“That seems plausible.”
The knights all swore, with many rounded oaths, that their over-lord spoke the truth, and nothing was further from their intention than an execution.
“Well, then, whether you hang or no shall depend upon yourselves.”
“By God, then,” cried the Baron, “an’ I have aught to say on that point, I shall hang some other day.”
“Will you then, Baron, beg admittance to Mother Church, whose kindly tenets you have so long outraged?”
“We will, we do,” cried the Baron fervently, whispering through his clenched teeth to Segfried, who stood next him: “Wait till I have the upper hand again.” Fortunately the Abbot did not hear the whisper. The knights all echoed aloud the Baron’s pious first remark, and, perhaps, in their hearts said “Amen” to his second.
The Abbot spoke a word or two to the monks, and they advanced to the pinioned men and there performed the rites sacred to their office and to the serious situation of the penitents. As the good brothers stood back, they begged the Abbot for mercy to be extended towards the new converts, but the sphinx-like face of their leader gave no indication as to their fate, and the good men began to fear that it was the Abbot’s intention to hang the Baron and his knights.
“Now—brothers,” said the Abbot, with a long pause before he spoke the second word, whereupon each of the prisoners heaved a sigh of relief, “I said your fate would depend on yourselves and on your good intent.”
They all vociferously proclaimed that their intentions were and had been of the most honourable kind.
“I trust that is true, and that you shall live long enough to show your faith by your works. It is written that a man digged a pit for his enemy and fell himself therein. It is also written that as a man sows, so shall he reap. If you meant us no harm then your signal shouted to the battlements will do you no harm.”