Knocking might bring response.

Ashamed to make outcry, he betook himself to a couch, and, lying down, tried to reflect.
All too plainly he was a prisoner; but for what purpose?
and by whom?
If the work were Messala's! He sat up, looked about, and smiled defiantly.

There were weapons in every table.

But birds had been starved in golden cages; not so would he--the couches would serve him as battering-rams; and he was strong, and there was such increase of might in rage and despair! Messala himself could not come.

He would never walk again; he was a cripple like Simonides; still he could move others.