The English sailor laughed heartily.
"He eager to rescue the Sepulchre! St. Edward, 'tis good hearing! Why, the fellow's crew are three-quarters hang-dog Saracen hounds or I never stopped a corsair in the Inner Sea!"
"'Tis a lie, fair sirs," pleaded the swart shipman, his ugly face crimson with rage. "Look you, and——"
"Enough," answered Hugh. "We are done with you, fellow. Ralph, open him the door."
Ralph heaved up his impressive bulk, and advanced ruthlessly upon the man. The Cypriot's eyes lit up with rage, but he controlled himself, and made another low bow.
"You do greatly wrong me, lords," he said protestingly. "But I pray for you a safe journey."
As the door closed behind him, Hugh turned to the English shipman.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I am Nicholas Dunning, shipman, of Dover. My cog, the Alice, lies in the harbour yonder, lordling. As for that rogue——" he gestured out the window toward the retreating form of the swart shipman—"my guess is that he is a pirate when he is not trading. An I were a citizen of Hastings I would take heed to my gates when he was about. There is no good in him, I'll warrant you, with his swaggering blackamoor crew."
"Be that as it may, we are through with him," said Hugh, amused by the man's manner. "Now, what terms do you make to carry us to Rouen, sailing not later than the morrow?"