the middle ages
the little party moved away without attracting notice. in a time of such prodigious movement the going or coming of a few individuals was a matter of no concern. the hood that julie lannes had drawn over her hair and face, and her plain brown dress might have been those of a nun. she too passed before unseeing eyes.
lieutenant legaré was a neutral person, arousing no interest in john who walked by the side of the gigantic picard, the stalwart suzanne being in one of the carts beside julie. the faint throbbing of the guns, now a distinct part of nature, came to them from a line many miles away, but john took no notice of it. he had returned to the world among pleasant people, and this was one of the finest mornings in early autumn that he had ever seen.
the country was much more heavily forested than usual. at points, the woods turned into what john would almost have called a real forest. then they could not see very far ahead or to either side, but the road was good and the carts moved forward, though not at a pace too great for the walkers.
picard carried a rifle over his shoulders, and john had secured an automatic. all the soldiers were well armed. john felt a singular lightness of heart, and, despite the forbidding glare of suzanne, who was in the last cart, he spoke to julie.
"it's too fine a morning for battle," he said in english. "let's pretend that we're a company of troubadours, minnesingers, jongleurs, acrobats and what not, going from one great castle to another."
"i suppose antoine there is the chief acrobat?"
"he might do a flip-flap, but if he did the earth would shake."
"then you are the chief troubadour. where is your harp or viol, sir knight of the tuneful road?"
"i'm merely imagining character, not action. i haven't a harp or a viol, and if i had them i couldn't play on either."
"do you think it right to talk in english to the strange young american, mademoiselle? would madame your mother approve?" said suzanne in a fierce whisper.
"it is sometimes necessary in war, suzanne, to talk where one would not do so in peace," replied julie gravely, and then she said to john again in english:
"we cannot carry out the pretense, mr. scott. the tuneful or merry folk of the middle ages did not travel with arms. they had no enemies, and they were welcome everywhere. nor did they travel as we do to the accompaniment of war. the sound of the guns grows louder."
"so it does," said john, bending an ear—he had forgotten that a battle was raging somewhere, "but we're behind the french lines and it cannot touch us."
"it was a wonderful victory. our soldiers are the bravest in the world are they not, mr. scott?"
john smiled. they were still talking english. he liked to hear her piquant pronunciation of it, and he surmised too that the bravest of hearts beat in the bosom of this young girl whom war had suddenly made a woman. how could the sister of such a man as lannes be otherwise than brave? the sober brown dress, and the hood equally sober, failed to hide her youthful beauty. the strands of hair escaping from the hood showed pure gold in the sunshine, and in the same sunshine the blue of her eyes seemed deeper than ever.
john was often impressed by the weakness of generalities, and one of them was the fact that so many of the french were so fair, and so many of the english so dark. he did not remember the origin of the lannes family, but he was sure that through her mother's line, at least, she must be largely of norman blood.
"what are you thinking of so gravely, mr. scott?" she asked, still in english, to the deep dissatisfaction of suzanne, who never relaxed her grim glare.
"i don't know. perhaps it was the contrast of our peaceful journey to what is going on twelve or fifteen miles away."
"it is beautiful here!" she said.
truly it was. the road, smooth and white, ran along the slopes of hills, crested with open forest, yet fresh and green. below them were fields of chequered brown and green. four or five clear brooks flowed down the slopes, and the sheen of a little river showed in the distance. three small villages were in sight, and, clean white smoke rising from their chimneys, blended harmoniously into the blue of the skies. it reminded john of pictures by the great french landscape painters. it was all so beautiful and peaceful, nor was the impression marred by the distant mutter of the guns which he had forgotten again.
julie and suzanne, her menacing shadow, dismounted from the wagon presently and walked with john and picard. lieutenant legaré was stirred enough from his customary phlegm to offer some gallant words, but war, the great leveler, had not quite leveled all barriers, so far as he was concerned, and, after her polite reply, he returned to his martial duties. john had become the friend of the lannes family through his association with philip in dangerous service, and his position was recognized.
the road ascended and the forest became deeper. no houses were now in sight. as the morning advanced it had grown warmer under a brilliant sun, but it was pleasant here in the shade. julie still walked, showing no sign of a wish for the cart again. john noticed that she was very strong, or at least very enduring. suddenly he felt a great obligation to take care of her for the sake of lannes. the sister of his comrade-in-arms was a precious trust in his hands, and he must not fail.
the wind shifted and blew toward the east, no longer bringing the sound of guns. instead they heard a bird now and then, chattering or singing in a tree. the illusion of the middle ages returned to john. they were a peaceful troupe, going upon a peaceful errand.
"don't tell me there isn't a castle at ménouville," he said. "i know there is, although i've never been there, and i never heard of the place before. when we arrive the drawbridge will be down and the portcullis up. all the men-at-arms will have burnished their armor brightly and will wait respectfully in parallel rows to welcome us as we pass between. his grace, the duke of light heart, in a suit of red velvet will be standing on the steps, and her graciousness, the duchess, in a red brocade dress, with her hair powdered and very high on her head, will be by his side to greet our merry troupe. behind them will be all the ducal children, and the knights and squires and pages, and ladies. i think they will all be very glad to see us, because in these middle ages of ours, life, even in a great ducal castle, is somewhat lonely. visitors are too rare, and there is not the variety of interest that even the poor will have in a later time."
"you make believe well, mr. scott," she said.
"there is inspiration," he said, glancing at her. "we are here in the deeps of an ancient wood, and perhaps the stories and legends of these old lands move the americans more than they do the people who live here. we're the children of europe and when we look back to the land of our fathers we often see it through a kind of glorified mist."
"the wind is shifting again," she said. "i hear the cannon once more."
"so do i, and i hear something else too! was that the sound of hoofs?"
john turned in sudden alarm to legaré, who heard also and stiffened at once to attention. they were not alone on the road. the rapid beat of hoofs came, and around a corner galloped a mass of uhlans, helmets and lances glittering. picard with a shout of warning fired his rifle into the thick of them. legaré snatched out his revolver and fired also.
but they had no chance. the little detachment was ridden down in an instant. legaré and half of the men died gallantly. the rest were taken. picard had been brought to his knees by a tremendous blow from the butt of a lance, and john, who had instinctively sprung before julie, was overpowered. suzanne, who endeavored to reach a weapon, fought like a tigress, but two uhlans finally subdued her.
it was so swift and sudden that it scarcely seemed real to john, but there were the dead bodies lying ghastly in the road, and there stood julie, as pale as death, but not trembling. the leader of the uhlans pushed his helmet back a little from his forehead, and looked down at john, who had been disarmed but who stood erect and defiant.
"it is odd, mr. scott," said captain von boehlen, "how often the fortunes of this war have caused us to meet."
"it is, and sometimes fortune favors one, sometimes the other. you're in favor now."
von boehlen looked steadily at his prisoner. john thought that the strength and heaviness of the jaw were even more pronounced than when he had first seen the prussian in dresden. the face was tanned deeply, and face and figure alike seemed the embodiment of strength. one might dislike him, but one could not despise him. john even found it in his heart to respect him, as he returned the steady gaze of the blue eyes with a look equally as firm.
"i hope," said john, "that you will send back mademoiselle lannes and the nurses with her to her people. i take it that you're not making war upon women."
von boehlen gave julie a quick glance of curiosity and admiration. but the eyes flashed for only a moment and then were expressionless.
"i know of one lannes," he said, "philip lannes, the aviator, a name that fame has brought to us germans."
"i am his sister," said julie.
"i can wish, mademoiselle lannes," said von boehlen, politely in french, "that we had captured your brother instead of his sister."
"but as i said, you will send them back to their own people? you don't make war upon women?" repeated john.
"no, we do not make war upon women. we are making war upon frenchmen, and i do not hesitate to say in the presence of mademoiselle lannes that this war is made upon very brave frenchmen. yet we cannot send the ladies back. the presence of our cavalry here within the french lines must not be known to our enemies. moreover, i obey the orders of another, and i am compelled to hold them as prisoners—for a while at least."
von boehlen's tone was not lacking in the least in courtesy. it was more than respectful when he spoke directly to julie lannes, and john's feeling of repugnance to him underwent a further abatement—he was a creation of his conditions, and he believed in his teachings.
"you will at least keep us all as prisoners together?" said john.
"i know of no reason to the contrary," replied von boehlen briefly. then he acted with the decision that characterized all the german officers whom john had seen. the women and the prisoners were put in the carts. dismounted uhlans took the place of the drivers and the little procession with an escort of about fifty cavalry turned from the road into the woods, von boehlen and the rest, about five hundred in number, rode on down the road.
john was in the last cart with julie, suzanne and picard, and his soul was full of bitter chagrin. he had just been taking mental resolutions to protect, no matter what came, philip lannes' sister, and, within a half hour, both she and he were prisoners. but when he saw the face of antoine picard he knew that one, at least, in the cart was suffering as much as he. the gigantic peasant was the only one whose arms were bound, and perhaps it was as well. his face expressed the most ferocious anger and hate, and now and then he pulled hard upon his bonds. john could see that they were cutting into the flesh. he remembered also that picard was not in uniform. he was in german eyes only a franc tireur, subject to instant execution, and he wondered why von boehlen had delayed.
"save your strength, antoine," he whispered soothingly. "we'll need it later. i've been a prisoner before and i escaped. what's been done once can be done again. in such a huge and confused war as this there's always a good chance."
"ah, you're right, monsieur," said antoine, and he ceased to struggle.
julie had heard the whisper, and she looked at john confidently. she was the youngest of all the women in the carts, but she was the coolest.
"they cannot do anything with us but hold us a few days," she said.
john was silent, turning away his somber face. he did not like this carrying away of the women as captives, and to him the women were embodied in julie. they were following a little path through the woods, the german drivers and german guards seeming to know well the way. john, calculating the course by the sun, was sure that they were now going directly toward the german army and that they would pass unobserved beyond the french outposts. the path was leading into a narrow gorge and the banks and trees would hide them from all observation. he was confirmed in his opinion by the action of their guards. the leader rode beside the carts and said in very good french that any one making the least outcry would be shot instantly. no exception would be made in the case of a woman.
john knew that the threat would be kept. julie lannes paled a little, and the faithful suzanne by her side was darkly menacing, but they showed no other emotion.
"don't risk anything," said john in the lowest of whispers. "it would be useless."
julie nodded. the carts moved on down the gorge, their wheels and the hoofs of the horses making but little noise on the soft turf. the crash of the guns was now distinctly louder and far ahead they saw wisps of smoke floating above the trees. john was sure that the german batteries were there, but he was equally sure that even had he glasses he could not have seen them. they would certainly be masked in some adroit fashion.
the roaring also grew on their right and left. that must be the french cannon, and soon they would be beyond the french lines. his bitterness increased. nothing could be more galling than to be carried in this manner through one's own forces and into the camp of the enemy. and there was julie, sitting quiet and pale, apparently without fear.
he reckoned that they rode at least three miles in the gorge. then they came into a shallow stream about twenty feet wide that would have been called a creek at home. its banks were fairly high, lined on one side by a hedge and on the other by willows. instead of following the path any further the germans turned into the bed of the stream and drove down it two or three miles. the roar of the artillery from both armies was now very great, and the earth shook. once john caught the shadow of a huge shell passing high over their heads.
all the prisoners knew that they were well beyond hope of rescue for the present. the french line was far behind them and they were within the german zone. it was better to be resigned, until they saw cause for hope.
when they came to a low point in the eastern bank of the stream the carts turned out, reached a narrow road between lines of poplars and continued their journey eastward. in the fields on either side john saw detachments of german infantry, skirmishers probably, as they had not yet reached the line of cannon.
"officer," said john to the german leader, "couldn't you unbind the arms of my friend in the cart here? ropes around one's wrists for a long time are painful, and since we're within your lines he has no chance of escape now."
the officer looked at picard and shrugged his shoulders.
"giants are strong," he said.
"but a little bullet can lay low the greatest of them."
"that is so."
he leaned from his horse, inserted the point of his sword between picard's wrists and deftly cut the rope without breaking the skin. picard clenched and unclenched his hands and drew several mighty breaths of relief. but he was a peasant of fine manners and he did not forget them. turning to the officer, he said:
"i did not think i'd ever thank a german for anything, but i owe you gratitude. it's unnatural and painful to remain trussed up like a fowl going to market."
the officer gave picard a glance of pity and rode to the head of the column, which turned off at a sharp angle toward the north. the great roar and crash now came from the south and john inferred that they would soon pass beyond the zone of fire. but for a long time the thunder of the battle was undiminished.
"do you know this country at all?" john asked picard.
the giant shook his head.
"i was never here before, sir," he said, "and i never thought i should come into any part of france in this fashion. ah, mademoiselle julie, how can i ever tell the tale of this to your mother?"
"no harm will come to me, antoine," said julie. "i shall be back in paris before long. suzanne and you are with me—and mr. scott."
suzanne again frowned darkly, but john gave julie a grateful glance. wisdom, however, told him to say nothing. the officer in command came back to the cart and said, pointing ahead:
"behold your destination! the large house on the hill. it is the headquarters of a person of importance, and you will find quarters there also. i trust that the ladies will hold no ill will against me. i've done only what my orders have compelled me to do."
"we do not, sir," said julie.
the officer bowed low and rode back to the head of the column. he was a gallant man and john liked him. but his attention was directed now to the house, an old french château standing among oaks. the german flag flew over it and sentinels rode back and forth on the lawn. john remembered the officer's words that a "person of importance" was making his headquarters there. it must be one of the five german army commanders, at least.
he looked long at the château. it was much such a place as that in which carstairs, wharton and he had once found refuge, and from the roof of which wharton had worked the wireless with so much effect. but houses of this type were numerous throughout western europe.
it was only two stories in height, large, with long low windows, and the lawn was more like a park in size. it as now the scene of abundant life, although, as john knew instinctively, not the life of those to whom it belonged. a number of young officers sat on the grass reading, and at the edge of the grounds stood a group of horses with their riders lying on the ground near them. not far away were a score of high powered automobiles, several of which were armored. john also saw beyond them a battery of eight field guns, idle now and with their gunners asleep beside them. he had no doubt that other troops in thousands were not far away and that, in truth, they were in the very thick of the german army.
the château and its grounds were enclosed by a high iron fence and the little procession of carts stopped at the great central gate. a group of officers who had been sitting on the grass, reading a newspaper, came forward to meet them and john, to his amazement and delight, recognized the young prince, von arnheim. it was impossible for him to regard von arnheim as other than a friend, and springing impulsively from the cart he said:
"i had to leave you for a while. it had become irksome to be a prisoner, but you see i've come back."
von arnheim stared, then recognition came.
"ah, it's scott, the american! i speak truth when i say that i'm sorry to see you here."
"i'm sorry to come," said john, "but i'd rather be your prisoner than anybody else's, and i wish to ask your courtesy and kindness for the young lady, sitting in the rear of the cart, mademoiselle julie lannes, the sister of that great french aviator of whom everybody has heard."
"i'll do what i can, but you're mistaken in assuming that i'm in command here. there's a higher personage—but pardon me, i must speak to the lieutenant."
the officer in charge was saluting, obviously anxious to make his report and have done with an unpleasant duty. von arnheim gave him rapid directions in german and then asked julie and the two picards to dismount from the cart, while the others were carried through the gate and down a drive toward some distant out-buildings.
john saw von arnheim's eyes gleam a little, when he noticed the beauty of young julie, but the prussian was a man of heart and manner. he lifted his helmet, and bowed with the greatest courtesy, saying:
"it's an unhappy chance for you, but not for us, that has made you our prisoner, mademoiselle lannes. in this château you must consider yourself a guest, and not a captive. it would not become us to treat otherwise the sister of one so famous as your brother."
john noticed that he paid her no direct compliment. it was indirect, coming through her brother, and he liked von arnheim better than ever, because the young captive was, in truth, very beautiful. the brown dress and the sober hood could not hide it as she stood there, the warm red light from the setting sun glancing across her rosy face and the tendrils of golden hair that fell from beneath the hood. she was beautiful beyond compare, john repeated to himself, but scarcely more than a child, and she had come into strange places. the stalwart suzanne also took note, and she moved a little nearer, while her grim look deepened.
"we will give you the best hospitality the house affords," continued von arnheim. "it's scarcely equipped for ladies, although the former owners left—"
he paused and reddened. john knew his embarrassment was due to the fact that the house to which he was inviting julie belonged to one of her own countrymen. but she did not seem to notice it. the manner and appearance of von arnheim inspired confidence.
"we'll be put with the other prisoners, of course," said john tentatively.
"i don't know," replied von arnheim. "that rests with my superior, whom you shall soon see."
they were walking along the gravel toward a heavy bronze door, that told little of what the house contained. officers and soldiers saluted the young prince as he passed. john saw discipline and attention everywhere. the german note was discipline and obedience, obedience and discipline. a nation, with wonderful powers of thinking, it was a nation that ceased to think when the call of the drill sergeant came. discipline and obedience had made it terrible and unparalleled in war, to a certain point, but beyond that point the nations that did think in spite of their sergeants, could summon up reserves of strength and courage which the powers of the trained militarists could not create. at least john thought so.
the long windows of the house threw back the last rays of the setting sun, and it was twilight when von arnheim and his four captives entered the château. a large man, middle-aged, heavy and bearded, wearing the uniform of a german general rose, and a staff of several officers rose with him. it was auersperg, the medieval prince, and john's heart was troubled.
von arnheim saluted, bowing deeply. he stood not only in the presence of his general, but of royalty also. it was something in the german blood, even in one so brave and of such high rank as von arnheim himself, that compelled humility, and john, like the fierce democrat he was, did not like it at all. the belief was too firmly imbedded in his mind ever to be removed that men like auersperg and the mad power for which they stood had set the torch to europe.
"captain von boehlen took some prisoners, your highness," said von arnheim, "and as he was compelled to continue on his expedition he has sent them here under the escort of lieutenant puttkamer. the young lady is mademoiselle julie lannes, the sister of the aviator, of whom we all know, the woman and the peasant are her servants, and the young man, whom we have seen before, is an american, john scott in the french service."
he spoke in french, with intention, john thought, and the heavy-lidded eyes of auersperg dwelt an instant on the fresh and beautiful face of julie. and that momentary glance was wholly medieval. john saw it and understood it. a rage against auersperg that would never die flamed up in his heart. he already hated everything for which the man stood. auersperg's glance passed on, and slowly measured the gigantic figure of picard. then he smiled in a slow and ugly fashion.
"ah, a peasant in civilian's dress, captured fighting our brave armies! our orders are very strict upon that point. von arnheim, take this franc tireur behind the château and have him shot at once."
he too had spoken in french, and doubtless with intention also. john felt a thrill of horror, but julie lannes, turning white, sprang before picard:
"no! no!" she cried to auersperg. "you cannot do such a thing! he is not a soldier! they would not take him because he is too old! he is my mother's servant! it would be barbarous to have him shot!"
auersperg looked again at julie, and smiled, but it was the slow, cold smile of a master.
"you beg very prettily, mademoiselle," he said.
she flushed, but stood firm.
"it would be murder," she said. "you cannot do it!"
"you know little of war. this man is a franc tireur, a civilian in civilian's garb, fighting against us. it is our law that all such who are caught be shot immediately."
"your highness," said von arnheim, "i have reason to think that the lady's story is correct. this man's daughter is her maid, and he is obviously a servant of her house."
auersperg turned his slow, heavy look upon the young prussian, but john noticed that von arnheim met it without flinching, although picard had really fired upon the germans. he surmised that von arnheim was fully as high-born as auersperg, and perhaps more so. john knew that these things counted for a lot in germany, however ridiculous they might seem to a democratic people. nevertheless auersperg spoke with irony:
"your heart is overworking, von arnheim," he said "sometimes i fear that it is too soft for a prussian. our emperor and our fatherland demand that we shall turn hearts of steel to our enemies, and never spare them. but it may be, my brave wilhelm, that your sympathy is less for this hulking peasant and more for the fair face of the lady whom he serves."
john saw julie's face flush a deep red, and his hand stole down to his belt, but no weapon was there. von arnheim's face reddened also, but he stood at attention before his superior officer and replied with dignity:
"i admire mademoiselle lannes, although i have known her only ten minutes, but i think, your highness, that my admiration is warranted, and also that it is not lacking in respect."
"good for you, von arnheim," said john, under his breath. but the medieval mind of auersperg was not disturbed. the slow, cruel smile passed across his face again.
"you are brave my wilhelm," he said, "but i am confirmed in my opinion that some of our princely houses have become tainted. the harm that was done when napoleon smashed his way through europe has never been undone. the touch of the democracy was defilement, and it does not pass. do you think our ancestors would have wasted so much time over a miserable french peasant?"
this was a long speech, much too long for the circumstances, john thought, but von arnheim still standing stiffly at attention, merely said:
"your highness i ask this man's life of you. he is not a franc tireur in the real sense."
"since you make it a personal matter, my brave young wilhelm, i yield. let him be held a prisoner, but no more requests of the same kind. this is positively the last time i shall yield to such a weakness."
"thank you, your highness," said von arnheim. julie gave him one flashing look of gratitude and stepped away from picard, who had stood, his arms folded across his chest, refusing to utter a single word for mercy. "this indeed," thought john "is a man." suzanne was near, and now both he and his daughter turned away relaxing in no wise their looks of grim resolution. "here also is a woman as well as a man," thought john.
"i hope, your highness, that i may assign mademoiselle lannes and her maid to one of the upper rooms," said von arnheim in tones respectful, but very firm. "here also is another man," thought john.
"you may," said auersperg shortly, "but let the peasant be sent to the stables, where the other prisoners are kept."
two soldiers were called and they took picard away. julie and suzanne followed von arnheim to a stairway, and john was left alone with medievalism. the man wore no armor, but when only they two stood in the room his feeling that he was back in the middle ages was overpowering. here was the baron, and here was he, untitled and unknown.
auersperg glanced at julie, disappearing up the stairway, and then glanced back at john. over his heavy face passed the same slow cruel smile that set all john's nerves to jumping.
"why have you, an american, come so far to fight against us?" he asked.
"i didn't come for that purpose. i was here, visiting, and i was caught in the whirl of the war, an accident, perhaps. but my sympathies are wholly with france. i fight in her ranks from choice."
auersperg laughed unpleasantly.
"a republic!" he said. "millions of the ignorant, led by demagogues! bah! the hohenzollerns will scatter them like chaff!"
"i can't positively say that i saw any hohenzollern, but i did see their armies turned back from paris by those ignorant people, led by their demagogues. i'm not even sure of the name of the french general who did it, but god gave him a better brain for war, though he may have been born a peasant for all i know, than he did to your kaiser, or any king, prince, grand duke or duke in all the german armies!"
john had been tried beyond endurance and he knew that he had spoken with impulsive passion, but he knew also that he had spoken with truth. the face of auersperg darkened. the medieval baron, full of power, without responsibility, believing implicitly in what he chose to call his order, but which was merely the chance of birth, was here. and while the middle ages in reality had passed, war could hide many a dark tale. john was unable to read the intent in the cruel eyes, but they heard the footsteps of von arnheim on the stairs, and the clenched hand that had been raised fell back by auersperg's side. nevertheless medievalism did not relax its gaze.
"what to you is this girl who seems to have charmed von arnheim?" he asked.
"her brother has become my best friend. she has charmed me as she has charmed von arnheim, and as she charms all others whom she meets. and i am pleased to tell your highness that the spell she casts is not alone her beauty, but even more her pure soul."
auersperg laughed in an ugly fashion.
"youth! youth!" he exclaimed. "i see that the spell is upon you, even more than it is upon von arnheim. but dismiss her from your thoughts. you go a prisoner into germany, and it's not likely that you'll ever see her again."
young scott felt a sinking of the heart, but he was not one to show it.
"prisoners may escape," he said boldly, "and what has been done once can always be done again."
"we shall see that it does not happen a second time in your case. von arnheim will dispose of you for the night, and even if you should succeed in stealing from the château there is around it a ring of german sentinels through which you could not possibly break."
some strange kink appeared suddenly in john's brain—he was never able to account for it afterward, though auersperg's manner rasped him terribly.
"i mean to escape," he said, "and i wager you two to one that i do."
auersperg sat down and laughed, laughed in a way that made john's face turn red. then he beckoned to von arnheim.
"take him away," he said. "he is characteristic of his frivolous democracy, frivolous and perhaps amusing, but it is a time for serious not trifling things."
john was glad enough to go with von arnheim, who was silent and depressed. yet the thought came to him once more that there were princes and princes. von arnheim led the way to a small bare room under the roof. john saw that there were soldiers in the upper halls as well as the lower, and he was sorry that he had made such a boast to auersperg. as he now saw it his chance of escape glimmered into nothing.
"you should not have spoken so to his highness," said von arnheim. "i could not help but hear. he is our commander here, and it is not well to infuriate one who holds all power over you?"
"i am but human," replied john.
"and being human, you should have had complete control over yourself at such a time."
"i admit it," said john, taking the rebuke in the right spirit.
"you're to spend the night here. i've been able to secure this much lenity for you, but it's for one night only. tomorrow you go with the other prisoners in the stables. your door will be locked, but even if you should succeed in forcing it don't try to escape. the halls swarm with sentinels, and you would be shot instantly. i'll have food sent to you presently."
he spoke brusquely but kindly. when he went out john heard a huge key rumbling in the lock.
