Probably from the tavern on the side street in front of me. I used to sing sometimes when we visited a tavern with the other men. I was never much of a singer. My horse was the only thing that appreciated my voice, and then only during thunderstorms. I suppose my singing was worse than the thunder so made it bearable. At least I have stopped sneezing for now, even though my throat is dry and I am very cold.
If I have my days right tomorrow is market day. The square will be packed with people. It was normally after market day people frequented the taverns, but I suppose all ale houses have there regulars. The singing sounds good from this distance. It's cheerful and reminds me of summer, which is nice on this cold night. It makes me feel a little warmer.
I can't see the sky much but I can see stars in the puddles on the square. It must be a clear moonless night. I hope Red hasn't worried too much. And I hope little John has managed to distract her if she has. They should be at nearly the other side of the estate, far enough away to not pass me at least. I don't think Red would even look at the stocks though. And neither of the Johns are the type to humiliate a man in this situation.
It's hard to sleep standing up, and not being able to get comfortable. Sleep is the only thing I have control over though. So I should at least try.
It hasn't occurred to me to try and get free, even if I did manage to free my hands I am still chained to the stockade itself.
The singing as stopped. I find myself torn between wanting some human interaction and not wanting to be subject to the ideas of drunken men. Voices appear to be heading away from me.
Maybe I should try to sleep a little more. The market place gets set up in the dark early hours so I shall not have chance to sleep then.
I wish I was in that warm tavern. But there is something about looking down into the puddles at the sky above that's is oddly calming. Maybe tomorrow I'll be freed. Perhaps my punishment was for a night as well as a day....
