"It could never be that the robber lord had some inkling that Master Tyndale was on board that ship and was thinking to carry him away to some safe place, just as was done once with Doctor Martin Luther, to hide him from his enemies."
It was a new idea. There was something like hopefulness in Herman's soul when he considered the possibility, but the hope was dashed at once when Roye spoke.
"Would God it were so. But this man, this bandit lord, I heard the sailors say, when they were speaking about him as we were beating up the river, has no fear of God in his heart. He scoffs as much at the Reformers as he does at the Catholics. The idea is to sell my master to the tormentors if they will pay the price."
"God forbid!" Herman cried, smitten with horror at the thought. "It cannot be!"
"Why not?" asked Roye. "Others have done it. The Inquisitors have bought the prisoners in these bandit castles by the score, paying big sums of money for them, to have the opportunity of dealing with them in the torture chambers of what they call their Holy Houses. Schouts must have heard that Master Tyndale is badly wanted, and he believes he has a prize."
They stood and talked in whispers. At odd times some creature slunk past them into the forest depths, out of their way; but nothing human came near them. Feeling oppressed with the hopelessness of the position, they turned back into the forest, Herman leading the way to the hollow where the horse was tethered. Their idea was to go back to the city and tell the story of this disaster.
After a while they felt the stress of hunger, and, seeing a light down one of the forest avenues, they went towards it and found a hut, from the window of which the light was streaming.
"Who goes there?" came the cry when Herman knocked loudly on the door; then someone passed the window, and Herman, seeing the face, knew him.
"'Tis Otto Engel!" he cried.
"What if it be?" was the man's half-menacing answer, for he heard the words. "I asked who was there, not who was I!"