The sergeant winked, nodded, and rubbed his hands.
“Only wish they’d put me on duty, sir.”
“You wouldn’t shoot him, Ben, if they did.”
“Then I’d save the powder and bullet, sir, and pitch him into the moat, same as the enemy did a lot of our chaps—all them as didn’t jump—but they all got safe over, I suppose.”
Roy began to walk up and down with his companion, passing the other prisoners from time to time on the wide bench in the corner; while old Jenk sat on the mossy stone steps at the foot of the sun-dial in the middle of the court, one arm nursing his sword upon his knees, the other embracing the lichen-covered pedestal against which he rested his head—no bad representation of old Father Time taking a nap.
“Wish I could sleep like he does,” growled Ben. “Nothing to do. Won’t let me help any way. Tried to have a go in the armoury, but that sergeant as went through the rat’s hole with us grinned at me and turned me out. Pah! I hate him! He’s reg’lar took my job out o’ my hands.”
“Patience, patience, Ben,” said Roy.
“Don’t believe there’s any o’ that stuff left in the castle, Master Roy. What do you think they’re doing?”
“I don’t know. What?”
“Got big stones and mortar down in the hole in three places, ready to build it up. Done it by now, perhaps.”