Indeed, Hugh was obliged to commit himself to the routine of the dungeon. Study of the situation convinced him that his father was not exaggerating the difficulties of forcing an escape. The walls were impassable. The guards, who visited them twice a day to bring food and sweep out the dungeon, were alert and powerful, and even if they could be subdued, Hugh had a vivid recollection of the other gates and sentinels who must be overcome before the upper air was reached—and then their troubles would be just begun.
No, he agreed, escape by force was impossible under the present circumstances. He swallowed this unpleasant fact as readily as he could, and set himself to vie with Sir James in keeping his body strong and healthy, in spite of the inevitable languor of confinement. The two wrestled and contended, walked and danced. They had sufficient rough food to eat, and if the chill winter air found access to their chamber, it was proof against dampness. Save on days when the sun never shone they were not uncomfortable.
Hugh had been a prisoner two days when his guards forced him to remove his armour and accept in its stead a woollen cloak to cover his gambeson and quilted drawers. They searched him carefully from head to foot, and took every piece of metal in his possession, even to a medallion of St. Cuthbert which Prior Thomas had given him as a charm to ward off evil. His chief cause for regretting this deprivation was the disappointment his father experienced. Sir James had taken a child-like pleasure in donning the mail and accustoming his muscles to exercise again under the weight of armour. But it showed that their enemies were not forgetting them, and spurred Hugh on to seek a means of escape.
Several weeks passed without incident. Then one evening the door clashed open and Bartolommeo strode in, the six tongueless Ethiopians at his heels.
"Ha, fair sirs," he cried. "How like you this unwonted comradeship? Do you not owe old Bartolommeo a blessing for the service he hath done you? Ay, many folk have said that Bartolommeo had no heart and served the devil! Mayhap, mayhap! But certes he played the rôle of guardian angel when he brought you twain together. How now? How now? Hast talked things over? Art in better frame of mind, Messer Hugh? And you, Sir James—art prepared to be communicative? I have an offer for you, a pledge, an undertaking—ay, a veritable bargain such as one trader makes to another. Belike, you will chaffer with me."
"With you, Bartolommeo, or with your master?" asked Sir James drily.
"A shrewd wit, oh, a shrewd wit," chuckled Bartolommeo. "Ay, you are never sleeping when there is craft afoot. Well, what say you, Messers?"
"There is naught to go upon save Mocenigo's word, then?" said Sir James.
Bartolommeo cocked his head on one side.
"Hast clapped your finger on the worm-hole in the apple," he assented. "Ay, but beggers may not be choosers, an you please, Sir James; and we have you, as I might say, with a dagger to your throat and your helmet-laces cut."