"We are betrayed by our friends," he rasped. "Ay, by our brethren whom we trusted. Of the lords and barons who signed the covenant to sail with the host full one-third and more have not appeared, and but last night upon our arrival we had word that the Flanders fleet, under orders from Count Baldwin to join us here, had put in at Marseilles, with intent to sail thence direct to Outremer. Great store of men and treasure had we embarked on that fleet, and now we are in evil case, indeed. I know not what we may do." "But, certes, the Venetians will be reasonable," replied Hugh. "This is no ordinary transaction. The service of Our Lord Jesus Himself is at stake. They will cheerfully compound with you, an they learn of your sore troubles." "Mayhap," answered the Marshal doubtfully. "But the Venetians are men of business, Messer Hugh. Good fighters and right lusty men of their hands, I grant you; but----" "They care less for Holy Church than any Christian people I know," interrupted Matteo. "Their love centres in their Republic. In so far as their interests ride with the course of the Church they will follow it. But not all the powers of the Holy Apostle of Rome will drive them to take any course they deem to be to their disadvantage." Villehardouin nodded. "They have us at their mercy," he said hopelessly. "Alas, that I must say it! Never will I trust knightly word again! Men I have known since first they wore hauberk have deceived me, broken the oaths they swore on holy relics. What more----" A fanfare of trumpets sounded at the Palace entrance. "The Doge cometh!" exclaimed Matteo. Villehardouin broke off abruptly and left them, making his way to his place at the head of the deputation of barons of the host, as an imposing procession emerged upon the Square. First came the trumpeters and heralds, then the members of the Council of Ten, and after them the most impressive figure Hugh had ever seen. Very tall and gaunt, with a dead-white face and silvery hair, this man gave the appearance of great age, but he walked with the splendid, upright carriage of youth. He wore a long loose robe of black velvet and on his head a peculiar cap resembling a bishop's mitre. His eyes were closed, and he rested one hand lightly on the arm of a page. "Who is he?" whispered Hugh. "The Doge," Matteo whispered back, "Henry Dandolo." "Why are his eyes closed?" "He is blind. His eyes were seared by the Greeks long ago when he went to Constantinople on an embassy for the Republic. 'Tis said he sees a little, but not much." "He is very old, is he not?" "He is one of the oldest men in the world," returned Matteo. "He is ninety-two years old." "By St. James!" gasped Hugh. "He walks as would you or I!"