While Marc would never admit it, he was thankful for all that weapons training, and running that he had ensured. It served him well as he ran over the dough terrain of the outer perimeter towards a side entrance of the keep.
He was also fortunate that the sun was leaving just enough of its august presence to maintain sure footing. His pace was steady and true, his sight augmented by his memory and natural reflexes. Still, by the time Marc reached the side gate, his lungs were burning.
This area between the outer wall and the keep itself was rarely used. There were reasons for this, and the most important was the prevalent stench of a summer day. At one end there were stables with their large pile of manure, and this was where the chamber pots were tossed out the windows. At least they cart off the stuff when the pile gets too big.
Disclaimer: This excerpt from Man of War is currently in development. There may be typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth.
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