Osric peered from his covert: they were passing about a hundred yards off.
Oh, horror! they had got Ulric.
"How had it chanced?"
Osric never knew whether the dog had overtaken him, or what accident had happened; all he saw was that they had the lad, and were taking him, as he judged, to Wallingford, when they halted and sat down on some fallen trees, about a hundred yards from his concealment. They had wine, flesh, and bread, and were going to enjoy a mediæval picnic; but first they tied the boy carefully to a tree, so tightly and cruelly that he must have suffered much unnecessary pain; but little recked they.
The men ate and drank, the latter copiously. So much the worse for Ulric—drink sometimes inflames the passions of cruelty and violence.
"Why should we take him home? our prey is about here somewhere."
"Why not try a little torture, Sir Squire—a knotted string round the brain? we will make him tell all he knows, or make the young villain's eyes start out of his forehead."
The suggestion pleased Malebouche.
"Yes," he said, "we may as well settle his business here. I have a little persuader in my pocket, which I generally carry on these errands; it often comes useful;" and he produced a small thumbscrew.