While those big, grim men rode alongside the wains, Rupert and Merrylips knew that it was useless to think of escape. So they gave up hope, and cuddled down amongst the straw, beneath the horse-blanket.
Rupert and Merrylips knew it was useless to think of escape.
They wondered, in whispers, what they should do next day when they were handed over to the thick-set Smith, who served at Ryeborough. Surely, they should be known at once as no kinsmen of his! Then perhaps they should be judged to be spies, because they had told false stories. And spies—were not spies always hanged?
In their fright they thought that they should lie awake till daybreak. But they were so tired that they were lulled by the padding of the horse-hoofs and the creaking of the wheels. And before they knew it, they both fell fast asleep.
When they woke, a cold, wintry light was gleaming all about them. The wain in which they sat was just rumbling over a bridge. Beneath the bridge ran black water, which all along its banks was fringed with crispy ice. At the farther end of the bridge the stone walls of a castle stood up grimly against the sky.
"'Tis Ryeborough!" whispered Rupert. "And 'tis neck or nothing now! So soon as we are set upon the ground, we must run for't!"
They passed through a narrow, arched gateway in the massive wall, where sentinels kept watch. They came into a steep street, which ran between high houses that shut out the sun. Up one street and down another they rumbled.