Going forward to the banqueting-hall, taking every step in stealth, alert for any sound, and ever on the watch for any token of approaching danger, Herman came to the place where he thought the door of the great chamber should be. He paused when he saw a narrow line of light on the floor of the passage, and, going nearer to know what it meant, he found that the light was streaming through a slit in the doorway of the place where he had seen the food.
When his hand touched the door, he paused to listen, to glance both ways along the corridor; but there was nothing to indicate that anyone was moving about. Growing confident, he pushed the door a little wider open and peeped in. The chamber was empty, and it was all as he had seen it before. Food lay on the tables set there, either for supper or in readiness for the early morning meal. It seemed to Herman that all he had to do was to step in quickly, take a wine flagon from one of the tables, a dish of bread, and one of the roasted fowls.
It was a bold thing to do, but so was everything he had been doing in this night's enterprise. He thought of William Tyndale's need, and knew that, unless he did something such as this, his escape would hardly be possible, seeing that he was so weak.
Opening the door widely, that his movements might be unhampered, he walked to the table, going so rapidly that his feet, with all his attempt at stealth, fell with what seemed to him sharp, loud taps upon the tessellated floor. He was within a yard of the spot where he could lay his hand on the things he wanted, when his heart leapt at what he saw. The door at the other end of the banqueting-hall opened, and someone entered. In a moment Herman pulled his cap low over his eyes, throwing a shadow on his face.
The man who stepped in was Cochlaeus, and as he stood just within the doorway, and the light fell on him, Herman saw that his face was a frowning one, as though he took offence at the treatment that was meted out to a man of his quality and importance among Churchmen—that he should be set aside to await the lord of the castle's leisure while he busied himself with piracy.
Herman's hand stole to his dagger, in readiness to use it, if need arose. The impulse came to turn at once and walk away, hoping that Cochlaeus would not see and recognise him. Before he came to a decision, the Deacon looked up and saw that someone was in the hall.
"Hi, varlet!" he cried peremptorily. "Come and wait on me! This lord of yours has no respect for those who come to see him, for he must needs go on with his godless pursuits, while I am wasting my time, and faint with hunger."
The words came angrily, but so far it was plain that Cochlaeus had not recognised Herman. He was intensely relieved. Could he not play a bolder game?
"Sit, sir, at my lord's table, and let me wait on you," he answered, in a simulated voice. "But I must carry this away first, lest there be trouble at my slackness."
He went forward to a table, and easily, recklessly, indeed, he caught up a great dish of varied meats when he had placed a fowl there, and heaped bread on it. With this and a heavy flagon full of wine, he turned his back on Cochlaeus, and walked to the door by which he had entered.