And here let me advise my gentler readers, who hate to read of violence and cruelty, to skip the rest of this chapter, which may be read by stronger-minded readers as essential to a complete picture of life at Wallingford Castle. What men once had to bear, we may bear to read.
They went first to the dungeon in the north tower, where William, Lord of Shirburne, was confined. Tustain the gaoler and two satellites attended, and opened the door of the cell. It was a cold, bare room: a box stuffed with leaves and straw, with a coverlet and pillow for a bed; a rough bench; a rude table—that was all.
The prisoner could not enjoy the scenery; his only light was from a grated window above, of too small dimensions to allow a man to pass through, even were the bars removed.
"How dost thou like my hospitality, William of Shirburne?"
"I suppose it is as good as I should have shown thee."
"Doubtless: we know each other. Now, what wilt thou pay for thy ransom?"
"A thousand marks."
Brian laughed grimly.
"Thou ratest thyself at the price of an old Jew."
"What dost thou ask?"