Widow Of Jerusalem: A Medieval Mystery - Plot & Excerpts
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, TWELFTH NIGHT, I.V The roof between the towers gave a good view of the Crusader encampment to the north. A hundred fires dotted the landscape, with the largest forming a perimeter a hundred feet past the camp, preventing any suicidal Saracen from getting too close unobserved. With the security geared toward the perimeter, the castellum roof was relatively unguarded. But it was not deserted. A few glum Normans were scattered about, calling the watch every few minutes. I didn’t want to be cut in half before they could figure out who I was, so I strummed a few chords to announce myself. I was met at a somewhat leisurely pace by a fat guard in an ill-fitting breastplate. “’You’re not supposed to be up here,” he barked. “Yes, I know,” I said. “I’m not supposed to be up here, and I’m not supposed to be carrying this wineskin, either.” He looked at me, then began to smile.
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