"My lord! for pity's sake!"
It was Jan's voice of course. The Lord of Stoutenburg turned mechanically in the direction from whence it came. Not far from where he was standing he saw Jan lying on the ground against a beam, with a scarf wound loosely round his mouth and his arms held with a cord behind his back. Stoutenburg unwound the scarf and untied the cord, then he murmured dully:
"Jan? What does this mean?"
"The men all threw down their arms, my lord," said Jan as soon as he had struggled to his feet, "they ran like cowards when Lucas of Sparendam brought the news."
"I knew that," said Stoutenburg hoarsely, "curse them all for their miserable cowardice. But the prisoner, man, the prisoner? What have you done with him? Did I not order you to guard him with your life?"
"Then is mine own life forfeit, my lord," said Jan simply, "for I did fail in guarding the prisoner."
A violent oath broke from Stoutenburg's trembling lips. He raised his clenched fist, ready to strike in his blind, unreasoning fury the one man who had remained faithful to him to the last.
Jan slowly bent the knee.
"Kill me, my lord," he said calmly, "I could not guard the prisoner."
Stoutenburg was silent for a moment, then his upraised arm fell nervelessly by his side.