“How now, rogue-lads,” said he, “grow ye merry in sooth by reason o' this Fool! Aye me, all men do grow merry save only I, Ranulph, Chief Torturer, Ranulph o' the Keys, o' the Gibbet, o' the City Axe—poor Ranulph the Headsman. Good lack! I've cut off the head o' many a man merrier than I— aye, that have I, and more's the pity! And now, ye that are to die so soon can wax joyous along o' this motley Fool! Why, 't is a manifest good Fool, and rare singer o' songs, 't is said, though malapert, with no respect for his betters and over-quick at dagger-play. So 't is a Fool must die and sing no more, and there's the pity on't for I do love a song, I—being a companionable soul and jovial withal, aye, a very bawcock of a boy, I. To-morrow Red Gui doth hale ye to his Castle o' the Rock, there to die all five for his good pleasure, as is very fitting and proper, so be merry whiles ye may. Meantime, behold here another rogue, a youngling imp. So is five become six, and six may laugh louder than five, methinks, so laugh your best.”
Then Ranulph o' the Keys sighed, closed the great door and went his way, leaving the new captive to their mercies. Fair he was and slender, and of a timid seeming, for now he crouched against the wall, his face hid 'neath the hood of ragged mantle; wherefore the “saintly” three incontinent scowled upon him, roared at him and made a horrid clashing with their fetters:
“Ha, blood and bones!” cried Rick the Ploughman. “What murderous babe art thou to go unshackled in presence o' thy betters?”
“Aye, forsooth,” growled Will the Tanner, “who 'rt thou to come hither distressing the last hours o' we poor, perishing mortals? Discourse, lest I bite the heart o' thee!”
“Pronounce, imp!” roared Gurth the Dyer, “lest I tear thy liver!”
“Sit ye, here beside me, youth,” said Jocelyn, “and presently thou shalt know these tearers of livers and biters of hearts for lambs of innocence and doves of gentleness—by their own confessions. For, remark now, gentle boy, all we are prisoners and therefore guiltless of every offence—indeed, where is the prisoner, but who, according to himself, is not more sinned against than sinner, and where the convicted rogue but, with his tongue, shall disprove all men's testimony? So here sit three guileless men, spotless of soul and beyond all thought innocent of every sin soever. Yonder is Rob, a robber, and here sit I, a Fool.”
“Ha!” cried Rick. “Yet murderous Fool art thou and apt to dagger-play! Belike hast slain a man this day in way o' folly—ha?”
“Two!” answered Jocelyn, nodding. “These two had been more but that my dagger brake.”
Here was silence awhile what time Jocelyn hummed the line of a song and his companions eyed him with looks askance.
“Why then, good Folly,” said Rick at last, “'t is for a little spilling o' blood art here, a little, pretty business o' murder—ha?”