“The windows were fastened and curtained, but the movement of the coach allowed him fitful and fleeting glimpses of his surroundings He had as a clip-clopping escort a troop of crop-head cavalry with their iron helmets, leather jerkins and strong bay horses that stank of sweat and leather. Straight swords were scabbarded at their left hips and they all bore wheellocks in holsters at their saddlebows. From time to time one would ride close alongside and peer in at him, shouting something to the e...ffect that the prisoner was within and well enough. A cornet-of-horse commanded, a man of middling years whose face bore a scar that ran across his nose and formed an ugly purple notch in it. He breathed with a sibilant hiss that added menace to the creak of his heavy topboots and the faint jingle of his spurs as he opened the door to check his charge when they stopped. Otherwise he made no other noise towards Faulkner, addressing not one word to his prisoner during the long journey. These were seasoned campaigners intent on their charge and they paused only to change the horses hauling the coach and feed and water their own mounts.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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