Wayte and Birkett carried Judith through the twisting corridors of the castle towards the stables. Neither man complained; they were doing their job, even if it was contributing to the deaths of thousands. That type of thing was for nobles to think about, not soldiers or guardsmen. “Get a cart don’t you think?” asked Wayte as they got nearer.
“Definitely,” replied Birkett. “I’m not hauling her that far. Unless you want to drag her behind your horse?”
Wayte shook his head with a gruff laugh, “Maybe not this time. The disease might not spread if there isn’t enough of her left to throw into the river.”
Birkett laughed, “I daresay you’re right Brother.”
“And,” continued Wayte, “Draycott would get angry.”
“You’re right,” said Birkett, “My sister doesn’t seem to like it when Draycott is angry at you for some reason.”
A pained expression flitted across Wayte’s face briefly for a moment before being replaced by one of scorn, “If she would just learn to obey me,” he started.
“I’ve told you how to fix that already,” interrupted Birkett.
“Yes you have,” replied Wayte as they reached the stables and signalled a groom to organise a cart, “it is just hard to find the time with these damned prisoners.”
The groom returned with rickety cart drawn by a single horse. The horses bearing and the way it behaved showed that it was no simple cart horse, it had the heart of a warrior, it stood there ignoring its harness, it stood as a warhorse.
“Sorry sirs,” squeaked the groom in a tiny voice, “this was the only horse left, the Lord Draycott has been dispatching messengers non-stop.”
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“We will take this horse and cart,” said Birkett quietly. “But if I have reason to complain at all, we will have a very close conversation when I return.”
The groom squeaked in fear and ran off.
“Come now Birkett, don’t scare the entire household off,” said Wayte with a laugh.
With a count to three, they heaved Judith’s limp body into the back of the cart. Birkett reached into his coat and withdrew a dice cup, “Highest roll gets to rest in the back first?”
Wayte nodded and took the dice cup. With a shake he let them loose and they roll on the bed of the cart. Every dice landed with a single pip facing up. Birkett roared with laughter, “I have the feeling that you’re going to be up front,” he grabbed a single die and let it roll; it landed with six pips facing up. Birkett’s single die was higher than the total of all of Wayte’s. Wayte shrugged and clambered up the front into the driver’s seat while Birkett leapt into the back with Judith. At Wayte’s urging, the horse started moving and the cart trundled forward. Soon the pair was travelling through the darkened streets of the city, no one about apart from other members of the guard at this late hour. When they were stopped at the gate, Birkett let the guards know of their mission. Showing scepticism the guards asked how they could possibly defeat the French with one sick woman. Birkett responded without words, but by tearing open Judith’s cloak, displaying the sickening black sores. The guards jumped back and waved them through.
Birkett clambered over Judith to speak to Wayte, “You see, it is directness that you need to get through to people.” When Wayte’s reply was only to grunt, Birkett drew his dagger and began picking at his nails with it. He soon grew bored of this and twisting around, he began prodding Judith’s sores with the blunt end of his dagger. Each prod elicited a moan from Judith and a cackle from Birkett.
“Hey,” said Wayte sharply, turning around and seeing what Birkett was doing, “can you stop that?”
“Yeah?” asked Birkett, “Why should I do that?”
“Because if you rupture one of those damn things, we’ll get infected, that’s why!” said Wayte harshly.
Birkett grunted and nodded, “right again Brother.” He climbed back over the partition. Shoving Judith to one side, he leaned against the side of the cart, “I think I’ll rest my eyes for a while. Wake me when we get closer.”