agreed?"

"Agreed! agreed!" came the gruff and whispered chorus.

"Then last--and mark this well each one--till that I give the word, let
no man speak! Let death be swift, but let it be silent."

Then, having drawn his mail-hood about his face and laced it close,
Beltane caught up his axe and stepped into the tunnel. There he kindled
a torch of pine and stooping 'neath the low roof, went on before. One
by one the others followed, Roger and Giles, Walkyn and Eric bearing
the heavy log upon their shoulders, and behind them axe and bow, sword
and pike and gisarm, a wild company in garments of leather and garments
of skins, soft-treading and silent as ghosts--yet purposeful ghosts
withal.

Soon came they to the iron door and Beltane stood aside, whereon the
mighty four, bending brawny shoulders, swung the log crashing against
the iron; thrice and four times smote they, might and main, ere rusted
bolt and rivet gave beneath the battery and the door swung wide. Down
went the log, and ready steel flashed as Beltane strode on, his torch
aflare, 'twixt oozing walls, up steps of stone that yet were slimy to
the tread, on and up by winding passage and steep-climbing stairway,
until they came where was a parting of the ways--the first still
ascending, the second leading off at a sharp angle. Here Beltane paused
in doubt, and bidding the others halt, followed the second passage
until he was come to a narrow flight of steps that rose to the stone
roof above. But here, in the wall beside the steps, he beheld a rusty
iron lever, and reaching up, he bore upon the lever and lo! the
flagstone above the steps reared itself on end and showed a square of
gloom beyond.

Then went Beltane and signalled to the others; so, one by one, they
followed him up through the opening into that same gloomy chamber where
he had lain in bonds and hearkened to wails of torment; but now the
place was bare and empty and the door stood ajar. So came Beltane
thither, bearing the torch, and stepped softly into the room beyond, a
wide room, arras-hung and richly furnished, and looking around upon the
voluptuous luxury of gilded couch and wide, soft bed, Beltane frowned
suddenly upon a woman's dainty, broidered shoe.

"Roger," he whispered, "what place is this?"

"'Tis Red Pertolepe's bed-chamber, master."

"Ah!" sighed Beltane, "'tis rank of him, methinks--lead on, Roger, go
you and Walkyn before them in the dark, and wait for me in the bailey."

One b