Chapter 64 - The Funeral

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It was mid-morning, the following day. Gentry, Cannon, and O’Frell followed the cart that carried the linen-wrapped remains to the open bay of the sea. Four men, strangers, walked ahead of the cart; the men Ben Hadal had provided to carry the body. One of them held a lead rope attached to one of the two horses that pulled the wagon. The group traveled in silence. The only sounds their little procession made was the crunch of the wagon wheels on the stone, the sounds of their feet on the cobblestones, and the occasional snort from one of the horses. O’Frell kept his eyes to the ground. Occasionally, he stole a look at Gentry or Cannon. The girl dabbed at her red eyes; the older warrior was stone faced. O’Frell reflected on how the sounds of the busy city seemed obscene; how the bustling people and their shouts seemed out of place at so mournful an occasion. How even the fairness of the day seemed out of place. To O’Frell, the walk seemed to last forever. They trudged on, through the city, down the road to the bay, past the berths that held the cargo and passenger ships, and finally past the area used by the local fishermen. The men guiding the wagon stopped at a quiet cove. A small boat of graying wood, with upturned ends, was tied by a short rope attached to a wooden stake on the beach. It bobbed in the small waves that hissed ashore; and gurgled as the rhythmic breakers slapped at it’s end. The boat was half-filled with firewood soaked in oil. The four men moved to the back of the wagon, and gently lifted the linen wrapped form. They waded out into ankle deep water as they gently lay their burden into the boat. The four looked to Cannon, who nodded. Three of the men climbed into the wagon: one... ... middle of paper ... ...waiting with his bow. “No”, thought Claudius. “Too complicated.” He liked simplicity in his plans. Better to return to the Inn later that night and set fire to it. He could be hiding with his bow, waiting for Cannon to run from the Inn to escape the flames. And, if the man perished in the blaze, so much the better. He had settled the matter in his mind. Claudius would finish his business for the day, then return later for Cannon with his bow and quiver. Claudius felt sand trickle down the inside of his shirt, and gather around the belt of his trousers. He had picked up considerable dirt and grit as he had crawled forward on the hill to observe the funeral. “But first”, he thought to himself, “I need to get out of these dirty clothes. The sand is driving me mad. “ He hummed a tune to himself as he walked down the street, headed home.

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