Doctor Who Sanctuary David A. McIntee

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.A few wavery points of yellow torchlight danced in the village below, mostly around the inn he had noticed on his way past.The light was inviting, but Guy de Carnac had no desire to share a room with one of the Church’s men, who would probably spend the night trying to find a reason to hang him like a common cutpurse in any case.Munching on a small oatcake – he was well aware that there was so little actual goodness in rabbit-meat that a man could starve to death on a steady diet of them – he turned back, squatting beside the fire to check on his meal.He had nothing in particular against the Church – if it kept people busy, then good for them, that was his motto – but he had no great love for it either, and these days that was bad enough.Banishing the other travellers from his mind, he turned back to his cooking-fire.Once the clerics had all divested themselves of their damp cloaks, they had consumed the suckling pig with enthusiasm, though Chretien was more pleased by the fact that Guzman seemed to be keeping his mouth shut for a change.5The innkeeper had at first supplied his customers with some bochet with which to wash down the meat and simple vegetables, but the scented honey drink had been kept far too long since its fermentation, and Chretien and the others settled for godale ‘double beer’.Chretien had decided over the course of the meal that he had seen enough of the boring countryside which Guzman had claimed was visibly ruined by the heretics.So far, he had seen nothing out of the unusual, bar a few burnt-out hovels – and even that wasn’t too unusual.He would change their itinerary tomorrow, he decided, and head for home rather than pressing on through a country which was so uncomfortably gripped in the throes of winter.Making his excuses, he retired to the shabby room which had been set aside for him, his attendant following like a faithful dog and taking up position behind the door.The soldiers who had escorted the clerics huddled round a carefully tended fire in the stable, wrapped in their cloaks, as the fire was necessarily small and cool to avoid the risk of an inferno caused by stray sparks.They squatted in a rough circle and tossed dice, the few coins they were gambling with scraping around the crowns of their upturned helmets.Their tired-looking sergeant-at-arms, his eye-sockets looking more hollow than usual under the guttering firelight, cursed under his breath as the roll went against him for the fifth successive time, and he straightened on protesting legs which had just become accustomed to their resting position.‘The odds turning against you?’ one of the men asked with a grin.‘For that, you will be on stable duty when we get back,’ the sergeant-at-arms announced with relish.Rank certainly had its privileges.The soldier looked suitably downcast, but said nothing that might tempt the sergeant-at-arms to make the assignment more permanent.Cheered a little by this small piece of revenge, the sergeant-at-arms gathered up his empty helmet and belted on his longsword.‘Keep the fire warm, but keep a watch on it.I will check on young Fulk.’ The men nodded.The sergeant-at-arms winced slightly as the chill renewed its grip on him when he went out into the snowy night.The faces of the nobles and clerics he had served over the years were all beginning to blur into one these days, he considered, as he moved away from the stable and out through the filthy streets to where he had left Fulk on watch at the end of the village.As he walked, he fancied he heard a faint jingling noise, but dismissed it as his mind worrying at his gambling losses.By the distant gleam of the torch he had left with the boy, he could now make out young Fulk leaning against a 6low trough.If he’s fallen asleep, the sergeant promised himself, I’ll have him horsewhipped.Better that than he learns to sleep out in this sort of weather and freezes to death, he decided [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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