“Spare thee, thou vile slave!” cried the Franciscan with bitterness, “I never spared mortal that once roused my vengeance, and thou hast roused mine to red-hot fury. Answer [[129]]me, and remember it is vain to attempt concealment with me. Didst thou not fail of thy promise to rouse Sir Walter de Selby to my purpose, as it affected Sir Rafe Piersie?”
“Oh, I did, I did—Oh, spare me, spare me, Sathanas!” cried the Ancient.
“Didst thou not rather stir him up to reject and spurn the noble knight?” demanded the Franciscan.
“Oh, yes, I did—Oh yes—Spare me, spare me!—Avaunt thee, Sathanas!—Spare me—Oh, spare me!”
“Spare thee!” cried the Franciscan, with a horrid laugh of contempt; “spare thee! What mercy canst thou hope from me? No, thou art given to my power, not to be spared, but to be punished. Thine acts of sorcery, which have murdered Sir Walter de Selby, have put thee beyond the pale of mercy, nor canst thou now look elsewhere for aid. Thou art fitting food for hell,” continued he, with a fiend-like grin of satisfaction; and retreating slowly out of the doorway, and raising his voice into a shriek, that re-echoed from every projection and turret of the building, he pronounced the last fatal words, “Body and soul, to the flames I doom thee!”
An instantaneous shout arose from the court-yard below, and a clamour of many voices came rapidly up the stairs in the interior of the keep.
It quickly swelled upon the ear, and the clattering noise of many feet was heard approaching. Out they came on the platform of the keep, one by one, as they could scramble forth; and as the stoutest spirits naturally mounted first, the Franciscan was instantly surrounded by a body of the most determined hearts in the garrison.
“In on the servant of Sathanas,” cried he; “in on the cruel sorcerer, who hath bewitched thine unhappy Governor, and who refuseth to sayne again; in on the monster, tear him from his den, and drag him to the flames. Fear him not; his supernatural powers are quenched. Behold!” and pulling a wooden crosslet from his bosom, he held it up to their view—“In on him, I say, and seize him.”
The door was instantly forced open, and one or two of the boldest entered first; then two or three more followed, to the number of half a dozen in all, for the place could hardly contain more. The Ancient had now become frantic from terror, and his reason so far forsook him that he saw not or knew not the faces of those who came in on him to attack him, though many of them were familiar to him; he was fully possessed with the idea that a legion of devils were about to assail him, to drag him [[130]]down to eternal punishment. They sprang upon him at once by general concert. The Ancient was an arrant coward; but a coward so circumstanced will fight to the last, even against an infernal host; and so he did, with the desperation of a maniac. In the interior of the place, the scuffle was tremendous; the very walls and roof of it seemed to heave and labour with its tumultuous contents. The keep itself shook to its foundation, and the shrieks, groans, and curses that came from within appalled the bystanders.
“Pick-axes, crows, and hatchets!” cried the friar; and the implements were brought with the utmost expedition at his command.