Pierre wiped his brow with the sleeve, stretching out laboriously. After a whole day of work, he could use some stretching. Next to him, his friend and chaingang fellow Louis stooped over, his hands on his knees. "Phew." - he opined - "Je peux voir Parsee d'ici."

"You sure can." - the gravelly voice of their overseer, a dwarf by the name of Erkule, shook both of them out of reverie - "Tha's it fer now, lads. Go gitcher food, ye earned it today."

"Avons-nous fini..." - Pierre began, then trailed off remembering once again that their overseer didn't speak a lick of the old tongue - "Uh... We be done this day?"

Erkule nodded without looking up from his tablet. "Done as of an hour ago, lad. Now go get fed, yer gettin' the hang of roadlayin' right fine." - he rumbled back.

Neither he nor Louis cared to argue. Truth to tell, neither of them was particularly unhappy with their current predicament either. Sure, they were on a chaingang, but Gillespies were nice enough to skip the chain part of it entirely, so long as they put in the labor as demanded. And the labor demanded was not beyond their ability either, come to think of it. As they neared the camp, they nearly bumped into a trio of other convicts. Pew, Ben and Israel used to be pirates... Or so they claimed, anyway. The first two were from Albic isles, and only gods themselves knew what land Israel was born in. Grand claims of high sea adventure beside, all five of them used to be on the same gang of brigands until their boss run into a Kraut spy and foolishly agreed to murder some nobles.

"Done with the gravel, chums?" - Israel greeted them jovially. Out of the five survivors, he ended up being their... Not leader, per se, but rather the elder they took advice from. Pierre lifted his hat briefly in a greeting, a motion repeated by Louis. Ben returned the favor as the only one behatted.

"Oui. Ça devait être deux quintals aujourd'hui." - Louis returned dutifully. Being the burliest in the group by far, Pierre and Louis were charged with hauling gravel and spreading it on the road. Pew and Ben handled the huge steel roller and Israel as the eldest and presumably most responsible was spreading the boiling tar with a long ladle on a pole. Between the five of them, they have managed to pave more than an arpent of the road today, which was their daily norm. Early days were the longest, as they learned to handle the tools, from dawn to dusk to begin with. That much was quite expected from chaingang work. What surprised them however was that learning how to do the job quicker did NOT earn them extra work. The norm was one arpent of road per day, and finishing earlier meant they were allowed to rest longer.

Getting back to the camp took them about twenty minutes of leisurely walking, exchanging idle talk about their admittedly boring circumstances. The weather was decent, the work was boring and nothing else happened at all. No one followed them, but none of the five even thought about running off. They all saw what happens to runaways. Gillespies were nice enough not to work them to the bone, yes, but they were also utterly ruthless to any sign of defiance. The last chap to try a runner, well. The rest of the laborers all passed by him the very next day, pinned to the tree with dozens of crossbow bolts. And that was the easy option. The guy before him, one that thought to attack the overseer, had been beaten by dwarven hammers until his limbs were nothing but bone crumble, then simply left by the roadside to expire as a lesson to the others on their chaingang. Pierre shuddered briefly as he remembered the pitiful cries of the moron. He learned THAT lesson well. Work honestly and you will be taken care of, rebel and the rest will walk past you and leave you to die in the ditch.

As they entered the camp, Israel as their elder stopped by the guard. "Third road crew reporting, monsieur." - he proffered - "Israel, Pierre, Ben, Pew and Louis. All workers accounted for and dismissed by foreman Erkule."

Guard considered the list briefly, then nodded. "Hit the kitchen and retire to the assigned tent." - he ordered, his attention already on the next approaching group. None of them saw any good reason to object.

Coming up to the kitchen, Pierre couldn't help but wonder. Normally, nobles could not care less about how convicts were treated like. Gillespies were not normal in the slightest. And one of those examples stood right in front of them. Field kitchen, as they called it, was a contraption of cast iron and heavy timber, wheeled wagon that was a humongous coal-fired stove and cauldron in a single hull. Pierre's mouth started watering as he lined up behind Israel with a bowl in his hands. He had heard stories about some lords feeding their convicts with nothing but mildewed grain and rotten legumes. Gillespies were different. Food was fresh and varied. Nothing fancy, obviously, just hale and hearty stews. Today was, uh... Thornday? Pierre sniffed the air again. Yes, Thornday, he confirmed to himself as he took in the heady aroma of fish stew. Tuneday and Caturday were meat days, Thornday was fish day. The rest of the week, their stew was either beans or potatoes.

He thanked pelle as the man slopped a scoop of stew right into his bowl, complete with a chunk of fish. He said nothing in return, but that was fine. The guy never bothered to talk to any of them. He DID, however, give some care to give the polite ones better portions, and so the entire third road crew quickly got into the habit of thanking the man with the ladle, verbal indifference notwithstanding. Pierre moved along, extending his free hand to receive a bun of rye bread on his way past the breadman. The whole meal procedure was a well-oiled routine for them by now, and everyone knew better than to disrupt anything. Guards made a point of not intruding on hungry convicts expressing their displeasure with the disruptive elements overnight.

On this day, however, their routine was interrupted. "Third crew?" - a thin man with an eyepatch inquired. Pierre shuddered briefly and wondered what they did wrong. That person was the quartermaster of the camp, maitre Soloturn, and third in command in the whole area, right after the captain of the guard and dwarven gaffer. As Israel cautiously admitted to being the third crew, maitre Soloturn scanned through the list on his own tablet and hummed.

"...Demerits... Commendations... hm." - apparently done with the list, maitre Soloturn gave them a crisp smile - "Rejoice. By the grace of duke Gillespie, all the crews who worked diligently and faithfully are being rewarded today." He turned around and pulled out a clay jug with a wooden stopper out of the crate. To Pierre's consideration, it was a quarte jug. Maitre popped the stopper open and swung the jug around slowly, letting them all have a sniff, then corked it back and handed the jug to Israel, who scrambled to receive it.

"Keep up the good work, and be thankful to duke Gillespie for his mercies. Diligence will be rewarded furthermore." - with those words, maitre Soloturn dismissed them to the tent.

Pierre maintained his silence until they huddled into the tent where they slept and ate. He knew better than to attract attention to their good fortune, even if it seemed that their crew was far from being the only one rewarded. Once inside, however, they all crowded around Israel as he gingerly pulled the stopper out again.

"Je n'ai pas bu de vin depuis l'été." - Louis breathed out heavily as all of them smelled the jug again. Israel corked it back quickly.

"Food first, lads." - he admonished - "Wine is not going anywhere."

"Gods above, we sure lucked out with the lord." - Pew grumbled - "Whoever even heard of convicts getting wine?"

"Have you heard master Soloturn?" - Ben piped in - "Digi... di-li-igent will be rewarded. And that's us, lads. We're gonna be rewarded."

Israel whapped Ben on the back of the head lightly. "We already got rewarded, boyo." - he rumbled - "But yer right. We work well, we get more of this coming up, if I get this right."

As it turned out, Israel was quite right, and maitre Soloturn had become the most adored sight in the camp in short order. Much to Pierre's surprise, the reward was not always wine. In fact, Pierre did not even know what the next week's reward was. He assumed initially that it was a loaf of bread (And wasn't that a disappointment after wine?) but his mother taught him to never waste food, and so he set about eating this loaf as well. The next thing he knew, he was staring at the empty platter and licking crumbs off his lips. That bread was SWEET! Like honey, except not quite. Later on, he found out that what he ate was called sweetroll and that it was prepared with zukerrohr, something he had never tasted before, but heard much about. This night, he visited the portable shrine in the camp and gave thanks to Lothak for making him a convict in Gillespie duchy. He ate like a lord, slept in a dry and warm tent and had steady work. As far as he was concerned, Pierre had it made.