“Eh, Lord have mercy on the young maid!” said a woman’s voice in a compassionate tone.
“Young witch, rather!” responded a man, roughly.
“Hold thy graceless tongue, Jack Milman!” replied a woman’s shrill tones. “Didn’t Rose Allen make broth for thee when we were both sick, and go out of a cold winter night a-gathering herbs to ease thy pain? Be shamed to thee, if thou knows what shame is, casting ill words at her in her trouble!”
Just as the prisoners were marched off, another voice hitherto silent seemed to come from the very midst of the crowd. It said,—
“Be ye faithful unto death, and Christ shall give you a crown of life.”
“Take that man!” said the Bailiff, stopping.
But the man was not to be found. Nobody knew—at least nobody would own—who had uttered those fearless words.
So the prisoners were marched away on the road to Colchester. They went in at Bothal’s Gate, up Bothal Street, and past the Black Friars’ monastery to the Castle.
Colchester Castle is one of the oldest castles in England, for it was built by King Edward the Elder, the son of Alfred the Great. It is a low square mass, with the largest Norman keep, or centre tower, in the country. The walls are twelve feet thick, and the whole ground floor, and two of the four towers, are built up perfectly solid from the bottom, that it might be made as strong as possible. It was built with Roman bricks, and the Roman mortar still sticks to some of them. Builders always know Roman mortar, for it is so much harder than any mortar people know how to make now—quite as hard as stone itself. The chimneys run up through the walls.
The prisoners were marched up to the great entrance gate, on the south side of the Castle. The Bailiff blew his horn, and the porter opened a little wicket and looked out.