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Torches barely touched the sodden darkness of the courtyard where my carriage waited for us. Sounds of merriment came from the Great Hall, where Lord Guerney and his castle enjoyed their dinner while we were being sent on our way without ours. Only a few soldiers, the castle Steward, and a Silent Monk were there to watch us leave.
Jason and Ison came out first, carrying my trunk between them. They carefully lifted it to the top of the carriage and lashed it down, then went back to get the rest of their things. When those were secured, Ison climbed up to the driver’s seat while Jason went back to help Charles with my limp form. I was wrapped up tight against the cold, with scarf and gloves, and it was obvious that I was in no shape to travel. The Silent Monk signed a blessing at the travesty.
As I was placed into the carriage, the Steward came forward and spoke to Charles, and handed him a folded letter. He tried to look into my face, but I was not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing his Lord’s handiwork. I lay slumped in the seat.
Jason took his seat beside Ison, and Charles climbed in and shut the carriage door. And then the Captain of the guard moved forward with a tall, muscular man. The Captain gestured to the other man, who hefted a broadsword and drove it into the side of my trunk.
My men promptly protested this destruction of my property, but could do nothing else. The Captain responded that if were not smuggling anything from the castle, then no harm had been done.
Then the castle gates opened. My carriage rolled through, and the doors shut soundly behind it. I turned, pulling my bare feet from the ankle deep mud, and walked toward the keep. On my way I signed a blessing on the ashen-faced Steward who still stared after the departed carriage.
