“Wake up.” A kick in the ribs reinforced the instruction. “Now!”
It was the middle of the night. The air was full of the already familiar sounds of cattle making the noises they make multiplied by thousands and spread out in the night. As I struggled to awaken I could hear the sounds that the dogs made in their sleep, the odd whimper, the occasional sleepy growl. I ignored them. I'd have a drink in a minute. I felt about as rough as I ever had and really didn't want to be awake.
“We are going in, or I am.”
I moved. No way he was leaving me alone. I needed this if I were not to be damned to poverty forever, a patron with no influence or money and one ex-slave as a client. A disgraced exile living on charity in a foreign land. It took a while to get up. My whole body was stiff and complained at me and my head throbbed, my stomach threatened to rebel. I could hear the dogs faintly, whimpering and whining in their sleep. Thank god they were asleep. I still needed a drink.
“Now?” I asked blearily.
He pointed. Torches lit the night, a procession of men were crossing the bridge, a throng of them waiting to follow. No one was checking them, no one was passing them. They were going in en masse and were expected. I nodded. Easy to tack on the end and just walk in.
“Now,” I agreed, and we went.