“To what authorities are we to be entrusted?” demanded Mowbray, who had mastered the first choking throb of emotion, and was now resolved not to indulge in useless protests.
A look of pain shot for an instant across Fra Pietro’s eyes. But he answered quietly:—
“Don Caravellada has not told me.”
“Belike, then, friend, he only needs the asking,” put in Roger.
The monk shook his head, and was obviously so distressed that Roger went on:—
“Nay, if it be a secret, let it remain so, in heaven’s name. Mayhap I may request your barefooted reverence’s good offices in another shape. At what hour is breakfast served on board this hospitable vessel?”
Fra Pietro answered readily enough:—
“It awaits your pleasure. The Señor Capitan bids me offer you, in his name, the best resources of the ship.”
“Egad, let us eat first, after which all he has to do to get rid of us is to place Master Mowbray and me in a small boat with oars. ’Twill save us much bother and the ship much provender, for I am sharp set as a keen saw.”
Without reply, the monk led them to a cabin where plenty of cold meats, bread, wine, and beer graced the table.