His face went dead white.
"I was pleaded with overlong to spare you," he said in accents so cold that the words fell like icicles breaking from the rocks. "I am glad I resisted."
"You were never tempted to yield," I assured him.
"I shall give orders now that your torments be the most ingenious our savages can devise," he returned.
"I doubt it not," I said.
"You will die in much agony," he continued placidly. "Nobody will ever know of your taunts. And I"—his vanity flared up again—"I shall die a marquis and a duke."
"And a convicted criminal," I added.
He murmured something to de Veulle and walked away, the savages moving from his path as if he were death in person, for indeed they feared him, more even than they feared Black Robe and their own accursed priests. He was the master of all.
"So you are to be chief torturer, monsieur le chevalier?" I remarked to de Veulle.
"Even so," he agreed.