Screams of pain continued to be heard in the castle's prison room, none willing to admit they were part of The Sun. Howard was sweating, his hands wet from the sultry atmosphere in the prison, plus the warming temperature from the furnace that was still burning.
Everyone was stamped with the hot iron; some women were crying while trying to endure the pain of the stamp, and some men were looking at Howard with hatred.
"You people are pretty tough, too," Howard complained.
The middle-aged man put the iron back into the still-burning furnace. He turned to the side, looking at one of the two palace soldiers who had walked after him.
"Are those crowds still out in front?" Howard asked.
"Yes, Duke Howard," replied the soldier, assenting.
"I want you to bring five of them here. If torture can't make them confess, I'll make their pity talk!" insisted Howard.
