There was one gasp of astonishment, and not a sound more, for the Squire's grip was on the man's throat and his body was pinned motionless against the wall.
"Simon! Simon!" cried Nigel loudly.
The mantle was moved from the hole.
"Have you a cord? Or your belts linked together may serve."
One of the peasants had a rope, and Nigel soon felt it dangling against his hand. He listened and there was no sound in the passage. For an instant he released his captive's throat. A torrent of prayers and entreaties came forth. The man was shaking like a leaf in the wind. Nigel pressed the point of his dagger against his face and dared him to open his lips. Then he slipped the rope beneath his arms and tied it.
"Pull him up!" he whispered, and for an instant the gray glimmer above him was obscured.
"We have him, fair sir," said Simon.
"Then drop me the rope and hold it fast."
A moment later Nigel stood among the group of men who had gathered round their captive. It was too dark to see him, and they dare not strike flint and steel.
Simon passed his hand roughly over him and felt a fat clean-shaven face, and a cloth gabardine which hung to the ankles. "Who are you?" he whispered. " peak the truth and speak it low, if you would ever speak again."
The man's teeth chattered in his head with cold and fright. "I speak no English," he murmured.
"French, then," said Nigel.
"I am a holy priest of God. You court the ban of holy Church when you lay hands upon me. I pray you let me go upon my way, for there are those whom I would shrive and housel. If they should die in sin, their damnation is upon you."
"How are you called then?"
"I am Dom Peter de Cervolles."
"De Cervolles, the arch-priest, he who heated the brazier when they burned out my eyes," cried old Andreas. "Of all the devils in hell there is none fouler than this one. Friends, friends, if I have done aught for you this night, I ask but one reward, that ye let me have my will of this man."
But Nigel pushed the old man back. "There is no time for this," he said. "Now hark you, priest - if priest indeed you be - your gown and tonsure will not save you if you play us false, for we are here of a set purpose and we will go forward with it, come what may. Answer me and answer me truly or it will be an ill night for you. In what part of the Castle does this tunnel enter?"
"In the lower cellar."
"What is at the end?"
"An oaken door."
"Is it barred?"
"Yes, it is barred."
"How would you have entered?"
"I would have given the password."
"Who then would have opened?"
"There is a guard within."
"And beyond him?"
"Beyond him are the prison cells and the jailers."
"Who else would be afoot?"
"No one save a guard at the gate and another on the battlement."
"What then is the password?"
The man was silent.
"The password, fellow!"
The cold points of two daggers pricked his throat; but still he would not speak.
"Where is the blind man?" asked Nigel. "Here, Andreas, you can have him and do what you will with him."
"Nay, nay," the priest whimpered. "Keep him off me. Save me from blind Andreas! I will tell you everything."
"The password then, this instant?"
"It is `Benedicite!'"
"We have the password, Simon," cried Nigel. "Come then, let us on to the farther end. These peasants will guard the priest, and they will remain here lest we wish to send a message."
"Nay, fair sir, it is in my mind that we can do better," said Simon. "Let us take the priest with us, so that he who is within may know his voice."
"It is well thought of," said Nigel, "and first let us pray together, for indeed this night may well be our last."
He and the three men-at-arms knelt in the rain and sent up their simple orisons, Simon still clutching tight to his prisoner's wrist.
The priest fumbled in his breast and drew something forth. "It is the heart of the blessed confessor Saint Enogat," said he. "It may be that it will ease and assoil your souls if you would wish to handle it."
The four Englishmen passed the flat silver case from hand to hand, each pressing his lips devoutly upon it.