'"For three hours," said De Aquila. "Time to tell all thy good deeds.
Begin, and Gilbert,--I have heard thou art somewhat careless--do not
twist his words from his true meaning."

'So--fear of death in the dark being upon him--Fulke began, and Gilbert,
not knowing what his fate might be, wrote it word by word. I have heard
many tales, but never heard I aught to match the tale of Fulke his black
life, as Fulke told it hollowly, hanging in the shaft.'

'Was it bad?' said Dan, awestruck.

'Beyond belief,' Sir Richard answered. 'None the less, there was that in
it which forced even Gilbert to laugh. We three laughed till we ached.
At one place his teeth so chattered that we could not well hear, and we
reached him down a cup of wine. Then he warmed to it, and smoothly set
out all his shifts, malices, and treacheries, his extreme boldnesses (he
was desperate bold); his retreats, shufflings, and counterfeitings (he
was also inconceivably a coward); his lack of gear and honour; his
despair at their loss; his remedies, and well-coloured contrivances.
Yes, he waved the filthy rags of his life before us, as though they had
been some proud banner. When he ceased, we saw by torches that the tide
stood at the corners of his mouth, and he breathed strongly through his
nose.

'We had him out, and rubbed him; we wrapped him in a cloak, and gave him
wine, and we leaned and looked upon him, the while he drank. He was
shivering, but shameless.

'Of a sudden we heard Jehan at the stairway wake, but a boy pushed past
him, and stood before us, the hall rushes in his hair, all slubbered