He nodded, still keeping his chin resting on his chest, so it was a small nod. “There are holes cut in the base of the flagon. The more dung they pile on top, the more weight presses down on that at the bottom, and it squeezes out the juice.”
Picturing it in her mind, Hannah asked, “Your flagon will hold more than they think?”
He chuckled again. “If they do not work hard and fast, as I suspect will be the case, the next morning it will hold less than the day before.”
“How can that be?”
“When fresh, horse dung is mostly water. Well, maybe not mostly, but almost. The water is squeezed out by the weight of that piled on top, so the flagon never fills.”
“You’ve had others punished this way?”
Sir James paused and allowed a small group to pass the wagon as he held it as far to one side as possible for their convenience. When no others were near, he said, “More than a few. Including me.”
“You? You’re the head Knight!”
“I am, but that was not always so. Once I was young and arrogant, they tell me. Another palace, another head Knight and another flagon. I learned my lesson trying to fill it.”
Hannah glanced up to find they were nearing the gate, a wide hole in the otherwise unbroken wall, an iron clad oak set of doors each as thick as the walls of the morning kitchen. Massive chains connected the doors to stone structures with large wooden wheels to draw them quickly closed.
Besides the doors, to either side were slits built into the stone walls. She’d seen similar at the Earl’s Castle. “For shooting arrows at enemies?”
“No,” he said. “The slits for archers are located up higher. Those beside the gate are for pikes, which are spears to stab any who get close.”
Hannah looked at the gates to a row of gutters above; each was a handbreadth from the next, and the water would spill right onto people passing through the gate below. She wondered why they should be there, and her face must have shown it.
Sir James saw where she looked. “Not for water. Burning oil.”
“That must hurt!”
“We use a special oil the mage concocts. Once it splashes on a man’s skin, he can’t get it off. The oil burns like, well like nothing you’ve ever seen. They dump the oil in a trough up there and then throw a few torches to light as it drips on those below. Fortunately, we have not been attacked for more than two hundred years, so those nasty things have not been put to use.”
Guards stood to either side of the gate, as well as two others, giving permission to enter after they discovered the reason for each visit, usually just a quick question and answer. However, as the old wagon pulled into line to wait their turn, the guards shouted, waved their arms, and moved the crowd aside, motioning for Sir James to enter first. They snapped to attention and saluted as the wagon rolled inside to the amazement of the peasants in line.
Sir James muttered something about having a second flagon constructed by morning.
Hannah heard little of it because her eyes went to the courtyard inside the Palace, the banners, flags of different shapes and colors, the bright dress of the people, and the noise and confusion of the busy marketplace. She drank it in.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hannah listened to the ebb and flow of a hundred conversations in the marketplace. Music filtered from four or five locations, all playing different songs on different instruments. At least two women sang, as did a man with a deep voice in another part of the market. But far more than sound captivated her. Directly ahead a woman in layers of colorful skirts danced, twirling around while trailing a gown of green the color of spring grass, copper bracelets jangled on her wrists.
Food fried, baked, boiled, and roasted, all twisting and turning Hannah’s hungry stomach. The vendors called out to strolling shoppers, describing the wonderful items for sale. She heard them describe meat pies, bread, tent poles, knives, hats, and sewing material fit for Queens. She heard a man that would sharpen any blade, another who worked the finest leather, and a woman who claimed to serve the best soup in the kingdom. A boy shouted praises about a goat he had for sale. Another boy sold apples, the best tasting of all, if they believed his calls.
The sights, sounds, smells, and excitement assaulted her like nothing she’d ever experienced. Sir James pulled the wagon to where all other wagons and beasts of burden were standing at the side of the market, gathered in the one location for the day.
A boy about her age ran up to Sir James. “Sir, for a small copper I’ll water your mule and watch over him.”
The Knight stood in the wagon and stretched before climbing down. “You live here, son?”
The boy nodded eagerly and pointed at a man replacing the sole of a shoe for a customer, “That’s my father.”
“Then walk with me,” he said to the boy.
He glanced at where Hannah was, missing her location by three steps because she’d already climbed down, but the knight still couldn’t see her any better than anyone else. She enjoyed the game of being invisible and saw him looking at the dirt where her footprints appeared, then he smirked. He was on to her.
Once they arrived at the cobbler, Sir James stood and waited his turn. When the old man, nails held between his lips, looked up, Sir James lifted his hat. “Do you recognize me, sir?”
“Yes, sir,” the cobbler said without losing a nail, but looking at his son in an accusing way, as if to ask, “What has he done now?”
But the Knight just smiled and pointed. “See that broken down wagon and mule? It has served me well, but I have no more use for it. I would consider it a personal favor if your son saw to the care of the animal until you can find a buyer for both.”
“How much should I ask for the pair?”
“Whatever you wish to pocket, my good man. Any profit is yours. And your son’s.” Sir James spun and managed to find Hannah’s arm with his hand. He grabbed and held on, almost dragging her across the courtyard. She noticed people looking at Sir James, now, his name on many lips. The word of his arrival had spread. She thought it funny until realizing it might place her in danger.
The two squires telling of his arrival had no idea of the trouble they caused. She realized that they had been told not to say a word, and had. Battles have been lost because of less. Her anger grew with every well-wisher, every hello, and even nods of heads. Everyone in the palace seemed to know he had returned. Many genuinely seemed happy, but others feigned their pleasure.
They neared one wing of the large building ahead, and a door with a guard on duty drew her attention. The guard snapped to attention when they were still five steps away. Sir James threw the door open without acknowledging the salute, his mood foul. He pointed to a massive stairway for the sake of Hannah, and they climbed what seemed like fifty steps to the second floor. Another set of stairs greeted them, and he started up them, not as fast, and his breath came in gasps. He paused, part of the way up, holding a rail for support, and for the first time she realized he was as old as her father.
The stairs, walls, and roof were all made of the same gray stone as the outside walls, but unlike the ground floor, the second held paintings covering the walls along with woven works of art. Carpets covered the floors. Obviously, more important people lived there.
The third-floor walls held even more impressive paintings and tapestries, the glint of gold thread sparkling in the dim light. The third-floor carpeting overlapped, sometimes three deep, so it felt like walking across a spongy meadow.
Sir James didn’t slow. They walked, and she looked at the doors, most ornate and carved. Finally, at a door carved with a leaping stag, he reached for the latch and pushed it open. Inside a man already stood at attention, well dressed, and obviously expecting him.