'Silence, in the lad's presence!' commanded Sir Claudius gruffly. 'What business had he to whisper to you? What was he saying?'
'Does it matter what a young boy says?' asked I, remembering just in time that it might be better policy to soothe than to anger him.
'You dare to whisper to a prisoner in my castle?' exclaimed Sir Claudius, turning again upon the lad and beginning to kick and cuff him unmercifully.
Every cry of the poor boy's went to my heart. I seemed to feel each blow myself, and begged pitifully for mercy. But I might as well have spoken to the great stone walls. Sir Claudius did not stop until poor Saul lay motionless upon the ground; then, leaving him stunned, the tyrant seized my hand and drew me from the spot, through the darkness to the far side of the hall, where there was an immense circular opening in the ground.
'Look down. Look into the dungeon below,' he said.
I peered into the gloomy depths and saw a man lying on some straw with his back toward us; but it was so dark that I could discern neither his clothes, nor exact size, nor the colour of his hair. I simply saw that there was a man and that he was lying down in a helpless, hopeless attitude, as if too weak to stand.
'That is Sir Hubert Blair,' said Sir Claudius. 'He has not fared so well as you. He has scarcely had such sumptuous lodgings. He is ill. Ha! ha! If we do not bring him to the gallows quickly, or release him, he will spare us the trouble.'
A bitter cry fell from my lips. I seemed to be in a hideous nightmare.
The man in the dungeon started, but did not turn round.
'Hubert! Hubert!' I called.