Isabel stifled a yawn. ‘He is actually a big softie underneath all that leather.’
Ita’s eyes shone with mischievousness. ‘So you’ve seen underneath the uniform, then?’
Ignoring her, Blackmane took the meat off the flames and set it aside to cool for a moment.
‘What’s the reason for all that hostility, defender?’ Ita asked. ‘Something must have happened that has you wearing this attitude like another form of armour. Usually it’s a tragic story.’
Isabel looked at him. ‘Is there a tragic story?’
‘No,’ he replied.
‘Ah, yes,’ Hadewaye called from somewhere nearby.
Blackmane rolled his eyes in the defender’s general direction. ‘Stop eavesdropping and concentrate on keeping us alive.’
‘He lost his entire family before coming to Chadora,’ Hadewaye replied as if he had not heard.
Blackmane picked up the meat and began tearing pieces off.
‘That’ll do it,’ Ita said.
He could feel Isabel watching him in the dark.
‘How did they die?’ she asked.
‘Smallpox.’ He rose and walked over to her, handing her some of the meat without making eye contact.
‘Dreadful disease,’ Ita said, shaking her head sadly.
He went to give her a portion also. ‘Never mind all that. I want you to tell me about the camp.’
She waited for him to sit down again. ‘You mean to tell me that you came all this way and didn’t get the full tour?’
‘Hodge was a little sketchy on some of the details, like where all the food’s going.’
Ita began picking through her meat. ‘The food doesn’t stay in Carmarthenshire, that’s for sure. Most is transported west and loaded onto ships.’
He wondered if King Edward was aware of that.
‘Word from inside the camp is that the marcher lords are running quite the lucrative business,’ Ita added.
Isabel leaned forwards. ‘Did you say word frominsidethe camp?’
‘Yes, those who make it out are often armed with more information than Hodge is comfortable with.’
‘And how does one make it out?’ Blackmane asked.
Ita swallowed her mouthful of meat before answering. ‘There are only two ways out of that place—as a corpse on the back of a wagon or escaping over the fence.’
Blackmane’s eyebrows came together. ‘The fence is heavily guarded. They would be caught before they’d even secured a rope.’
Ita nodded in agreement. ‘Oh, there’s no time for rope. The only way out is via the woodpile against the fence at the back of the kitchen. If you get a run up, you can use it as a step to reach the top. Of course, the wood needs to be stacked correctly or it can result in spectacular failure.’ She threw bones on the fire. ‘But it’s not for the faint of heart or the unfit. Any prisoner caught outside the fence line without permission is publicly executed. They never waste an opportunity to teach those inside a lesson—comply or die.’
Isabel looked down at her lap. ‘But how do they know who is from the camp and who is not?’
‘You’ve been gone too long, my darling friend.’ Ita tucked her legs in beside her. ‘There are only two kinds of people left in the wastelands: criminals who have been caught and criminals yet to be caught. They don’t care which one you are. Both are enslaved or killed in the end.’
Blackmane picked up a stick to move one of the burning logs, and immediately Isabel moved back from the fire. He put the stick down. ‘What form of execution do they use?’ He wanted to better understand their mind-set.