"I would not have you take my word for gospel, Messer Hugh," he said slowly, as he put aside the gittern. "But what you say stirs echoes in my memory. In Outremer men sing and talk of Sir James as dead, but in their hearts they think of him as living. The jongleurs always say that he is gone, but will return to perform deeds of greater worth than those which won him deathless fame. In my romaunt, which you shall hear anon, I, too, sing of him as one over whom for a little space the curtain of time is drawn. Many proud lords have applauded me that song--and with cause, for I feel in my bones there is truth in the story. Sir James cometh again in his own good hour." Hugh leaned forward in his chair, face tense with interest. "You feel it, you say," he broke in. "Ay, but how? What reason have you?" Matteo stared into the nut-brown ale. "No reason that would justify my words, mayhap," he answered after a pause. "Hast ever tracked a deer in a well-worn slot, and sensed of a sudden the quarry had broached to right or left? Well, deem it so. But dismiss instinct, an you will. Consider this, lordling. I am a wanderer. My home is anywhere I am welcome. I sing my romaunts, tell my gests. In return men sing me songs, recount the stories they know. I have heard many a strange tale in many a strange place. "When I was composing my romaunt of Sir James, I had heed for any bit of castle gossip or galley rumour that would shed light upon his life. Full oft I encountered men who told me there was more to the story of Sir James than his disappearance. 'Mark you,' quoth one, 'hast ever seen the master of the galley that bore him his last voyage? No, nor hath any mortal.' 'If he was drowned,' said a second, 'why heard we not so from a member of his company?'" "The galley he sailed upon vanished from those seas," interrupted Hugh. "So much have I learned." "Ay, with all her company," agreed the jongleur. "Passing strange, is it not? She was the _Holy Dove_, of Venetian registry, Messer Bartolommeo master, a craft well-known in the coasting-trade. She was accepted for entry by the Prefect of the Golden Horn the first Tuesday in Lent, 1196. Some time thereafterward she left Constantinople, and has not been seen since. But of Sir James we can say only that he sailed upon her from Tripoli, being escorted to his berth by the Master of the Hospitallers and other knights, who were loath to see him leave the Holy Land. If he ever landed at Constantinople, it is not known. It is not even known if he continued on the galley to the Golden Horn." "In sooth, 'tis a sorry case you make out for me," said Hugh bitterly.