"Nay, now, that issue is buried, Hugh." Sir Godwin banished the argument with a wave of the hand. "In the haste of our greetings I have forgotten to present you to my guest. Messer Mocenigo, I make known to you my neighbour, the Lord Hugh de Chesby. His lands march with mine."
"Young sir, I am honoured." Mocenigo bowed from his supple hips, his cap sweeping the rushes. To Hugh it seemed there was a touch of irony in the exaggerated courtesy. But his resentment was forgotten in the man's next words. "De Chesby? Surely, that is a name familiar to the folk of Outremer!"
"You know my father, Messer Mocenigo?" asked Hugh eagerly.
"Not the great Sir James?"
"Yes, Sir James de Chesby—'the Knight of the Holy Sepulchre' he was called in the Holy Land."
The Italian gave Hugh a sidelong look out of his heavy-lidded eyes.
"It was never my fortune to know your father," he answered. "But he was indicated to me once in the streets of Tripoli. A stout knight and of matchless fame! The jongleurs still sing of his deeds. 'Tis a vast pity, young sir, he is not with us to-day to fend off the Paynims."
Hugh stepped closer on the dais.
"Do you think him dead?" he asked tensely.
Mocenigo made a gesture of surprise.