"Aye, aye, forsooth, I begin to see thy meaning, good Fool--yet say on."
"Let this thy prisoner be set within the cell above the torture chamber, so, lying within the dark he must needs hear them cry below, and in his mind shall he suffer as they suffer, every pang of racking wheel and searing iron. And, because the mind is thing infinite--"
"Enough--enough! O most excellent Beda, 'tis well bethought. O, rare Fool, so shall it be."
Forthwith Sir Pertolepe summoned certain of his guard, and, incontinent, Beltane was dragged a-down the winding stair and thereafter fast shut within a place of gloom, a narrow cell breathing an air close and heavy, and void of all light. Therefore Beltane sat him down on the floor, his back to the wall, staring upon the dark, chin on fist. Long he sat thus, stirring not, and in his heart a black void, deeper and more awful than the fetid gloom of any dungeon--a void wherein a new Beltane came into being.
Now presently, as he sat thus, upon the silence stole a sound, low and murmurous, that rose and fell yet never quite died away. And Beltane, knowing what sound this was, clenched his hands and bowed his face upon his knees. As he listened, this drone grew to a sudden squealing cry that rang and echoed from wall to wall, whiles Beltane, crouched in that place of horror, felt the sweat start out upon him, yet shivered as with deadly cold, and ever the cries thrilled within the dark or sank to whimpering moans and stifled supplications. And ever Beltane hearkened to these fell sounds, staring blindly into the gloom, and ever the new Beltane grew the stronger within him.
Hour after hour he crouched thus, so very silent, so very quiet, so very still, but long after the groans and wailings had died to silence, Beltane stared grim-eyed into the gloom and gnawed upon his fingers. Of a sudden he espied a glowing spark in the angle of the wall to the right--very small, yet very bright.
Now as he watched, behold the spark changed to a line of golden light, so that his eyes ached and he was fain to shade them in his shackled arm; and thus he beheld a flagstone that seemed to lift itself with infinite caution, and, thereafter, a voice breathed his name.
"Messire--messire Beltane!" And now through the hole in the floor behold a hand bearing a lanthorn--an arm--a shoulder--a shrouded head; thus slowly a tall, cloaked figure rose up through the floor, and, setting down the lanthorn, leaned toward Beltane, putting back the hood of his mantle, and Beltane beheld Beda the Jester.