“So did I, through eavesdroppers. Well, thou knowest too much; and shalt never see the sun again. It is pleasant is it not—the fresh air of the green woods, the sheen of the sun, the songs of the birds, the murmur of the streams, the scent of the flowers.
“Ah, ah!—thou feelest it—well, it shall never again fall to thy lot to see, hear, and smell all these. Here shalt thou linger out thy remaining days; thy companions the toad, the eft, the spider, the beetle; and when thou diest of hunger and thirst, which will eventually be thy lot, this cell shall be thy coffin. Here shalt thou rot.”
“And hence shall I rise, in that case, at the day of resurrection. Nay, Drogo, thou canst not frighten me. I am not in thy power. Thou canst not tame the spirit. Do thy worst, I wait God’s hour.”
Drogo was beside himself by rage at this language on the part of a captive, and he would have struck him down on the spot but for something in Martin that awed him, even as the keeper, who calls himself the lion king, tames the lion.
“We shall see,” he said, and left the cell.
“My lord, do not harm him,” said the man. “If a hand be laid upon him the men-at-arms will rebel. They fear that it will bring a curse upon them.”
“The fools, what is a friar but flesh and blood like others?”
“I would sooner hang or fry a hundred wretched burghers, or behead a score of knights, than touch this friar.”
“I see how it is. I must contrive to starve or poison him,” thought the base lord of the castle.
As he ascended the stairs he heard the sound of a trumpet, or rather a horn. Loud cries of surprise and alarm greeted his ears.