"I came seeking you." Hugh laughed bitterly. "I had hoped to save you, mayhap, or bring you such succour as you needed. Well, at the least, I may share your prison with you—thanks to the craft of my enemies."
"And mine, fair son. But prithee tell me how knew you where to seek me?"
Sir James's voice had steadied. He sat by Hugh on the dungeon floor, one arm encircling his shoulders.
"Nay, I knew not. But I have a friend, one Matteo of Antioch, a jongleur, a man wise and cunning in the affairs of Outremer, and from him and others I heard how you had disappeared in Constantinople. By his advice I journeyed hither, trusting that I might learn what had become of you. I had no settled plan. My one thought was to find you."
"But you took great risk, Hugh."
"Nay, for I came with the host."
"The host!" repeated Sir James. "What host, fair son?"
"Know you not——"
Hugh's heart leaped into his throat as he grasped the fact of the awful isolation in which his father had lain.
"I know naught," answered Sir James sadly. "For nigh eight years, Hugh, the world hath gone its way, and James de Chesby ignorant thereof. What kings have passed, who reigneth upon earth, what wars have been fought and lost and won—I know not. I have bided here in my dungeon, living in the memories of the past and in the hope that some day Heaven would welcome me none the less for a shameful end."