"Malebouche, bid Coupe-gorge, the doomster, be ready with his minions in the torture-chamber, and take thither the old man whom we caught in the woods yestere'en. I will be present myself, and give orders what is to be done, in half an hour."
Malebouche departed on the errand, and Brian hastened to accomplish various necessary tasks, ere the time to which he looked forward with some interest arrived. It came at last, and he descended a circular stone staircase in the interior of the north-west tower, which seemed to lead into the bowels of the earth.
Rather into a vaulted chamber, curiously furnished with divers chains and pulleys, and hooks, and pincers, and other quaint instruments of mediæval cruelty. In one corner hung a thick curtain, which concealed all behind from view.
In the centre there was a heavy wooden table, and at the head a massive rude chair, wherein the Baron seated himself.
Before the table stood the prisoner—the aged Sexwulf—still preserving his composure, and gazing with serene eye upon the fierce Baron—the ruthless judge, in whose hands was his fate.
Two lamps suspended from the roof shed a lurid light upon the scene.
"Sexwulf, son of Thurkill, hearken, and thou, Malebouche, retire up the stairs, and wait my orders on the landing above."
"My lord, the tormentor is behind the curtain," whispered Malebouche, as he departed.
Brian nodded assent, but did not think fit to order the departure of the doomster, whose horrible office made him familiar with too many secrets, wrung from the miserable victims of his art, and who was, like a confessor, pledged to inviolable secrecy. A grim confessor he!
"Now, old man," said the Baron, "I am averse to wring the truth from the stammering lips of age. Answer me, without concealment, the truth—the whole truth!"