HUGH'S ENEMIES STRIKE AGAIN
The comrades stood once more on the stern-castle of the galley
_Paradise_, and watched the ruined walls of Zara dwindle in the
distance. From below came the hoarse "Ha-hee-ho-ha!" of the galeotti
as the long oars lifted, feathered and bit the water. In the
distance frowned the savage mountains of the Sclavonian coast. All
around them the pageantry of the Venetian fleet painted the sea a
myriad hues--crimson and purple, Tyrian blue, orange-yellow, green
and gold and silver, the colours clashed and blended in one gorgeous
sheen of dazzling brilliance out of which leaped an occasional
escutcheon or a saintly figure blazoned on a sail.
"Right glad I am to be no longer idle," said Hugh contentedly.
Matteo was silent for a space, his eyes drinking in the wonder of the
spectacle.
"I would not have missed this," he answered at last. "No, Hugh, not
for anything would I have missed this. Ha, comrade, think on the
songs men will sing of what we do."
"Songs?" repeated Hugh. "Belike. But I think more of the mission we
take up. Hast not forgot our quest, Matteo?"
The jongleur's hand dropped on Hugh's mail-clad shoulder.
"Nay, you are unjust," he said, with smiling eyes. "I forget not,
and I rejoice with you that our course is eastward again. Bethink
you, too, it is better to go as we go, with an army of friends, than
to enter Byzantium alone, and mayhap dare the anger of the Emperor
unaided."
"So I have thought," Hugh acquiesced. "It puts my mind at ease. And
yet--" he swept one arm around the compass of the horizon, embracing
the hundreds of bobbing ships--"great as is our force, we go against
the mightiest lord in the world, if all we hear be true."
"Ay, the struggle will be worth while--and the glory will be all the
more for the victors. We ride with the best knights that ever
entered lists, but I wish I could be as sure of those who intrigue
above our heads as I am of our good lord, Villehardouin."
"How say you?"
Matteo looked over his shoulder. Barring the helmsman at the
unwieldy rudder and Ralph beside them, none else occupied the poop.
"Hast watched this rat, Comnenus?" asked the jongleur.
Hugh shook his head. Of a truth, he had steered a course wide of the
Cæsar and his daughter.
"Then heed my advice and attend him in future. By Our Lady of
Tortosa, Hugh, I have seen that which interested me! He is high in
the confidence of the Doge; he sits at meat one night in three with
Boniface; he is always by the side of Alexius; never a council is
held without his presence. Heart and soul he seems to work in the
interest of the Angeloi. And he is the heir of the Comnenoi! Ay,
this Emperor Isaac, father of the Young Alexius, whom we go to
restore, cast out and slew the last Comnenian Emperor, Andronicus, he
who befriended your father. It is a sorry mess, Hugh."
"Mayhap, but he says that he is weary of exile, and he hopes that by
aiding the Angeloi they will restore his estates and permit him to
end his days in peace."
"So he says!" commented Matteo. "'Tis a tale put out for innocents
to mouth. But in Outremer men say: 'Beware the promise of a Greek,
for that which he promiseth is the opposite of what he intends.'"
"You are bitter, comrade."
"I am suspicious, an you like: It is as natural for a lion to
befriend a lamb as for the Comnenoi to work for the profit of the
Angeloi. Depend upon it, the Cæsar hath some plan at the back of his
brain which none other knows--save it be his tigerish daughter."
"What make you of your suspicions?" demanded Hugh.
"Nought precise, I grant you; but much food for thought. I believe
Comnenus works with the host for his own end, and that it is a
different end from the one he trumpets."
"But how can that concern you and me?"
"An he were to become Emperor of Byzantium, even under Dandolo's
tutelage, that would concern us, would it not?"
"Ay, but you grow over-subtle for me," laughed Hugh. "I cannot
follow this reasoning. Bethink you, Matteo, we go upon a Crusade to
establish one Emperor for the sake of the Faith and Christ's
Sepulchre, and now, without consultation or counsel, you would set up
another. 'Tis treason to the host."
"Treason? Mayhap there will be talk of such before our prows point
westward again."
Hugh would have answered him with a friendly gibe, but at that moment
Villehardouin and several other knights ascended the ladder-stairs to
the poop.
"Ha, Messers," the Marshal greeted them. "We are well quit of that
cold Sclavonian land. Now we may look forward to such opportunities
as all puissant knights must crave."
"It is said there are pirates in these seas," returned Hugh. "Dost
think there is any chance we may happen upon them, Lord Marshal?"
"Nay, I fear we may expect no affair of arms until we enter the
realms of the Emperor. By St. Remigius, no pirate that was whole in
his wit would think to assail such a foison of ships as we see about
us!"
Hugh felt a hand on his arm, and turned to look into the anxious face
of Ralph.
"An it please you, Messer Hugh," said the bowman, with an obeisance
to the group of lords and knights, "I heard you speak of pirates.
But in Zara they told me that the rocks hereabouts are occupied by
hordes of harpies and sea-demons in the shape of wondrously beautiful
women, who come out to lure ships to destruction and in the night
draw men down to their caves under the sea."
An outburst of exclamations greeted this statement, and Villehardouin
and his companions crossed themselves hastily.
"I will make note of this," said the Marshal earnestly. "I take it
kindly of you, good varlet, that you brought such a danger to my
attention. We will have the priests exorcise the demons, and at
evening the bulwarks shall be sprinkled with holy water so that they
may not climb into our midst. There be many dangers for those who
would venture across the world, Messers, but an the Saints aid us we
shall outface all the Powers of Darkness."
Despite Ralph's fears, the fleet passed unhindered along the
forbidding coasts of the Adriatic and reached in safety the island of
Corfu, off the western coast of Greece--or Roumania, as it was called
in those days, when it constituted the most western province of the
crumbling Empire of the New Rome, inheritor of the traditions, the
language, the laws and pretensions, but not the virile power, of the
Elder Rome. Here at Corfu the host tarried for three weeks, making
such final preparations as were deemed necessary for the great task
ahead of them. The delay was unavoidable, but it gave opportunity
for a new outburst of dissension amongst the Crusaders.
How it began no man could say. Jealousy played a considerable part;
gossip and rumour did the rest. The smaller lords resented the
centralisation of authority in the hands of a narrow group of
powerful barons. They found sympathisers amongst the considerable
numbers of masterless men and the burgher companies. Discontented,
uncertain of their leaders' actual intentions, it needed only the
whisper of religious outlawry to develop open mutiny in the ranks of
this minority.
Men told each other with bated breaths that Pope Innocent had
despatched against them the ban of excommunication. All the terrible
weapons which the superstition of the Middle Ages placed in the hands
of the Church were supposed to hang over the heads of the host. A
species of hysteria possessed the camp. Men who feared nothing
physical trembled before these spiritual forces. The more ignorant
expected that they might be struck by lightning bolts or devastated
by plagues or perhaps paralysed in their limbs. Matters went from
bad to worse.
One day, several weeks after the arrival at Corfu, the comrades found
Villehardouin in his tent, wringing his hands in despair. The
pressure was most severe upon him, for he was in fact, if not in
title, Marshal of the entire host, as well as of the men of Champagne.
"Now, at last, I am prepared to believe that the Holy Saints and Our
Lord Christ Jesus have turned their faces from us," he cried. "Never
was such a sorry end to so brave an enterprise!"
"What is it, Lord Marshal?" exclaimed Hugh. "Hath some new uproar
arisen?"
"In sore truth, yes. I have but just received word that a group of
barons, men I have known since first we wore hauberk, have banded
together to secure shipping from Count Walter de Brienne, who holds
Brindisi in Apulia, so that they may leave us and return home."
"That is bad news, indeed," conceded Matteo. "Who hath done this?"
"The chief is Ode de Champlitte, a lord of Champagne, of my own
country, Messers. Others are James d'Avesnes, Peter d'Amiens, Guy
the Castellan of Coucy, Oger de St. Chéron, Guy de Conflans, Odo de
Dampierre--I cannot repeat all the names. More than half the
host--nigh all the lesser barons--are with them."
"What is to be done?" enquired Hugh.
"We hold a Parliament this day after nones, but what will come of it
I do not know. I tell you, Messers, for the first time since I put
my hand to this undertaking, I feel that God is not with us. I could
despair."
Villehardouin had not exaggerated. The barons met that afternoon in
two separate and opposing Parliaments, one determined to continue the
expedition, the other firm set in their intention to abandon it and
return home, if they could not secure shipping direct to Syria.
Negotiations were hopeless. The host had come to the diverging of
the ways.
But Boniface of Montferrat, the greatest uncrowned lord in southern
Europe, one of the best generals and statesmen of his time--and with
the keen brain of Dandolo behind him--was not the man to allow
himself to be daunted by any obstacle. He met the situation by
taking the line which his opponents did not expect, and as is usual
when a leader does the unexpected, he achieved amazing success.
Accompanied by Count Baldwin, Count Louis, Count Hugh, the Marshal of
Champagne and the remaining lords and prelates who adhered to him, he
rode to the valley outside the camp where the rival Parliament had
assembled. And there, in the face of all the chief men of the host,
those who opposed him and those who held true to him, he dismounted
from his horse and fell on his knees, with hands clasped, before the
rebellious barons.
"Ah, lords!" he cried. "Think well what you do! Now are we in evil
case, for if you depart from us, like others who departed aforetime,
the numbers of the host will be so diminished that we may make no
conquests nor do aught for the deliverance of the lands of Outremer.
For God's sake, then, dear lords, have compassion upon us and upon
yourselves, and suffer yourselves not to be led lightly astray. We
must keep covenant with each Other or we shall all be dishonoured."
The tears came to his eyes as he talked. His voice shook with
emotion. The barons who supported him echoed his words. They, too,
dismounted and knelt on the ground, clasping their hands and weeping.
"You fear that which is not, Messers," the Marquis continued. "Ask
any of our churchmen, and they will tell you that the Holy Apostle
has forbidden nothing we do or seek to do, since our object has been
made clear to him. Those who tell you otherwise wish to break up our
enterprise, so that the Crusade may be averted and the friends of
Anti-Christ rejoiced."
The ranks of mailed men quivered in response to his appeal. Some had
put hands to their sword-hilts when they saw his cavalcade
approaching. Many had whispered together, eyeing him askance. But
as he spoke on they answered him with shouts of assent. Tears
splashed on their hauberks. They wept louder and louder. An ecstasy
of passion caught up the assemblage of grim warriors, tore apart
their constraint and broke down the barriers of resentment. They
protested incoherently that they did not wish to abandon old comrades
or to disrupt the host.
"What do you wish, then?" asked Boniface.
Odo de Champlitte stepped forward from his fellows.
"Lord Marquis, we wish only this," he answered: "That you make
agreement with us that if we go with you on this venture, you will
promise to allow any body of men to depart for the Holy Land at any
time, within fifteen days after they have announced their intention
so to do, and further, that you, as commander of the host, will
provide shipping for them to go in."
"How say you, lords?" said Boniface, turning to his followers.
"These terms seem fair and generous to me."
"Right fair!" the lords answered him.
A wave of joy rolled over the host. Men cheered and shouted as never
before. The two opposing parties surged together. Lines were
broken. Old friends sought each other out and embraced. Dissension
was ended, once and for all.
Of those who rejoiced at the happy issue of the trouble none was more
sincere than Hugh and Matteo. For a brief period they had feared
that they must find some other means of reaching Constantinople; and
the day after the reconciliation of the barons they prepared to wait
upon Villehardouin, as was their custom, intending to accompany him
to the pavilion of Boniface and offer renewed homage and
congratulations to the leader of the Crusade.
But they had not yet left their quarters in the _Paradise_, when the
tramp of steel-shod feet resounded on the gangplank, and one of the
knights of the Marquis, accompanied by a squad of foot-sergeants,
appeared in the doorway of the tiny cabin.
"You will come with me, Messers," he said briefly.
"Gladly, sir knight," answered Hugh. "But what causes the summons?"
"I know not. I am ordered to bring you before the lords in council."
Hugh looked inquiringly at Matteo.
"It passeth my understanding," said the jongleur. "But we had best
go swiftly." He turned to the strange knight, "Are we prisoners,
Messer?"
"Yes."
Nothing more was said, and the comrades left the ship, swordless and
surrounded by the sergeants. They were not bound, and their passage
through the camp was unnoticed in the bustle of the morning's
occupations. But when they entered the pavilion of Boniface a
changed atmosphere confronted them.
On a dais sat the Marquis, with Dandolo on his right and the Young
Alexius--scrawny, furtive-eyed--on his left. Comnenus stood behind
the chair of Alexius, and the chief barons of the host were ranged on
either hand. Every face was stern and threatening, save only
Villehardouin's. The Marshal looked worried and perplexed.
The comrades were marched to the foot of the dais, and halted there
in the midst of their guards.
"At the request of His Grace the Doge, I have placed the disposition
of your case in his hands," said Boniface coldly. "He tells me he
hath had some responsibility for your presence here."
"Nay, my fair lord," interposed Villehardouin. "It is no more than
truth that I first suggested to these two that they should accompany
the Crusade. And they have formed a part of my company since they
joined us."
Boniface waved his hand.
"No doubt, Lord Marshal. But the Doge knows whereof he speaks. Let
be, I pray you."
Villehardouin stepped back. He had done what he could.
There was an instant's silence. Dandolo sat bolt upright, his eyes
staring over the prisoners' heads, a scroll of parchment in his hand.
Suddenly he extended the scroll to Hugh.
"What make you of this?" he asked abruptly.
Hugh took the parchment and unrolled it. It was dated at Corfu the
day previous and addressed to: "The Most Holy Apostle, Innocent, Pope
of Rome, Apostolic Vicar," and it was signed Hugh de Chesby. Its
contents purported to be a report of the dissensions in the host and
concluded with a recommendation for action by the Pope to divert the
Crusade from Constantinople. Hugh read it blankly, scarce
comprehending what the situation implied.
"But--but--I know naught of this," he said dazedly.
"It is signed with your name--so the clerks say," answered Dandolo.
"I did not write it."
"You have had clerkly training?"
"Yes, but----"
Dandolo cut him off with a gesture and addressed Villehardouin.
"This young lord has performed clerkly services for you, has he not,
Lord Marshal?"
"Yes, Your Grace," replied the Marshal reluctantly.
Dandolo levelled his blind old eyes full upon Hugh's face.
"Once before this I warned you that you were in my power for an
indiscretion you had committed," he said, speaking in dry, clipped
tones. "Then you heeded my warning. Yet it seems you had not
learned your lesson, for now I find you committing such a black
treason as might ruin the expedition we are embarked upon. Coming,
as it doth, hard on the heels of the clamour but recently stilled, it
is so peculiarly villainous that we may not pass it over, even if we
would. All that remains for us is to decide how you shall die."
He paused.
"An I have my way," he went on, implacable, thin-lipped, his white
features dominating the dim interior of the tent, "you will be hauled
under the keel of one of my galleys, you and the miserable wretches
who accompanied you."
"With permission, Lord Doge."
It was Matteo who spoke. Hugh was too stunned to make any answer.
He was thinking of Edith, of Crowden Wood, of Prior Thomas, of Chesby
Castle and the fair English countryside, just turning green under the
persuasive breath of spring.
"An it please Your Magnificence," Matteo pursued calmly, "I am not a
clerk, and my word will not go far in this matter. But seeing that
my head seems to be at stake, with that of my comrade and dear lord,
Messer Hugh, I hope you will not take it ill if I say somewhat
concerning this charge."
"Speak on," said the Doge curtly.
"Who makes the charge? Who presents the evidence?"
"The scroll was picked up at the entrance of this pavilion by one of
the varlets in attendance here."
"Touching that point, Lord Doge, I can say that neither Messer Hugh
nor I was present near this pavilion yesterday or during the night
just passed."
"True, mayhap," remarked a querulous voice. "But perchance a
messenger was despatched with the scroll and dropped it."
Hugh looked up in surprise. The speaker was Comnenus.
Dandolo nodded his head.
"The Cæsar speaks justly," he said. "It might have happened so. Is
that all you have to say?"
"Nay, Lord Doge. I have viewed this scroll--" Matteo drew the
parchment from Hugh's limp fingers--"and whilst I cannot read it,
still I know that 'tis not written as my Lord Hugh writes. Is it not
so, Lord Marshal?" he appealed to Villehardouin.
Villehardouin studied the parchment with wrinkled brows.
"Ay," he exclaimed joyfully. "'Tis as Messer Matteo says. Messer
Hugh writes in a fair enough hand, but large and round. This is writ
small and sharp, so that I can make naught of the letters in it. But
mayhap a clerk can testify to better advantage."
Bishop Nevelon of Soissons, the most famous warrior-prelate of the
host, came forward and took the parchment.
"Ay," he agreed after a minute's examination, "this is writ in the
form used by the clerks of South Europe and the East. It hath a
likeness to Greek script, it is so sharp-drawn. But where is a
sample of Messer Hugh's writing that we may compare the two?"
"I have a piece with me," said Villehardouin eagerly. "Here. 'Tis
notes of a council Messer Hugh writ down for me from my dictation but
yestereve."
The Bishop put the two parchments side by side, and instantly he
extended them to Boniface.
"There can be no question," he exclaimed. "This lord, as is to be
expected, writes in the large, round hand which is practised in
England and North Europe. 'Tis impossible he could have composed the
other parchment."
Boniface and his attendant barons--none of whom could do more than
sign his name--scrutinised the two parchments closely; and all
admitted the difference. It was so marked that it was palpable to
the most unlettered man. There was no similarity betwixt the two
writings whatsoever.
"This clears Messer Hugh of all suspicion," announced Boniface
courteously. "How say you, Lord Doge?"
Dandolo had not pretended to examine the parchments, for his faint
sight was a defect which it irked him to demonstrate in company.
"It pleases me to hear a unanimous verdict in the young lord's
favour," he said readily. "In particular, because I could not
comprehend how one of his promise could be guilty of such a crime.
Messer Hugh, in common with all these lords, I cry your pardon. It
seems that some one who is your enemy hath attempted to befool us.
Have you any key to this person?"
"Nay, Lord Doge," answered Hugh, still bewildered by his rapid shifts
of fortune. "I cannot say."
"Hast been attacked before?"
"Ay."
"By whom?"
"I know not--that is, I know not beyond question."
"An you accept my counsel, you will not wait to establish your enemy
beyond question," remarked Boniface. "I cry your pardon, fair sir,
for the inconvenience you have been put to. Guards, release the
young lord and his friend. I beg you will sup at my board to-night,
Messer Hugh, and drown your memory of this error in my wine."
The Marquis rose as sign that the audience was over, and
Villehardouin and other friends pressed close around the comrades.
But before they passed out of the pavilion Hugh looked back once over
his shoulder. The Young Alexius was resting his dark, shaggy head on
the palm of one hand, elbow propped on the arm of the chair. Close
by his shoulder leaned Comnenus whispering in his ear. Whether by
accident or design, the eyes of both met Hugh's glance, and his spine
tingled as though he had received an actual physical shock. Mere boy
that he was, Alexius had in his sullen face all the inherent evil
that was his heritage from the bloody license which had attended the
ill-starred house of the Angeloi.