A couple of priests advanced
between the files of prisoners, who sat up at once and started to
howl out a dismal litany at the top of their lungs. Tristram's
assailants left him hurriedly, and, shrinking back to their pallets,
began to lift their voices with the rest. The noise was like that of
a cat's battle, and the priests marched to and fro while it
continued, smiling to left and right and exhorting the poor devils to
an increase of fervour. One of them spied Tristram and whispered to
his brother; and the pair seemed about to address him, when three
jailers entered with large trays, bearing the prisoners' breakfasts.
The litany ceased and the singers glanced at these trays with greedy
eyes.
It proved to be the best meal that Tristram had swallowed since his
misfortunes began, there being a pint of soup to each man in addition
to the usual brown bread. After devouring it, Tristram sat with his
back to the wall, wondering if the three ruffians would renew their
attack; but they appeared to have forgotten their resentment, and
even his presence. Some of his fellow-miserables fell to chatting;
others to plaiting ropes out of the straw on which they lay; while
some occupied themselves in keeping a look out for the rats that
swarmed everywhere and stole out in the dim light to gnaw the pieces
of bread which the prisoners saved and hid away for future use.
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