"Can it be delivered? What can you do?"
"Alas! little; but we do our best and wait better times. Look, my lad, when things are at their worst the tide turns: the darkest hour is just before the dawn. Think of this happy land—happy once—now the sport of robbers and thieves! Think of the hideous dungeons where true Englishmen rot! Think of the multitudes of innocent folk burnt, racked, tortured, starved, driven to herd with the beasts! Think of the horrors of famine! Think of the unburied dead—slain foully, and breeding a pestilence, which oft destroys their murderers! Think, in short, of Wallingford Castle and its lord——"
A deep murmur of assent from the recumbent outlaws stretched on the turf around.
Osric's features twitched; he felt the force of the appeal.
"What do you want of me?"
"Our leader is a miserable captive in the devil's hold you have quitted, and of which you know the secrets."
"What can I do? They were told me in confidence. Can I break my honour?"
"Confidence! honour! If you had promised the Devil's dam to sell your soul, would you feel bound to do so?"
"In short," said another, "we will have the secret."
"Nay, Grimbald, patience; he will come right in time. Force is no good with such as he. He must do what is right, because it is right; and when he sees it, he will join us heart and soul, or he is not the son of Wulfnoth."