Merdinus tossed another shovelful of dirt into the cesspool as cold mud and human excrement splattered on his legs. He moved forward slightly, testing the firmness of the ground beneath his feet. Another cartload of dirt and the liquid pool would be mud, ready to dig out and spread on the fields.
The other servants thought him a simple-minded boy for enjoying this work, but cleaning the castle's cesspits was much easier than working in the kitchen. It was hard to remember if Cook wanted him to watch the meat or do something else. The instructions were always difficult to follow and easily forgotten.
But cleaning the cesspits in the curtain walls of the castle was easy by comparison. The task was the same every time, and easy to figure out even when his memory betrayed him.
Merdinus stood upright and stared at the mess. He was almost under the garderobe now--near the end of this cesspit.
A voice from the entrance interrupted his thoughts. "Do you enjoy working in our sewage?"
Merdinus turned to see who was talking. He didn't recognize the old man but there was something familiar about him. He knew no one who wore such fine clothes; yet this man stood watching him carefully, the smile slightly off-center as his eyes fairly twinkled with amusement. He stood at the entrance, not stepping near the thick muck where Merdinus was standing.
Merdinus shrugged. "It's not so bad once you get used to the smell."
The old man smiled. "And the rack's not so bad once you get used to the stretching." He chuckled. "There's no future here for you, is there?" He paused thoughtfully. "In fact, there are very few positions for men of low birth that anyone would choose. What will you do when you're grown--become a soldier?"
"And die in battle? No, thank you! I'd prefer to advise others from a place of safety."
"High wishes for one of your position."
Merdinus moved towards the entrance and spoke without thinking, "It should be ability, not birth, which decides one's fate."
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