Kevin

I can't believe it. That lousy bleeder Robin gets me name wrong and now all the other carters are calling me Kevin.  I'm awful glad he off and went to Camelot with that Lancelot bloke. I know he's been cheating me. I is no man's fool. I can do me sums. So many dead bodies equals so many ninepence and I haven't been getting me share. The coward 's short changing me. I reckon he squirrels it away money for his "dressing up" and his dance lessons. Methinks I can do both our jobs without him.  Hauling the cart and the bodies is the hard part. I don't need 'im, I'll be better off.  Not having to share my part of the coin.  Robin? Him, a knight?  Pull the other one, it's got bells. Course the bells will just make him dance. If the fink doesn't run at the first sight of danger I'll give up carting for mud farming. More like he's going to end up me cart. I'll be pushing my cart outside the gates of Camelot and that chap Lancelot will drop his bloated corpse on the cart. When that day comes I'll be happy if they forgot to rummage through his trouser pockets before throwing him out.

Or better yet, what if I become a knight. But not one of 'em fancy prancy knights of "King" 'rthur, but a proper knight. I can do it. I could probably do it quite well. Pushing this cart around 'as given me a bit of might. Just need to teach meself to speak properly, maybe pick up a bitter of swordplay.  It occurs to me that I've been pushing this plague cart around and ain't even gotten a fever. Maybe I am invincible. Nothing can harm me. That's right. I must be invincible. I'll find me a sword and some armor and show that prat Robin what it means to be a knight. Maybe black armor. I always fancied wearing black. I bet I scare Robin witless. And then I'll scare everyone else and no one will ever call me Kevin again. I can see it now. Cor.