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Madoc went to the stables a last time before heading to his room for the night. He waved at the cluster of his companions who still sat about the fire enjoying each others company along with their ales.
Willem, the stableboy rose sleepily from his pallet of straw, asking if he could be of any service. ‘I hope so, lad,’ said Madoc throwing back the canvas cover on the contents of the wagon he’d brought and looking at the supplies he’d brought with a critical eye. The old gaffer’s stories of wolves on the road ahead had put the hair up on the back of his neck.
He spoke quietly to the boy, who nodded his head thoughtfully at the end and led Madoc to a place behind the stables. ‘This is where we keep, ‘em, sir,’ said the boy, pointing to a large pile of pitchy limbs. Use ‘em for getting the Inn fire going nice and hot.’ They discussed how many Madoc might have, and after the exchange of a few pennies for the boy’s help, they loaded a good quantity of them into the back of the wagon. Once done, Madoc pulled the canvas over them and bade the boy goodnight. He returned to his room, and placing his cloak over the top quilt as an extra cover, slipped into the shivery cold of his bed and huddling there until it had warmed up enough for him to sleep.
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