"This man, Mocenigo, is a renegade Venetian, exiled for stabbing the nephew of a Doge. He should have died for such a crime, but he hath powerful relatives, and so gained liberty. He is an agent of the Emperor Alexius, and if rumour is truth, a spy of the Sultan of Babylon at times. In sooth, he is no one to put your trust in."
"He is the enemy I spoke of," said Hugh.
The jongleur made a gesture of amazement.
"By Our Lady of Tortosa, this hath the makings of a pretty tale!" he exclaimed. "Tell me more."
So Hugh told at length of Mocenigo's coming to take Edith to Constantinople, of their meeting on the London Road, of Mocenigo's veiled warnings to him, of the attempt to knife him as he rode home from Blancherive that evening. The jongleur followed the story with an interest that never flagged.
"And see you not," he cried when Hugh had finished, "that this bears out fully what I have said to you?"
"How is that?"
"That your quest begins of right in Constantinople."
"I do not follow you, sir jongleur."
"But, Messer Hugh, here is an attempt, repeated, to keep you from setting forth upon your quest, and in it you think you trace the hand of one who is no less than the shadow of the Emperor Alexius. What more would you have?"