Chapter XII: In the Torture-Chamber

ALL this while the three Inquisitors sat on the dais, immovable as if carved in stone, while I stood trembling, yet striving to be brave.

Presently the "familiars" returned, haling with them my father, who was scantily attired in much the same manner as I was.

He was placed slightly in advance of me, a pikeman on either side of us, while the four "familiars," like foul birds of prey, grouped themselves in the rear, ready to obey the injunctions of their superiors.

The Chief Inquisitor addressed my sire in Spanish--a language with which he was well acquainted, though to me 'twas quite unintelligible. Then ensued a passage of arms betwixt the two, the ecclesiastic calm and dignified since he held the upper hand, my father alert yet stern in his manner of reply. Evidently his stubbornness began to wear the patience of the Inquisitor, for he pointed to the rack once or twice, then as significantly pointed to me.

Like a flash the meaning of the gesture came home to me. I was to be tortured in order to wring a confession from my father. For him the rack had little terrors; his indomitable courage had carried him through the ordeal beforetimes; but the diabolical design of striking at him through me was more than he could bear.

Stepping backwards a pace he hissed in my ear, "Hold the door if you can, Ralph."

Before I could comprehend the meaning of his words the soldiers seized him by the shoulders.

'Twas their last act upon this earth, for, with a sudden impetuous heave, my father shook himself clear. His huge, powerful hands gripped each of the astonished pikemen by the throat, their heads crashed together with tremendous force, and without so much as a groan they sank lifeless to the ground.

'Twas done in the twinkling of an eye. Then, with a bound, my father sprang towards the rack, wrenched one of the levers from its socket, and threw himself upon the four "familiars."

They were not lacking in courage and strength, and, like dogs baiting a bear, they set upon my parent.

Over and over they rolled, my father's head and shoulders momentarily appearing out of the tangle of struggling black forms, while I stood by, hardly knowing what I was to do, though my father's injunction rang in my ears.

As the fierce struggle continued, I saw the torturer quit his place by the brazier and, with a pair of glowing tongs in his hand, creep stealthily to aid his fellows.

Now was my opportunity to be up and doing. Drawing the sword of one of the dead pikemen, I struck so shrewd a blow that the dog died without even a cry; then, turning my attention to the struggling throng on the stone floor, I sent two of the "familiars" to their last account.

Well-nigh breathless, my father arose and loosened his grip from the windpipe of another. The fourth lay with his back broken, groaning horribly.

"The door!" shouted my father.

I was barely in time. Like a sly fox one of the scriveners had darted under the dais, crept round the farthermost wall, and made a rush for the door. Once without, the alarm would have been raised; but e'en as he fumbled with the bolts my blade pierced his shoulder-blades and he fell.

Then ensued a terrible pause. Dropping the handspike, my father stooped and took possession of the second pikeman's sword. Then he waited to regain his breath, his eyes fixed upon the three Inquisitors, who sat almost transfixed with terror upon the dais. They read in his eyes the denial of mercy that they had so often decreed.

As he advanced, the Chief Inquisitor started to his feet, imploring, raving, and shouting for the help that was not to be forthcoming, for the well-nigh sound-proof room now served another purpose.

But I had my work cut out. The remaining scrivener, taking his courage in his hand, seized a pike and ran at me with the fury of despair, as I stood before the door.

I guarded the savage pike-thrust only too well, for the keen blade sank deep into the ash, and with a sudden wrench I found my weapon torn from my grasp.

The next instant we were at hand grips, the scrivener heavy and stout, I tall, lithe, and somewhat weakened by the meagre fare. Thus we were pretty evenly matched, and over and over we rolled, I trying to grasp his flabby throat, while he strove to thrust his pointed ink-horn into my eyes.

Thus we grappled for, I should think, a full five minutes, till I felt his breath come in laboured gasps. Then, with all my force, I smote him on the temple with my clenched fist, and, kneeling upon his body, I pressed his throat till he ceased to breathe. 'Twas a fearful thing to do, but it was a question of life against life.

I rose to my feet and looked around. Two of the Inquisitors had given up the ghost, but the chief was backing slowly round the chamber, my father, looking like a veritable avenging fury, thrusting savagely with his blade, yet forbearing to strike home.

The doomed man was shrieking like a cornered rat, all to no purpose, while my father, uttering maledictions in English and Spanish, prolonged the torture that served as the Inquisitor's just retribution. At length a quick, merciful thrust completed the ghastly business, and my father spurned the body with his foot.

"Thanks be to Him who has given us the victory!" he exclaimed; then with the same breath he added, "We're in grievous peril still, Ralph. We must needs think what had best be done."