Presently the wagon rattled over a drawbridge, and halted for a murmured conversation, possibly with a sentinel on duty; we soon drove on, up a considerable incline, as if into a castle courtyard, and the hoofs clicked on more cobbles; next I was seized like a log, stood on my feet, and hurried down a flagged passage and up two long stairways. I heard a rattling of bolts; a door creaked open; I was thrust inside. Then the mufflers were withdrawn from my eyes and mouth; the pinions from my arms. Before me stood two low-browed loutish men with great rings of keys at their waists, evidently regular jailors, and by no means my late captors and companions. I eyed them severely. “Well, my merry masters,” said I, glad to find my tongue, “will you deign to inform me why I am so suddenly summoned to partake of your kind hospitality?” “Your worship will know presently,” remarked one, with a very sullen reverence. “I am glad to see that you have the grace to bow to your betters. You would do still more wisely to consider whether it is safe for you to hold a free Count of the Empire in this most unlawful custody. Because I do not rave and curse do not think I am insensible to my treatment.” “We have high warrant. Your worship will be told presently,” was all I could get out of him, and then perhaps fearing to have me question further, they turned suddenly and quitted the cell, leaving me to my thoughts and to cultivate the captive’s slow virtue of patience. A cell the place surely was, although not quite a dungeon. I had soon paced off its nine feet by eight. The walls were roughly smoothed limestone. A single small and heavily barred window close to the ceiling showed nothing but a blank bare wall of masonry. There was a hard pallet with a rough blanket, a hay-stuffed sack for a pillow, a three-legged stool, an earthern cruse of water. On the walls were scribblings and rude pictures, the handiwork of former prisoners, but I could not interpret them then. That was all. My explorations were soon finished. Seating myself on the edge of the pallet I began to take account of my own physical state. Fortunately I was really none the worse save for a few scratches and bruises, although my arms were very sore where the cords had chafed. My clothing had been rent to shreds in the struggle. The kidnappers had appropriated my purse and gold chain, and of course my sword. I washed myself with the water in the cruse, drank a little, and felt somewhat refreshed, but my mental condition was none the happiest. This was a far more serious bondage than that from which Andrea had nimbly extricated me at Palaestro. In addition to wrath at the actual outrage came wrath at my own simplicity. How utterly I had played the fool! Had asked almost no questions, had taken no precautions, had informed no friends. Bewitched by the magic words “A plot against Luther,” I had walked into a trap a simpleton would have scorned. Verily I deserved every misery that might be awaiting!