As the comrades were mounting their horses the next morning, there was a commotion at the inn gate and Fulke of Neuilly entered the courtyard. He waved back the crowd of curious folk who always followed at his heels and strode across to Hugh's side.
He looked, if possible, more gaunt than he had the night before. His eyes burned like coals. Twin patches of vivid scarlet capped his cheekbones. But there was a restraint in his manner which had been lacking when he harangued the crowd in the marketplace.
"It has come to my ears that I did ye twain an injustice," he began curtly. "Fair sirs, none is more humble than I in acknowledging a wrong done. I cry your pardon. But I would have ye believe that I have found so much of wickedness and evil broadcast in the land that it is become hard to see that any goodness may prevail—more particularly among the young and hot-blooded."
Hugh regarded him in bewilderment, but Matteo answered as curtly as he had spoken.
"Of a truth, Messer Fulke, there are few of your cloth would own to a fault. Prithee, what has turned your heart toward us?"
The preacher surveyed the jongleur steadily for a long moment.
"Doth anti-Christ reign in your soul?" he demanded abruptly.
Matteo raised his eyes.
"No more than in yours, Messer Priest. But I have seen more than I care to remember of clerkly hypocrisy, and I cannot abide smugness in place of virtue."
Fulke heard him out quietly.