We trust our readers are anxious to learn the fate of Martin, whom, much against our will, we left in such grievous durance at Walderne Castle.
Drogo had only left a score of men behind him to defend the castle in case of any sudden assault; which, however, he did not expect. Before leaving he had called one of these aside, a fellow whose name was Marboeuf.
“Marboeuf,” he said, “I know thou hast the two elements which, between ourselves, ensure the greatest happiness in this world—a good digestion and a hard heart.”
“You compliment me, master.”
“Nay, I know thy worth, and hence I leave all things in thy hands: my honour and my vengeance.”
“Thy vengeance?”
“Yes. If I live I shall expect to find all as I left it when I return hither. If I die, and thou receivest sure news of my death, slay me the three prisoners.”
“What! The friar and all!”
“Is his blood redder than any other man’s? It seems to me thou art afraid of the Pope’s gray regiment.”
“Nay, I like not to slay priests and friars. It brings a man ill luck if he meddle with those.”