Some jeered, some snarled, others called him by name, with laughing epithets that rang more friendly, or at least more jocular; but all bent toward him eagerly, and flung down question after question, like a little band of kobolds holding an inquisition.

At some sharper cry than the rest, the fellow rose to his knees and faced them boldly.

A haggard Christian, he was being fairly given his last chance to recant.
"Open your mouth! Open your mouth!" they cried, in rage or entreaty.
The kneeling captive shook his head, and made some reply, very distinct and simple.
"Open your mouth!" They struck at him with the torches.

The same sword that had slashed the curtain now pricked his naked chest.

Rudolph, clenching his fists in a helpless longing to rush out and scatter all these men-at-arms, had a strange sense of being transported into the past, to watch with ghostly impotence a mediaeval tragedy.
The kneeling man repeated his unknown declaration.