At daybreak the march was resumed, and was continued until they reached the castle of Sir Phillip Holbeaut, which stood on a narrow tongue of land formed by a sharp bend of the Somme.
On entering the castle the knight gave an order to his followers, and the prisoners were at once led to a narrow cell beneath one of the towers. Walter looked round indignantly when he arrived there.
“This is a dungeon for a felon,” he exclaimed, “not the apartment for a knight who has been taken captive in fair fight. Tell your master that he is bound to award me honourable treatment, and that unless he removes me instantly from this dungeon to a proper apartment, and treats me with all due respect and courtesy, I will, when I regain liberty, proclaim him a dishonoured knight.”
The men-at-arms made no reply; but, locking the door behind them, left the prisoners alone.
“What can this mean, Ralph?” Walter exclaimed. “We are in the lowest dungeon, and below the level of the river. See how damp are the walls, and the floor is thick with slimy mud. The river must run but just below that loophole, and in times of flood probably enters here.”
Phillip of Holbeaut, on dismounting, ascended to an upper chamber, where a man in the dress of a well-to-do citizen was sitting.
“Well, Sir Phillip,” he exclaimed, rising to his feet as the other entered, “what news?”
“The news is bad,” the knight growled. “This famous scheme of yours has cost me fifty of my best men. I would I had had nothing to do with it.”
“But this Walter Somers,” the other exclaimed, “what of him? He has not escaped surely! The force which marched from Amiens was large enough to have eaten him and his garrison.
“He has not escaped,” the knight replied.