Fastened by a chain to the wall of this dungeon was a man, who held in his hand a three-legged stool and tugged at his chain like a maddened beast.

In front of him, holding the doorway, stood a tall, lank priest, his robe tucked up into his girdle.

He was wounded, for blood poured from his shaven crown and he plied a great sword with both hands, striking savagely at four men who tried to cut him down.

As Bolle and his party appeared, one of these men fell beneath the priest's blows, and another took his place, shouting-- "Out of the way, traitor.

We would kill Harflete, not you." "We die or live together, murderers," answered the priest in a thick, gasping voice.
At this moment one of them, it was he who had spoken, heard the sound of the rescuers' footsteps and glanced back.