"He is safe," he answered, "and shall go back to England with thee. Hast thou the lad secured outside, Sir William?"
"Aye," rejoined the grim old soldier. "And now right about, you rogues." And he marched them outside, surrounded by his men.
We sat in silence a few minutes—a volley of shots, and they had passed into eternity, the lie fresh upon their lips.
This was the priest's work that the men should testify against me. Dunraven had doubtless planned the scheme, and had through Francis paid these men to swear against me, telling them, not indeed that they would fall into the hands of Drake, but had arranged so that whatever happened they would swear away my life.
They had seen the priest in favor, their promise had come back to their minds, and they thought—or perhaps he had promised beforehand—that at all events he would save their lives; and so they had spoken as he had commanded them. The end had come, before they could retreat.
Drake glanced up as the sound of the musketoons died away.
"Hast thou aught to say for thyself?" he asked.
"Simply that I am innocent," I answered. "I have been a captive here for months, and have had naught to do with the forays of these men. The priest is my enemy; these men swore as they did by his command. If thou dost not believe me, ask the boy Oliver Gates."
I said naught of Dunraven, for I knew that if I did it would simply make my tale seem the more incredible; and, too, I said naught of my adventures, for I saw that he would not believe me. I would save that for the ear of the Queen herself.
Sir James Mortimer leaned over to Drake, and murmured: