IN THE TORTURE-CHAMBER.
ALL this while the three Inquisitors sat on the dais, immovable as if
carved in stone, while I stood trembling, yet striving to be brave.
Presently the "familiars" returned, haling with them my father, who
was scantily attired in much the same manner as I was.
He was placed slightly in advance of me, a pikeman on either side of
us, while the four "familiars," like foul birds of prey, grouped
themselves in the rear, ready to obey the injunctions of their
superiors.
The Chief Inquisitor addressed my sire in Spanish--a language with
which he was well acquainted, though to me 'twas quite unintelligible.
Then ensued a passage of arms betwixt the two, the ecclesiastic calm
and dignified since he held the upper hand, my father alert yet stern
in his manner of reply. Evidently his stubbornness began to wear the
patience of the Inquisitor, for he pointed to the rack once or twice,
then as significantly pointed to me.
Like a flash the meaning of the gesture came home to me. I was to be
tortured in order to wring a confession from my father. For him the
rack had little terrors; his indomitable courage had carried him
through the ordeal beforetimes; but the diabolical design of striking
at him through me was more than he could bear.
Stepping backwards a pace he hissed in my ear, "Hold the door if you
can, Ralph."
Before I could comprehend the meaning of his words the soldiers
seized him by the shoulders.
'Twas their last act upon this earth, for, with a sudden impetuous
heave, my father shook himself clear. His huge, powerful hands
gripped each of the astonished pikemen by the throat, their heads
crashed together with tremendous force, and without so much as a
groan they sank lifeless to the ground.
'Twas done in the twinkling of an eye. Then, with a bound, my father
sprang towards the rack, wrenched one of the levers from its socket,
and threw himself upon the four "familiars."
They were not lacking in courage and strength, and, like dogs baiting
a bear, they set upon my parent.
Over and over they rolled, my father's head and shoulders momentarily
appearing out of the tangle of struggling black forms, while I stood
by, hardly knowing what I was to do, though my father's injunction
rang in my ears.
As the fierce struggle continued, I saw the torturer quit his place
by the brazier and, with a pair of glowing tongs in his hand, creep
stealthily to aid his fellows.
Now was my opportunity to be up and doing. Drawing the sword of one
of the dead pikemen, I struck so shrewd a blow that the dog died
without even a cry; then, turning my attention to the struggling
throng on the stone floor, I sent two of the "familiars" to their
last account.
Well-nigh breathless, my father arose and loosened his grip from the
windpipe of another. The fourth lay with his back broken, groaning
horribly.
"The door!" shouted my father.
I was barely in time. Like a sly fox one of the scriveners had darted
under the dais, crept round the farthermost wall, and made a rush for
the door. Once without, the alarm would have been raised; but e'en as
he fumbled with the bolts my blade pierced his shoulder-blades and he
fell.
Then ensued a terrible pause. Dropping the handspike, my father
stooped and took possession of the second pikeman's sword. Then he
waited to regain his breath, his eyes fixed upon the three
Inquisitors, who sat almost transfixed with terror upon the dais.
They read in his eyes the denial of mercy that they had so often
decreed.
As he advanced, the Chief Inquisitor started to his feet, imploring,
raving, and shouting for the help that was not to be forthcoming, for
the well-nigh sound-proof room now served another purpose.
But I had my work cut out. The remaining scrivener, taking his
courage in his hand, seized a pike and ran at me with the fury of
despair, as I stood before the door.
I guarded the savage pike-thrust only too well, for the keen blade
sank deep into the ash, and with a sudden wrench I found my weapon
torn from my grasp.
The next instant we were at hand grips, the scrivener heavy and
stout, I tall, lithe, and somewhat weakened by the meagre fare. Thus
we were pretty evenly matched, and over and over we rolled, I trying
to grasp his flabby throat, while he strove to thrust his pointed
ink-horn into my eyes.
Thus we grappled for, I should think, a full five minutes, till I
felt his breath come in laboured gasps. Then, with all my force, I
smote him on the temple with my clenched fist, and, kneeling upon his
body, I pressed his throat till he ceased to breathe. 'Twas a fearful
thing to do, but it was a question of life against life.
I rose to my feet and looked around. Two of the Inquisitors had given
up the ghost, but the chief was backing slowly round the chamber, my
father, looking like a veritable avenging fury, thrusting savagely
with his blade, yet forbearing to strike home.
The doomed man was shrieking like a cornered rat, all to no purpose,
while my father, uttering maledictions in English and Spanish,
prolonged the torture that served as the Inquisitor's just
retribution. At length a quick, merciful thrust completed the ghastly
business, and my father spurned the body with his foot.
"Thanks be to Him who has given us the victory!" he exclaimed; then
with the same breath he added, "We're in grievous peril still, Ralph.
We must needs think what had best be done."