DARTMOOR, ENGLAND, NOVEMBER 1862
Ignoring the jagged splinters that thrust into his emaciated body, Markovic lay rigid beneath the rough planking of the cart, with filth dripping on him from above and the wheels jolting over the cobbles beneath. Clear above the pattering rain, he heard the wardens questioning the driver, their voices crisp and suspicious.
“Are you alone, driver?”
“Of course I"m b****y alone. You can see that.”
Markovic felt the slight jerk as a warden probed a pointed stick into the human excrement piled on the cart.
“What the hell are you doing?” The driver asked.
“Making sure nobody is hiding in there.”
“Good God, man, they"d suffocate, sure as death.” The driver sounded angry. “Let me pass, so I can dump this muck and get home.”
“You"d be surprised what some pri
