"Be it so," he commented. "We will seek elsewhere. There is always a Christian who will sell his soul for gold."
By the flickering torch-light in the hut Hugh could see the Italian's face torn by conflicting emotions. Reluctance, hate, fear, desperation, pride and greed struggled one with the other to the end ordained by human weakness.
"Give me the gold," said Mocenigo, and he reached out his hand.
"You will tell?"
"Yes."
Sead Eddin drew forth the bag once more and dropped it on the table so that it sent a mellow clang, like the chiming of mass-bells, through the hut. Whatever reluctance persisted in Mocenigo's mind was banished by that sound.
"The Crusade will sail against Constantinople," he said.
"By the Prophet's Beard!" exclaimed the Saracen. "How know you this?"
"It matters not, save that I do know it," replied Mocenigo shortly.
"In sober truth doth Allah watch over his own! When Christian might becomes too great for the Faithful to resist, he sets them to fighting against each other. God is great!"