“Ah, they aren’t so sure of him. They think he’ll bear a faggot, but it’s not certain yet.”
“God help and strengthen him!”
“And Mistress Wade, of the King’s Head, is had up to London to the Bishop.”
“God grant her His grace!”
“I’ve told you all now. Good-night.”
The greeting was returned, and Bartle went out. He was commissioned to carry the writ down to the Moot Hall.
Not many minutes later, Wastborowe entered the dungeon with the writ in his hand. The prisoners were conversing over their supper, but the sight of that document brought silence without any need to call for it.
“Hearken!” said Wastborowe. “At six o’clock in the morning, on the waste piece by Lexden Road, shall suffer the penalty of the law these men and women underwritten:—William Bongeor, Thomas Benold, Robert alias William Purcas, Agnes Silverside alias Downes alias Smith alias May, Helen Ewring, Elizabeth Foulkes, Agnes Bowyer.”
With one accord, led by Mr Benold, the condemned prisoners stood up and thanked God.
“‘Agnes Bowyer’,” repeated Wastborowe in some perplexity. “Your name’s not Bowyer; it’s Bongeor.”