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The baron locked the door. The unhappy Isaac was too weak with fear to rise and bow. Front-de-Boeuf said, “Jewish dog, you will pay me a hundred thousand silver coins.”

“Holy Abraham!” answered the Jew, “it is impossible! – In the whole city of York you will not find such a sum.”

Front-de-Boeuf made a signal for the slaves to approach, and spoke to them in their own language. The Saracens took out from their baskets some coal and made a fire in a large fireplace in the other end of the dungeon.

“Do you see, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “these iron bars above the glowing coal? On that warm bed you will lie and roast, if you don’t pay me the money I ask.

“But it is impossible!” exclaimed the miserable Jew.

“Take him, slaves,” said the knight, “and let the fathers of his people help him if they can.”

The Jew looked at the glowing furnace, and he gave up.

“I will pay,” he said, “the money you demand. When and where must it be delivered?”

“Here,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “here it must be delivered. – You think I will let you go before your ransom is secure?”

“Let my daughter Rebecca go to York,” answered Isaac, “with your safe conduct, noble knight, and as soon as man and horse can return, the treasure will be brought here.”

“Your daughter?” said Front-de-Boeuf, “I gave her to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert.”

The yell which Isaac raised when he heard this news made walls ring, and astonished the two Saracens so much that they let the Jew go. He threw himself on the floor at the feet of Front-de-Boeuf.

“Take all that you have asked,” said he, “Sir Knight—take ten times more, burn me on this fire, but save my daughter! – She is the image of my Rachel.”

“I cannot help what has happened, or what will happen after that, I have given my word to my friend.”

“Robber and villain!” said the Jew, “I will pay you nothing—not one silver coin, unless my daughter is delivered to me in safety and honour! I don’t care if you roast me! My daughter is a thousand times dearer to me than my body and my life.”

“We will check this,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “Strip him, slaves, and chain him down upon the bars.”

The Saracens had already torn from the Jew his clothes, when they heard the sound of a horn blown from outside the castle, and immediately after loud voices called for Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf. The savage Baron gave the slaves a signal to stop and they left the Jew to thank God.

* * *

Unlike other prisoners, Rowena was placed in a decorated apartment.

Sometime after midday entered De Bracy, who had changed his robber’s disguise for elegant clothes, combed his long hair and shaved his beard. He offered her to sit down with an elegant gesture, but Rowena didn’t move and said, “If I am in the presence of my jailor, Sir Knight—his prisoner should remain standing until she learns her fate.”

“Oh, beautiful Rowena,” answered De Bracy, “I am not your jailor, you are mine, and from you I must hear my sentence.”

“I don’t know you, sir,” said the lady, “and the language of a troubadour is no excuse for the violence of a robber.”