Then all eyes turned towards Jason, and there came across his face at that moment the look of a bated dog.
"No," he growled.
The spokesman shifted in his seat and the people grew restless.
"Listen again," said the Bishop, and his long white beard shook and his solemn voice rose to a shrill cry as he twisted back to the book and read:—
"But if one of you be so mad that he breaks this truce thus made, and slays after pledges have been made and his blade has reddened, he shall be an outlaw, accursed and driven away, so far as men drive wolves farthest away. He shall be banished of God and all good Christian men, as far as Christian men seek churches, as mothers bring forth sons, son calls mother, flames blaze up, mankind kindle fire, earth is green, sun shines, and snow covers the ground; he shall flee from kirk and Christian men, God's house and mankind, and from every home save hell."
Then there was a pause and a great hush, and the Bishop lifted his eyes from the book, and said—
"Will you swear to it?"
Again all eyes turned towards Jason, and again his face, which had been impassive, took the look of a bated dog.
"No, no, no!" he cried in a loud voice, and then the great silence was broken by deep murmurs.
"It is useless," said the spokesman. "Warnings and peace oaths, though still valid, are the machinery of another age. This prisoner is not ignorant of the gravity of the crime he contemplates, nor yet of the penalty attaching to it."