"They mean as little to me as they do to you," he replied.
Matteo dabbled his finger thoughtfully in the ale-lees on the table.
"You know that Sir James, on his first journey to the Holy Land, tarried in Constantinople some months and was made much of by the Emperor Andronicus Comnenus, who then sat on the throne?" he asked.
"Yes, he was there a year or close thereto," returned Hugh. "The Emperor pressed him to remain, but my father had taken a vow that he would serve Christ against the Paynims for the greater rest of my mother's soul."
"Ay, so it was. But it was passing strange for any man to win the friendship of Andronicus as did Sir James. You must know that Andronicus was one of the bloodiest tyrants who ever sat on the blood-stained throne of the Eastern Rome. But there is this to be said for him: he oppressed, robbed and tortured the noble and the rich amongst his subjects; the poor he cherished and honoured. He found corruption wide-spread, and he did what he could to cut it out, taking the ill-gotten gains of the officials to spend upon the Empire's needs. He lived only a few months after your father left him. He died by assassination, as he had lived by assassination."
"Interesting, but I see not where it leads us," returned Hugh.
"Only thus far," said Matteo quietly. "I have been told by one—who had it from another—that your father set sail from Tripoli in response to a message from the Emperor Isaac. Isaac was shortly afterward dethroned and blinded by his brother Alexius and rests now in the dungeons of the Tower of Anemas under the Palace of Blachernae. And 'twas Isaac who slew Andronicus, and so won to the throne."
"But the Emperor Alexius hath denied all knowledge of my father's fate," cried Hugh. "He hath offered his help—hath rendered it. Our King Lion-Heart himself pressed the case. And the Commander of the Emperor's Varangian Guards is Sir Cedric Halcroft, brother of my neighbour, the Lord of Blancherive and a boyhood friend of my father. He hath interested the Emperor in our suit. In all sooth, he must have heard if trickery bested my father."
"Not so," the jongleur disagreed. "I know Sir Cedric, and a braver, stouter heart never wore mail, but he is a soldier, bluff and honest—a thought dull-witted, too, like all your Saxons. By the very nature of his office he mixes not in the politics of the Court. He stands apart. A more unlikely aid you cannot find. He would believe whatever he was told. For the rest—fair sir, you know not these Greeks. A treacherous race, without honour, chivalry or virtue, and none of them more conscienceless than their Emperor, who reached the throne by overthrowing and blinding the brother who ransomed him from the Saracens."
"Then you think——"