In the times of the Draconides the Inquisitors of Alca used to put heretical clergy into this cage.

It had been empty for three hundred years, but now Pirot was imprisoned in it under the guard of sixty warders, who lived in the tower and did not lose sight of him night or day, spying on him for confessions that they might afterwards report to the Minister of War.

For Greatauk, careful and prudent, desired confessions and still further confessions.

Greatauk, who was looked upon as a fool, was in reality a man of great ability and full of rare foresight.
In the mean time Pyrot, burnt by the sun, eaten by mosquitoes, soaked in the rain, hail and snow, frozen by the cold, tossed about terribly by the wind, beset by the sinister croaking of the ravens that perched upon his cage, kept writing down his innocence on pieces torn off his shirt with a tooth-pick dipped in blood.

These rags were lost in the sea or fell into the hands of the gaolers.