The Joys of My Life

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The evening air was still. The day had been unseasonably hot, with a definite hint of summer. Now, as the sun went down beyond the low hills on the far side of the Tardoire River, the temperature was rapidly cooling and it was clear that it was barely spring, let alone summer.

The bareheaded man in the fine woollen tunic stood on a hillock in brooding contemplation of a field whose rich brown earth had been turned ready for sowing. The ploughing had been more than a month ago and still the empty earth lay patiently waiting. Above the field, a mile or so distant, a castle sat upon a slight rise. It was in a state of siege; two trebuchets stood before it, and gaping holes in the soaring walls gave testament to the accuracy and force of the missiles that had been repeatedly hurled from the siege engines’ slings. Nearby, a stoutly constructed wooden structure on wheels stood waiting for the morning, when the sappers would utilize its protective shelter to creep up to the walls and continue the process of undermining them. Back in the besiegers’ encampment lay the scaling ladders, ready for deployment as soon as the castle’s resistance had been sufficiently worn down for a forced entry.

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