Chapter 5
England, 1250 A.D.
“I always called you a bastard, Terrill. I don’t know about the rest of these lads, but I never thought you were anything but a bastard. It’s not my fault if you didn’t take me seriously.”
Terrill stood in his soiled clothing in front of his resplendent friends, too shocked to move as they laughed.
“Tell you what,” Peter Martel continued, “if you want to buy us a round like you always did in the old days, we’ll let you sit down.”
The old days? Terrill wondered. He’d been drinking with these fellows only the week before. He’d been one of them…or so he’d always thought.
“I’ve bought you drinks every night of the week for years,” he said in a dull voice.
“Indeed. Why else do you think we associated with a bastard?” Martel asked. Everyone at the table laughe
