Then the old man advanced, he who had protested against the occupation of the chair, and said--"I am ready to die, whether in my bed or on the gibbet matters little to me. God grant that I be the man taken. My time at best is but short. Another year to me matters not a hair."
He walked to the bassinet, without hesitation drew his lot, carried it to the Norman--who stood in the sun-ray--and unclosed his withered hand. In it was an unmarked stick.
"Nay," said the old man. "My son comes after me--let him draw."
A tall, well-built man walked boldly to the cap, drew, and approached the sunbeam.
"On one side--food for the crows," said the Norman.
Then the old man fell on his knees. "I beseech you take me and spare him. He has a young wife and a child. He has life before him, mine is all behind."
"Away," ordered Rogier. "The lot decides--the judgment is with heaven, not with me."
"Father," said the young man, "I am willing to die for my chief."
Then followed several who went free, and escaped into the open air, where they drew long breaths, as though their lungs had been cramped within.
The next who drew the death's head was a mean little man with pointed, foxy face and red hair. He fell into convulsions of terror, clung to Rogier, implored for life, promised to betray whatever he knew--only, unhappily, he did not know where Pabo was concealed, but undertook, if pardoned, to find out. The bishop's brother spurned him from him with disgust. Then came three with blanks and were sent outside.
"One can but die once," said he, and shrugged his shoulders. "My old woman will have to look out for a second husband. May he be better than the first."
He stepped aside without the exhibition of much feeling, but avoided the whimpering wretch who had drawn the death's head before him.
"Hah!" said Iorwerth the Smith, as he opened his palm and disclosed the marked twig, "I thought something would fall to me for striking that blow which disabled the captain's arm. Would to heaven I had aimed better and broken his skull! He did not know me, or I should have been hung before this." Singularly enough, the very next to draw was also one who drew an unlucky stick, and this was Morgan the Sacristan.
"Since the Sanctuary of David has been invaded, and the wild beast of the field tramples on the vineyard, I care not; and now the secret of where is hid the rod of Cynwyl will perish with me."