The Jew leaned upon Robin for support, as they mounted the flight of steps leading to the grand entrance hall. He paused once or twice; they were many in number, and hard to climb for one bent with age, and now bowed down by trouble. When they arrived at the great door, he perceived that, instead of two, there were four sentries, who stood, two on each side, like fixed statues, and the torch their conductor carried glittered on the bright points of their swords that rested on the ground. The stair was faintly illumined by one large massive iron lamp, hanging from the ceiling, and flickering, so as to show the outline, not the minutiæ of the objects.
When they had fairly entered the great hall, Robin truly and sincerely wished himself safely out again; the more particularly when he saw, mingled with the pages and servants in waiting, some tried and trusty soldiers, by whom, if his disguise were penetrated, he would be better known than trusted. It was one thing to steal and pry about a place, and another to be only separated by a single plank of oak from Cromwell—the all-powerful, all-seeing Protector of England—liable to be called at once into his presence; for the Jew might mention—doubtless would mention—that one who had served Sir Willmott Burrell, and knew much of his doings, was in attendance.
This magnificent room, though used as a hall of audience on state occasions, was generally occupied by the guards, retainers, and petitioners of the Protectorate. There was a long table of rude workmanship near the door at which they entered—above was a lamp, similar in size and construction to that which swung outside:—many assembled round, or sat close to, this table, while others walked up and down—not passing, however, the centre of the hall, which was crossed by a silk cord of crimson, fastened in the middle to two brass poles, standing sufficiently apart to permit one person at a time to enter; and also guarded by a single sentinel, who walked so as to pass and repass the opening every half minute. Manasseh paced slowly towards the soldier, still leaning on Robin. His conductor kept a little in advance, bowing on either side, while a conciliating smile lingered on his lip, until he came to the silken line.
"Only one may pass!" was the soldier's brief notice; and the Rabbi, grasping his staff more firmly, walked to the door opposite the great entrance, which was guarded also by another sentinel.
"You can find a seat—that is, if you choose to sit," said the servitor sneeringly, to Robin, pointing at the same time to an empty corner of the hall.
"Or would it please you I descend to the apartments of the lower servants?" inquired the Ranger, remembering the meekness befitting the character of a Jew.
"None leave this hall, after entering it by his Highness's permission, till they receive orders to that effect," he replied, turning from Robin, who slunk to the place assigned him, in no very agreeable mood.
If his imaginings were of an unpleasant description, still more so were the observations made aloud by the pages, flippant both by nature and usage, and the sarcastic and cool jests, given forth at his expense by the more sober persons of the assembly.
"Wouldst like any refreshment, friend?" inquired a youth in a sad-coloured tunic and blue vest, over which fell a plain collar of the finest Valenciennes' lace, so as to cover his shoulders. "And yet," continued the malapert, "methinks there is nothing to offer thee but some ham, or preserved pigs' tongues, which, of course, thou tastest not of."
"No, I humbly thank ye, young sir," replied Robin; "I do not need the pigs' tongues, having tasted of thine."