“And my lord the Bishop?” he asked.
“My son,” quoth Ogier, with one of his grins, “if you are ambitious, keep your tongue from stealing the truth.”
“Have done with your damned riddles.”
“My son, Master Jocelyn refreshes himself after the dull services of sanctity. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. You shall behold how frail are the feet of the holy.”
“I grow wise—in time.”
“Ten thousand devils, man, you shall see such sights as shall make you grow green as an unripe fig. Keep your mouth shut in Agravale, and you will prosper.”
The barge drifted back to them, and Tristan took the next passage, waited by the landing stage while this grey Charon ferried Ogier and his white horse over. Tristan had cast rapid glances round him as he waited. The place was built of rough-hewn stone, walled in on every side, with narrow squints for windows. Cypresses and yews grew close about the walls. The gate was flanked by a stone tower, standing black and sullen against the sky. Ever and again an eerie whimper came from the place, or a wild medley of voices, more like the chattering of a band of apes. There were three more horses tethered in a roughly thatched hovel under a walnut tree. A man was asleep there on a pile of hay.
Ogier landed, dragged the white stallion from the barge by the bridle. The ferryman took the horses, when he had made the boat fast to a great stake by the stage. Ogier knew the ways of the madhouse well enough; Tristan gathered as much as they passed in together under the low arch of the gate. A narrow courtyard held the centre of the building, with barred windows opening upon it on every side. In the centre of the court stood a great whipping-post with iron wristlets dangling from a rusty chain. Tristan saw all these things as his eyes darted rapid glances hither and thither in the half gloom.
As they passed through the court, a sudden clamour arose at the narrow windows overhead, where white faces were pressed against the bars. The grated windows seemed filled with mad eyes and dishevelled hair. The beings mured there were as wild beasts starving in a cage. Their cries reverberated through the well of the court, dinning their frenzy into Tristan’s ears.
Ogier passed into a room opening by a short passage from the court. It looked like a species of guard-room or antechamber, leading by a flight of low steps to a larger room above. A door fitted with an iron grille closed the stairway at the top. In the lower room a fire burned upon the hearth; a meal had been spread on a rough table, and the place was lit by a single iron lamp hanging from the ceiling.