“– on the other side, my lad,” – thus Greene finished his monstrous sermon – “shalt thou wail and gnash thy teeth in thy hell, and thy stench shall rise up to us from the mire, to us, the Princes of the Black Stone who are untouched by pain.”
It would be impossible to describe the succession of dreadful thoughts, the stream of furious passions, or even the shadow of the horror that crossed Bishop Bonner’s broad face during this flood of curses. The powerful figure stood there as if rooted to the ground; behind him the rabble of mercenaries and turnkeys shrank into the darkest corners, for each and every one had a superstitious fear of the wall-eye, as if it were an evil eye that might put a curse on them for life.
Finally Bishop Bonner roused himself and slowly wiped the sweat from his face with his silken sleeve. Then calmly, softly, but with a hot, hoarse voice, he said:
“Think not thou canst teach me any new tune of the Arch-Deceiver, thou witch’s spawn. But thou remindst me to hasten, for such an evil demon should enjoy the light of Heaven’s sun no longer than is needful.”
“Go thou”, was Greene’s brusque reply. “Take thy stench from my nose, carrion crow, the very air thou hast breathed needs purifying!”
The Bishop gave an imperious wave and his henchmen rushed to grasp Greene. He, however, curled himself up into a ball, rolled over onto his broad back and stretched his bare foot towards them, at which they stumbled back. “See,” he shouted, “see the Silver Shoe that the great Mother Isaïs gave me. As long as I wear it I shall know neither fear nor pain. I have outgrown such childish frailty!” – – – I winced to see the foot had no toes; the naked stump looked like a crude metal shoe – the silver leprosy with its glittering crust had eaten them away. Greene was like the leper in the Bible of whom it is written: he was white as shimmering snow. – – –
“Plague! Leprosy!” shrieked the men-at-arms, throwing down their spears and rushing out of the doorway of the cell in mindless flight. The Lord Bishop stood there, his face yellowish-green with horror and repugnance, wavering between pride and fear, for even those learned in the art do count the silver leprosy the most contagious evil. Slowly the Bishop, who had come to slake his lust for violence on his miserable prisoners, retreated step by step before the approaching Greene who, thrusting his leprous foot forward, continued to spit out his scorn and blasphemy at the prince of the church. Bishop Bonner put a stop to it, though in no way that testified to his bravery; as he hurried to the door he gasped:
“Even today this canker shall be consumed in seven-fold flames. And thou, thou accomplice of the lowest depths of hell” – the reference was to me – “thou shalt taste of the flames that free us from this beast, that thou mayest examine thy soul, perchance it can still be purified. It will be a merciful favour then if we hand thee over to the fire that burns for heretics.”
That was the last blessing I received from the lips of the Bloody Bishop. I must admit that it gave rise to the most horrible fancies which sent me tumbling through chasms of fear and torment. It is said of the Lord Bishop that he has mastered the art of killing his victims three times: the first time with his smile, the second by his words and the third by the executioner; and truly, he subjected me to the most agonising martyrdom before the unbelievable miracle of my salvation saved me from the third death at the hand of that man. – – –
Scarce was I alone with Bartlett Greene again than he broke the silence with a rumble of laughter and turned to me with an almost benevolent air:
“Brother Dee, I can see your scalp crawling with fear, like a thousand fleas and ticks in your hair. But: as truly as I have done my utmost to free you from suspicion of association with me – good, I see that you do recognise it – just as truly can I say that you will escape from this trap alive; at most they will singe your beard a little when I am despatched to heaven. You must suffer it like a man.”
Incredulous, I raised my weary head that was throbbing painfully with all the fear and anxiety I had been through. As so often happens when the soul is exhausted with an excess of excitement and calamity, I was suddenly indifferent to all around me, as if I was free of all care; I even laughed indulgently at the cowardly fear that had filled the Bishop and his henchmen at the sight of my cellmate’s “Silver Shoe” and, my defiant spirit aroused, I moved closer to the doomed giant.
Greene remarked my intent and gave a strange grunt by which – with the sharpened ear shared suffering gives – I understood that the savage was moved by something that was, considering his utterly different nature, akin to human emotion.
He cautiously felt inside his leather jerkin, which was all he had to cover his naked chest, and called to me:
“Fear not to approach, Brother
