“Why didst thou not hang them on the first oak big enough to sustain such acorns?”
“I reserved them for the royal judgment, so close at hand.”
“Let us see them ere we depart in the morning, and we shall doubtless make short work of them.”
Night reigned without. The occasional challenge of the sentinel alone broke the hush which brooded during the hours of darkness over the host encamped at Walderne.
Morning broke with roseate hues. All nature seemed to arise at once. The trumpets gave their shrill signal, the troops arose to life and action, like bees when they swarm; the birds filled the woods with their songs, as the glorious orb of day arose over the eastern hills.
Breakfast was the first consideration, which was heartily yet hastily despatched. Then in the hall, their hands bound behind them, stood the three prisoners; the knight dejected, the mayor and friar pale with privation and suffering. Our Martin’s health was not strong enough to enable him well to bear the horrors of a dungeon.
“You are accused of rebellion,” said the stern Edward, as he faced them. “What is your answer?”
Few men dared to look into that face. Its frown was so awful, it is recorded that a priest upon whom he looked once in displeasure and anger, died of fear—yet he was never intentionally unjust.
Ralph spoke first—he felt that courageous avowal of the truth was the only course.
“My prince,” he said, “we must indeed avow that our convictions are with the free barons of England, and that with them we must stand or fall. If to share their sentiments is rebellion, rebels we are, but we disclaim the word.”