“Give you good-morrow, Master Bailiff. Another batch, I reckon?”
“Ay, another batch, belike. You’ll have your dungeons full ere long.”
“Oh, we’ve room enough and to spare!” said the porter with a grin. “None so many, yet. Two men fetched in yestereven for breaking folks’ heads in a drunken brawl; and two or three debtors; and a lad for thieving, and such; then Master Maynard brought an handful in this morrow—Moot Hall was getting too full, he said.”
“Ay so? who brought he?”
“Oh, Alegar o’ Thorpe, and them bits o’ children o’ his, that should be learning their hornbooks i’ school sooner than be here, trow.”
“You’d best teach ’em, Tom,” suggested Mr Simnel with a grim smile. “Now then, in with you!”
And the prisoners were marched into the Castle dungeon.
In the corner of the dungeon sat John Johnson, his Bible on his knee, and beside him, snuggled close to him, Cissy. Little Will was seated on the floor at his father’s feet, playing with some bits of wood. Johnson looked up as his friends entered.
“Why, good friends! Shall I say I am glad or sorry to behold you here?”
“Glad,” answered William Mount, firmly, “if so we may glorify God.”