“Ah, ah!—thou feelest it—well, it shall never again fall to thy lot to see, hear, and smell all these. Here shalt thou linger out thy remaining days; thy companions the toad, the eft, the spider, the beetle; and when thou diest of hunger and thirst, which will eventually be thy lot, this cell shall be thy coffin. Here shalt thou rot.” “And hence shall I rise, in that case, at the day of resurrection. Nay, Drogo, thou canst not frighten me. I am not in thy power. Thou canst not tame the spirit. Do thy worst, I wait God’s hour.” Drogo was beside himself by rage at this language on the part of a captive, and he would have struck him down on the spot but for something in Martin that awed him, even as the keeper, who calls himself the lion king, tames the lion. “We shall see,” he said, and left the cell. “My lord, do not harm him,” said the man. “If a hand be laid upon him the men-at-arms will rebel. They fear that it will bring a curse upon them.” “The fools, what is a friar but flesh and blood like others?” “I would sooner hang or fry a hundred wretched burghers, or behead a score of knights, than touch this friar.” “I see how it is. I must contrive to starve or poison him,” thought the base lord of the castle. As he ascended the stairs he heard the sound of a trumpet, or rather a horn. Loud cries of surprise and alarm greeted his ears. He went out on the watch tower. The woods were alive with men: they issued out on all sides—the “merrie men” of the woods. Drogo saw at once that they had come to seek Martin. He took hold of a white flag, and advanced to the tower above the central gateway—to parley—for he feared the arrows of the marksmen of the woods. “Whom seek ye?” “One whom thou hast wrongfully imprisoned. The friar Martin.” “I have not got him here.” “But thou hast, and we have come to claim him.” “Choose three of your number. They may come and confer with me in the castle upon his disappearance. God forbid that I should lay hands on His ministers.” “Dost thou pledge thy honour for their safety?” “Do ye doubt my honour? Oh, well; so ye may well do, if ye think I would have touched brother Martin.” He was so plausible that they were ashamed of their distrust, and selected three of their foremost men, who forthwith entered. The gates were shut behind them. And then, oh, shame to say! They were seized from behind, their arms bound behind their backs, and, in spite of their protests, led out on the watch tower, where was a permanent gibbet, and, in sight of all their comrades, hung over the battlements. “That is how my honour bids me treat with outlaws,” laughed Drogo. A flight of arrows was the reply, which penetrated every crevice, and made six troopers stretch their bodies on the ground.