Without more ado our formidable and ruthless captain laid his dagger into his jerkin and hoisted the huge sack upon his mighty shoulders. With incredibly swift strides, considering the burden that he bore, he was soon in the shelter of the thicket. The Count of Nullepart and I followed breathlessly, in a kind of amaze, and in a very little while we had come to the mules, which were tethered a short way off the winding track to Montesina. It was discomposing to the sensibilities of men of birth such as the Count of Nullepart and myself that the bag and its contents were flung into the empty water-cart with somewhat more of violence than the circumstances called for. But I cannot believe that at this moment it was within our province to protest. Indeed, so far was the Count of Nullepart--who in some respects was apt to baffle me as completely as did Sir Richard Pendragon--from recording his displeasure that at first he was unable to proceed on his journey in the wake of the water-cart owing to the contortions of mirth into which he was thrown. “Get up, little Neddies,” said the English giant, giving the mules a lusty smack with the palm of his hand that started them at a jolt and a rattle along the road. Then, as he ran beside them, he rested one hand upon the bag and addressed its occupant in a humble voice. “I trust your gracious Majesty rides pleasantly and in comfort,” he said. Now that we had this strange burden in our hands there was no immediate need for secrecy. We made good progress with the water-cart. That clumsy vehicle grunted and jolted along the deep-rutted track under the light of the moon; and Sir Richard Pendragon, running beside it cheerfully, in high good spirits, whistled lusty ditties and sang ribald peasant songs in indifferent Castilian. When we passed a sentinel or a camp-fire we exchanged friendly greetings, and asked the hour of the night. Once or twice, it is true, we had to submit to curses for disturbing the repose of some weary trooper. To these we returned an appropriate pleasantry. The moon was still our friend by the time we came near to the mighty rock upon which was set the proud castle of Montesina. Here it was that our leader deemed other courses to be necessary. We were still within the lines of the King of Castile, for they extended to the base of the rock; also the lower portion of the steep winding track that led to the castle was in possession of his troops. Now, one of our leader’s wisdom did not need to be told that a water-cart would not be allowed to proceed to a garrison that was being starved into surrender. Therefore, as soon as the frowning face of the rock began to loom in our path, a new and very grave problem was presented to his strategy. Yet it appeared that even of this matter he had already had the wit to take cognisance.