Hunchback

CHAPTER ONE Hodge sat in a doorway and trimmed his toenails with a knife.With one eye turned to the task at hand, he fixed his other eye upon the stone arch directly across the cluttered courtyard. It was a talent he had, this wall-eyed staring, which allowed him to stand on the castle wall and survey both the outer plains and the inner keep at once-to see both the sky and the ground beneath. Today, however, he chose to sit in a doorway and trim his toenails with a knife. Martin's Mary crossed the shadowed square before his view, lugging a bucket of water from the well. Bert the ostler, still in his nightshirt, leaned out from the stable and spit into the courtyard. Young Jayne Kemp, a scullery maid, carried a pail of kitchen scraps to the swine-cote. But for these, the castle might have been abandoned. Long ago, on a bright summer morning such as this, the keep would have been a much busier place, full of noise and color, sights and smells: the shouting of peddlers, acrobats and jugglers; the aromas of fresh baked breads and roasting meats; the officious trumpeting of the Royal Guard as they heralded the rising of kings and princes. But the castle had long since lost its position of importance to those kings and princes, and was now a place of quiet indolence. Cast-off rubbish littered the courtyard. Tufts of stunted grass peeked up through cracks in the paving stones. Even the bird-soiled towers and battlements seemed to have forgotten those former days of glory. On many a fire-lit night Hodge had listened in rapt attention as old Jesper told of those times-the days when Castle Marlby had served as a seasonal retreat of the Royal Family. Rumors hinted that perhaps a return to those olden-golden days was near. With an impatient sigh, Hodge turned a wandering eye to the sky and then back to the archway. His brother, Fleet, had accused him of wishful thinking, but still those rumors pounded through his heart and filled him with hope. He pushed himself to his feet and tucked his knife into the belt he always wore cinched about his middle. Standing, his head and shoulders reached no higher than a child's. Though the growth of more than thirteen summers was bound up in his frame, those years had drawn his sinews tight, bowing his back like a willow branch. li0He stretched his aching muscles the best he could-he had been crouched in the doorway through the night, and his arms and legs had cramped from the waiting. He shifted from one foot to the other. Scanning the courtyard, he picked out a paving stone to signify the anticipated hour. When the retreating shadow touched its edge, he decided, the royal party would cross the drawbridge, pass through the gatehouse, and enter the inner ward where they could cast off the dust and fatigue of their long journey. And Hodge would approach, bent in his eternal posture of humility, and beg to be of service to the Prince himself. Hodge sniffed the air. He breathed in the early morning smells of damp earth and mildew. Sunlight edged onto his selected stone. The royal party did not appear. He picked another stone and continued the wait. He slumped back in the doorway, scratched his toes, and yawned. He selected yet another stone. The sun climbed toward noon, and still the courtyard remained in silence except for the uneven squawking of a chicken. *** It was just yesterday morning that Hodge first heard of the rumored arrival. He was cleaning out the gong-pit beneath the castle latrines, an odious job that always left a foul smell upon his clothes. He had just splashed a bucket of clean water down the shaft that led to the moat when he heard echoing words from far above. Someone was in the privy. "I don't know," came a voice, ringing off the stones of the latrine-chute. "Maybe it's true." Sir William, Hodge thought. "Hah! What would the Prince be doing here?" said a second.[read more]