Mind, Jordan had a feeling that he could control his life. There were not many men of his age who had killed, who knew the surge of power at ending another human’s life. He turned off the wine tap, setting the jug on the tray once more.
No, not many people of his age had killed. Herbert had been a genuine, panicky mistake, but for all that, his death had been necessary, purely to prevent his telling Stephen and then his mother about Jordan and Alan hurting him. He’d been going to tell the priest immediately, and Jordan couldn’t allow him to do that. As Herbert turned to run towards the stream, Jordan had already fitted the pebble to his sling, and a moment later his prey was down, whimpering.
After that they had no choice. They couldn’t let Herbert go then, not after what they’d done. And when they were finished, they’d dragged his body to the road, to drop in front of the next wagon.
It was all very logical.
He wasn’t sure why he was so determined never to go home again. Perhaps it was because of the treats he kept being given here. He’d never known so much food. After all, he’d been prepared to risk everything for his father, hadn’t he? And only very recently, too, when Squire Roger had come to visit.
Jordan grinned to himself. He could feel the sling in the waistband of his hose, a comforting, protective little weight. It was odd, he thought, walking back to the hall; everyone had always thought that Alan was a good shot with a sling, and yet even Alan wouldn’t have been able to hit the old squire on the head from that range…
He idly wondered to himself, while pouring wine for the knight and the bailiff, whether any boys as young as himself had committed two murders before the age often.
It was quite a thought.
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Squire Throwleigh’s Heir aktm-7 Page 33
