck he dropped in the midst of the enemy, his mail shoes staving in the ribs of one of the blacks and the force of his impact scattering the others to right and left. But they picked themselves up and closed around him. Mocenigo hewed at him with a sword; Bartolommeo pounded him with a mace; the Ethiopians stabbed and slashed with their javelins and knives.

This moment of diversion was Ralph's opportunity. At such close range he could not miss. The first arrow drilled a black throat and lodged in the thigh of another man. The second went clean through the body of an Ethiopian and spattered on the deck. The pressure on Hugh was eased at once, as his opponents opened their ranks in fear of the deadly archer. Before they could surround him again Sir James and Matteo had gained his side.

The comrades were still outnumbered five to three, but their heavy armour was an advantage which the three surviving black men did not share. Ralph had disappeared after loosing his last arrow. Hugh wondered what had become of the archer, but Bartolommeo's mace allowed him scant time for reflection. If that spiked steel knob ever struck his helm with the muscles of those knotted arms behind it, he knew his skull must be shattered.

Sir James was fencing with Mocenigo, his wondrous dexterity matching the Italian's vigour. Matteo kept two of the blacks in play. But the third hovered near Hugh, darting in for a vicious stab whenever Bartolommeo had the upper hand. Hugh was menaced from groin to head, and to protect himself he must shift his guard with lightning rapidity. His shield dragged down his arm; his sword seemed burdened with lead. But at all costs he must ward off that terrible mace. When weariness slowed his guard and he could not counter two blows at once, he accepted the thrusts of javelin or knife, trusting to the strength of his mail.

He found himself despairing of being able to shake off these persistent foes. His shield-arm ached from the blows of the mace it had turned; his sword-hand tingled from the parries it had made. His whole body was sore from the thrusts of the Ethiopian's weapons. To keep his footing he was obliged to give ground, and he was out of touch with his father and Matteo.

Then, without any warning, Ralph came bounding over the rowing-benches in the rear of the enemy. The bowman lopped off the head of the black who had been menacing Hugh, and proceeded to relieve Matteo of half of his task. A weight seemed to be lifted from Hugh's shoulders. His mind cleared. Instead of standing on the defensive under Bartolommeo's hail of blows, he began to advance and delivered strokes as stout as those he had received. The burly ruffian roared with ferocious amazement.

"How now, my cockerel! Would you take liberties with old Bartolommeo that nursed you and fed you--ay, and treasured you safely? What gratitude is this? By the three-horned devil of Calabria, I never saw such a boy! Heaven opens wide its gates; the angels are tuning up to welcome him; he must have had a vision of the splendour ahead--an he tries to turn from the path! Have a care, Messer Hugh. You will lose your chance, an you disappoint Peter again. You will be going down to Hell to tend the spit that waits for old Bartolommeo. What! You never think to master me? Alackaday, what folly! Know, good youth, I have made a bargain with the Devil, and he must protect me. Ay, in sooth, he----"

Bartolommeo leaped backward with a lightness extraordinary in a man of his bulk, and retreated aft along the deck. Hugh glanced around, and saw the explanation. Mocenigo lay in a huddle across a rowing-bench, a cruel gash draining his side, and Matteo stood over the last of the Ethiopians. Bartolommeo was alone.

"Are you whole, fair lord?" Hugh called to his father.

"Ay, Hugh, and happier than I have been in many a day. I did not dwell those years in Blachernae without avail, now that I have slain this hound."

"Is he dead, indeed?"

"He soon will be."

Mocenigo's eyes fixed on Hugh's in a glare of baffled hate.

"The--end--is--not--yet," he gasped. "Shalt--not--have--your----"

He mouthed a word of vile import, the bloody foam on his lips mocking the bestiality of his tongue.

"Ay--you--shall--not--have---her! Curse----"

He died.

Bartolommeo, standing beyond the galley's single mast, raised his visor.

"Is he sped?" he called.

"Ay. Prepare to follow him."

"Mayhap, but not alone."

Bartolommeo turned as he spoke and ran toward the stern-castle. He wrenched at the door of the cabin, and when it refused to open, raised his mace to shatter the panels.

"Quick, Messer Hugh!" shrieked Ralph. "He would murder Lady Edith!"

The mace rose and fell, but before it could achieve Bartolommeo's purpose the comrades were upon him. He ran to meet them, roaring like a bull.

"Out of my path! Who seeks to stay Bartolommeo? By St. Bacchus, a few have sought to do that who did not tell their fate in the wine-shops! Back! Back, there! Bartolommeo comes!"

He gained the rail and mounted it, clinging to the rigging of the mast with one hand.

"Spare your swords, fair sirs," he said, bowing courteously. "I have a mind to test the accomplishment of that sorcerer who bargained for my soul. An he spoke sooth, doubt not the Devil will save me. Farewell! Sir James, I had ever a warm place in my heart for you! Messer Hugh, you had the makings of a youth who would give fine sport on the rack. May you come to a good end."

He leaped, mace in hand, into the water. The ripples closed over him, as Ralph reached the railing where he had stood.

"Certes, my masters, he hath gone," said the bowman in an awed tone.

"A right valiant rogue," remarked Sir James.

"A rare treat he will provide for his master in hell," quoth Matteo.

"How was it that he failed to open the cabin-door?" demanded Hugh. "An he had won in there, he must have defied us, whilst he might----"

He shuddered.

"He did not get in for that I had entered before him," replied Ralph cheerfully. "And I bade Lady Edith bar the door after me when I left her."

The comrades stared at Ralph.

"When was this done?" asked Hugh.

"Whilst you and Sir James and Messer Matteo were fighting by your lone," explained Ralph. "I thought Messer Mocenigo might have some deviltry in store for your lady, so I ran along beside the galley as far as I might under the rocks, and clambered aboard behind those who contended with you. They did not see me, and I entered the stern-castle, where Messer Comnenus and the Lady Helena were watching the fray. Lady Edith was bound helpless; but I released her and set her to watch them whilst I went to your aid."

Sir James took Ralph's hand.

"The glory of this bicker belongs to you," he said solemnly. "Hast conducted in right knightly fashion. When we return to Chesby, Ralph, you shall have a quarter-hide of land in the beechwood next the forest and a halfling of pigs to stock it with."

"Nay, fair lord, 'twas naught," stammered Ralph.

"Naught!" repeated Hugh. "Perchance it meant the Lady Edith's life. But come. Let us have her forth of the cabin."

He pounded the door with his sword-hilt.

"Open, Edith! 'Tis Hugh!"

There was a noise of shifting bars, and the door was thrown back. Edith stood in the low portal, starry-eyed, cheeks aflame, her hair in tumbled masses.

"Is it you, in sooth, Hugh?" she whispered.

"Ay, sweet friend," he answered, and knelt before her.

But she placed her hands under his arms and raised him to his feet.

"Kneel not to me," she said. "I am not worthy. No woman may be so proud as I am of you, for none was ever served so nobly. Art my own knight and lord, faithful and always true."

For the second time she raised her lips to his, and Hugh's heart hammered so that it seemed it must burst through gambeson and hauberk. The domes and towers of Constantinople danced before his eyes. But he cast down his sword and caught her to him, straining her in his mailed arms until she sobbed:

"Oh, Hugh, have done! Prithee! I may not breathe."

As he let her go, a cold voice sneered close by:

"A touching sight! Ay, by the Panagia! The parted lovers meet at last!"

Helena Comnena swept out of the cabin, her lithe figure erect in a clinging gown of apple-green, her eyes blazing with a venom that belied her calm, still face. Behind her shambled her father, cringing and fearful, despite his fur-trimmed garments and the jewels that flashed in cap and chain and rings.

Hugh drew back to the rail.

"In you we are not interested," he answered civilly. "You have most foully wronged me and mine, lady. Certes, you deserve death. But we do not war on women. You are free to go whither you will outside of Constantinople. Here you may not stay. But as for you--" he turned upon Comnenus--"you, knave that you are, base-born for all your high estate, ingrate who turned against the hand that saved him, coward withal, you shall we deliver up to the lords of the host for judgment. Perchance they will see that you taste of the torment you devised for others."

Comnenus waved his hands before his face.

"No--no--no!" he screamed. "Never that! Save me--save me--save me--save me! I cannot! I----"

The words seemed to stick in his throat; he beat the air with his clenched fists, choked and crumpled in a motionless heap of silk and satin on the deck.

"He hath fainted from fright," said Sir James contemptuously.

"Nay," said Matteo, stooping to feel the man's heart. "He hath died of it."

There was a pause. Helena Comnena did not look at her father. From the time he had emerged from the cabin until he sank almost at her feet her eyes were fastened upon the face of Hugh.

"You think that you have won!" she mocked him now. "You think that you have beaten Helena Comnena--scorned her! You think that all hath been done, all hath been said! You fool! I do not know whether I pity you or hate you or love you most! But you shall not exult in your victory!"

She flashed across the deck like a green flame. She wound her supple body about Hugh, pinning his arms and legs, and fell with him over the rail. So swiftly did she move that Hugh had no inkling of her purpose. He was helpless, for the momentum of her rush threw him off his balance the instant she struck him and her garments and twining limbs restricted his movements. He had a brief sensation of falling, with her face pressed close to his, her eyes shining with insane brilliancy--then came a splash. His last thought was that he must perish exactly as Bartolommeo had perished, for he knew that no man weighted down with armour could hope to keep himself afloat. He felt himself sinking--sinking. Helena's limbs clung to him like cramping bands of ice. There was a deafening clamour in his ears....

When he came to himself he lay on the deck of the galley, his armour stripped off, wrapped around with rugs. His chest burned as though it had been seared with fire. Over him crouched Edith, the water dripping from her hair and gown, her hands chafing at his.

"See, his eyes are open," she cried. "Oh, the Virgin be praised! Certes, you will not die now that we have found one another, Hugh? Speak to me!"

"How came I here?" he croaked.

"Nay, I know not. It hath been all one nightmare to me."

"Nightmare, saith she!" It was Sir James who spoke, kneeling opposite Edith. "Belike! But you had been at the bottom of the Kontoscalion now, but for her brave self, Hugh."

Hugh's eyes mirrored his unspoken question.

"We none of us could aid you, for that we were in armour," explained Sir James, "but she leaped straight-way overside, snatching a rope from the ship's gear as she ran. In the water she tore off that she-devil's grip from you, and fastened the rope about your waist so that we might haul you on board."

"She is as brave as she is beautiful," said Matteo's voice at Hugh's feet. "Ah, comrade, there is not in all the world another lady it would be worth crossing the world to find."

Hugh looked up at the face that hung over him, tender as a mother's.

"Ay, she is, indeed," he said contentedly. "Now am I happy, for I have my dear lady and you, fair lord, my father, and the best comrades that ever a man knew."