"'It is time to throw away that toy and practice with a real weapon, to accustom your arm and hand to the weight and feel of a real sword. When my wife passes you on Tuesday tell her to procure a heavy short sword for you from her brother and to send mine with body armor and helmets for both of us, piece by piece as you can bring it. After we are armed, if I can only get through this grating, we need have no fear of the gate guards.'
"If I am taken or caught you will starve in your dungeon.
"I have thought of that. We must procure the key from the prelate by some subterfuge. Let us first possess our swords and armor, then we will get the key and both escape.
"Within the week the friar made two visits to my house and each time when he left, beneath his outer robe, he wore a corselet and carried a heavy short sword and helmet. We discovered my wife had converted each helmet into a store room which I robbed for a substantial meal.
"The fear that my kind jailer might be removed or not appear from some casualty had caused me to store away a small supply of food and water in a corner of my cell.
"My sword and helmet the friar passed through the grating and when I placed the one upon my head and grasped the familiar handle of the other, new hope kindled in my heart. The corselets were concealed under the couch of my jailer, as mine could not be passed through the grating.
"When he returned that night I called to my companion of the upper story saying; 'Why not go to the custodian of the dungeon and ask for the key to my cell, stating it smells badly and you desire to clean it? He supposes it empty and will readily loan you the key.'
"Your suggestion is a good one and the odor of your cell will certainly confirm the declaration. I will do it; but will wear the corselet and buckle on my sword. If he refuses he is liable to lose both the key and his head.
"A few minutes later I heard him go out and in less than half an hour he returned with the key, which he had no trouble in procuring.
"He fitted it into the lock, I heard the bolts turn and a minute later I stood in the upper cell embracing this morbid, strong-armed friar, who had proven himself my most loyal friend.