How Can You Get Out?

To Guido’s surprise, bowls of thick, nourishing soup were handed through the grate in the door. What kind of prison was this anyway? Usually the prisoners in their own castle with given little more than the scraps off the table. But then he was suspicious. Maybe they want me to die a slow agonizing death through poisoning!
Finally one of the others looked at him. “Eat it,” he said. “It may be plain, but it’s good.”
“Why aren’t you eating, then?”
The old man sighed and leaned against the wall. “I have failed so miserably. I am not worthy of the least of His favours.”
“His? Who?”
“The King.”  He groaned and buried his head in his hands. His long, unkempt beard touched his chest.
“Aye,” his companion agreed. “His mercy was from everlasting to everlasting. We enjoyed all the benefits of living in the castle but turned away to live a life of sin.”
“And you were thrown in here?”
They both shook their heads.
“We came of our own accord.”
Guido looked incredulous. How could they be so stupid?
“So how can you get out?”
The younger man stilled his restless fidgeting and a strange light gleamed in his eyes. “I haven’t asked myself that in a long time,” he murmured.