Read Online The White Robe by Clare Smith - Free Book Online

breath and slowly rose to his feet hoping that nobody around had seen his undignified exit from the city. On the trampled land around the main gate carters and merchants were setting up camp for the night. Those with hand carts and single pack animals had gathered in one area and already a communal fire had been lit.
     
    There was the smell of cooking food in the air and, as he looked around, he could see people gathering around a large cauldron donating bits of meat or fresh vegetables to the communal pot. Others were unrolling bedrolls or heaping packs around the fire as the travellers staked out their claim to the best sleeping places for the night as close to the fire as they could get.
     
    Beyond the communal fire the owners of the larger wagons and the caravan drivers were claiming their own space, parking wagons, seeing to their stock and lighting their own fires to cook their evening meal. If any had noticed Jonderill’s forced exit from the city they didn’t acknowledge it but carried on with their evening preparations as if it were a well ordered routine. Jonderill brushed the dirt and specks of blood from his knee and hands, looked towards the distant forest which was fading into the gloom and tried to decide if he could make it back to the forest edge before total darkness fell.
     
    The distant call of a sly hunter answered by its mate helped to make his mind up and he turned away, making his way carefully to where the communal fire lit up the outside of the city walls. As he passed the small hand carts draped with waxed covers to protect their contents from the evening dew, the smell of hot food coming from the cauldron suspended over the fire made his stomach rumble and his mouth water. It had been so long since he had eaten anything except burnt flour roots and over baked wild onions that the smell of fresh mushrooms, spiced beans and yard birds cooking together in a thick stew made his head spin.
     
    He made his way through the small crowd towards the edge of the fire where two women, dressed in brown dresses tied at the waist with rough hemp belts, were cooking flour cakes on a hot stone. The younger of the two, with her hair held back by a scarf made of the same material as her dress, deftly turned half cooked flour cakes on a hot stone with a flat, broad knife. The older woman, as thin as a pike staff and with a sour expression, flipped the flat cakes off the hot stone and onto a platter which she held out to the people as they passed, nodding to each one as they took the offered food.
     
    Jonderill took his place in the line but when he reached the old woman she pulled the platter of hot flour cakes out of his reach. “Where’s yer bit?” Jonderill looked blank and the old woman sighed in irritation. “What yer put in the pot, boy?”
     
    “Nothing,” muttered Jonderill.
     
    “Where’s yer coin then?”
     
    “I don’t have any.”
     
    “Then bugger off, this aint no charity fer bleedin’ beggars.” She shoved Jonderill out of the way and offered the platter with its hot flour cakes to the next person in line.
     
    Jonderill went to protest but looking down at his bare feet, legs covered in dirt and poorly fitting robe he realised that he must have looked and smelled like a street beggar. He walked away with as much dignity as he could muster and made his way to where the bigger wagons and caravans were parked for the night hoping that someone would take pity on him. A number of small fires had been lit and pots of stew hung over several of them.
     
    Others were tended by men or women who pushed wrapped bundles into the ashes to cook and one fire had a spit on two iron posts over it on which a pond wader roasted, dripping  sizzling fat into the fire. Everyone turned their backs on Jonderill as he passed by and ignored him except for one fat merchant huddled in a richly embroidered blanket and flanked by two armed guards. He followed Jonderill with his eyes as he passed and then