The courteous Venetians strove to make room for him, but their effort created a bulge in the crowd and attracted the notice of Helena. She touched Mocenigo on the shoulder, and the Italian looked up into Hugh's eyes.
Not a muscle quivered in Mocenigo's face, but he began to back away, his gaze still fixed on Hugh, who flung himself forward with a curse, Matteo behind him pacifying many an angry patrician by assurances that his friend pursued a deadly enemy.
They had not passed the last row of curious citizens, however, when Mocenigo reached the landing-steps and leaped into a green gondola, which flashed across the Grand Canal and disappeared down one of the narrow alleys of the city's watery maze. Hugh would have followed, but Matteo restrained him.
"Wait," advised the jongleur. "If Mocenigo is in Venice—and certes, 'tis not I will deny it!—it shall be poor luck an we do not ferret him out: Let us consult with Messer Ziniani. He will have knowledge where such an one might hide, for depend upon it the rascal does not wish his presence to be known. My counsel is that we watch his friends, the Comnenoi, before we do aught else."
"That is good counsel," admitted Hugh. "I was over-heated at spying the man, Matteo. I have a long account to settle with him, and my suspicions are correct. Moreover, I desire to know how fares it with my lady Edith of whom I spoke to you in England."
Matteo gave his friend a shrewd glance, which brought the colour to Hugh's face. But nothing more was said, for the crowd in the Square behind them raised a sudden tumult of cheers.
"What is it? What hath happened?" cried Matteo to the first man who came running toward them.
"The barons of the host have agreed to go to Zara," he shouted back. "I go to carry the word to the Arsenal to make ready the fleet."