Great Britain -- History -- Stephen, 1135-1154 -- Fiction
It was a marvellous and a provoking thing to see how well the foul
robbers had been victualled and provided; gaunt hunger ranged all round
them, and filled the fertile but untilled valleys with its cries and
screams; but their buttery was crammed with the best of meat, their
stalls were filled with beeves and sheep, their cellars were full of
ale, mead, and wine, their granaries with corn, their stables with the
best of horses. Rarely have I seen so sumptuous a feast as that to which
we did sit down in the castle hall, with our sharp winter-morning
appetites.
By the time this goodly collation was finished it was broad daylight.
"So now," said the lord abbat, "will we think of carrying out these
goods and chattels, and then of destroying tougher crusts than those of
venison-pasties. Bring me forth the rascaille-people from the
prison-house, that they may lend us their shoulders and aid us in
destroying their own foul nest."
Being boyishly and unwisely curious to see with mine own eyes the
abominable pit of which I had heard so much, I went with those that
repaired to the house of captivity and torture, and one who had been
released over-night did follow me thither to explain its horrible
mysteries, as one who had full experience of them all. Misericordia Dei,
into what a bolge of hell did my staggering feet carry me! And what an
atmosphere was that which made my head turn giddy and my stomach sick!
Deep in the bowels of the earth, within the foundations of the keep of
the castellum, was a great chamber paved with the sharpest flints, and,
dimly lighted from above by a few chinks, so narrow that the bats could
scarce have crept through them. The noisome air, never fanned by the
sweet breath of heaven, was made more foul and poisonous by accumulated
filth and stagnant pools of blood, and a fetid smell of smoke. The
torches we brought in to give us light to discover all the mysteries of
the place burned with a sickly and uncertain flame.
"Can man live here?" said I.
"I lay dying here the full length of nine moons," said my guide.
"And what is this?" said I, looking into a short narrow chest not much
unlike the coffin of a child, but half-filled within with sharp stones
and spikes of iron.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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