"Ay, these and more," answered Matteo.
"It passeth comprehension. Truly, this Dandolo is a wonderful man! To have raised the host—that was a feat worth mentioning, and I say naught to decry the Marshal of Champagne. But to have brought together all these vessels, to have equipped them, ordered their crews and engaged them to work in common—that is close to black magic!"
"Dandolo hath a great stake to play for," returned Matteo.
Hugh looked quickly behind him.
"Hast noted the rumours these past weeks?" he asked.
"Who has not? Be sure, Hugh, a man may not plot to upset the world and no word of it reach mankind."
"I would not have the Doge suspect us of broken faith," said Hugh musingly. "If for no other reason than that it means our heads."
"This talk that hath sprung up is not from any one source," objected Matteo. "It is universal. It permeates all ranks of the host. Lords and knights, sergeants and varlets, all say that they will never reach Jerusalem."
"Ay, Dandolo failed to reckon with the priests. It may be there he erred lamentably. The shaven-heads have great power over simple men."
"Power, belike!" rejoined Matteo scornfully. "Mayhap. But your shaven-head is human, even as you and I, Hugh, and there be a-many shaven-heads will cry 'Out! Harrow!' for such an understanding, with thought of fat abbacies, bishoprics and even cardinal's caps in mind."