cobblestones and pushed the heavy entrance door open letting Salam enter first. There was a good strong fire going in the hearth of what was obviously someone’s home and they quivered with pleasure at the warmth of the place.
A young boy of about twelve jumped up from a bench at the table and ran towards Kalaan grinning.
“Oy’ve kept the house well cap’n!” he shouted proudly. Despite his sleepy eyes and obvious fatigue he could not hide his joy at seeing Kalaan.
“Well done, my boy.” The count congratulated him and affectionately ruffled his blond locks.
He took a pouch out of his pocket and filled the boy’s open hands with five-franc coins. It was truly a fortune, but the boy deserved it. He and his mother, one of the castle servants, took good care of the house. In the winter he collected tinder and kept a fire going to keep the humidity at bay. When he heard the cannon shots, he must have come up from the village to rekindle the fire and wait for the lord of Croz, instead of running to the levee like the others and jumping into his father’s arms.
“Ohhh... all this?” The boy could hardly believe his eyes. He quickly put the coins in his pockets after quickly inspecting them for holes.
“You’ve done good work Gerald; now run join your parents! They must be home by now and I’m sure you cannot wait to see your father.”
“Oh ya, cap’n!” Gerald exclaimed before running off as fast as he could. He returned quickly a moment later to close the door he had left open and ran off again, his wooden clogs sounding loudly on the cobblestones.
Salam smiled, watching the child through the window and turned to Kalaan who was looking strangely at Salam’s feet. The Tuareg lowered his eyes in the same direction and realized he was standing in a puddle on the waxed floorboards.
“Let us rid ourselves of this wet clothing.” Kalaan went to the fireplace and placed several high-backed chairs in front of the hearth. He removed his heavy coat and threw it on a chair, then went to sit on one of the benches to remove his boots and socks, which he threw aside paying no heed to where they landed.
Salam showed more discipline. He neatly placed the cape he had been lent over the back of one of the chairs, then took off his shoes and placed his socks side by side in front of the fire. He took the towel Kalaan handed him with a teasing smile, but rather than dry himself, he mopped up the puddles they had made.
“Aren’t you a real little lady of the house!” laughed the count, teasingly.
“We will see who the real lady is in less than an hour,” Salam coolly replied raising his eyebrows.
Kalaan broke out laughing, putting Salam in a good mood, which he was careful to hide. Sometimes it felt very good to mark a point and take the arrogant young man down a peg or two.
“You would do well to remove your cheich and your takakat ,” Kalaan suggested. “You will become ill if you stay in those wet clothes. I should add that cloth on your head has no use here.”
He walked over to a typical old Breton wardrobe standing against one of the walls. Salam ignored the advice and began to examine his surroundings. They were in the living quarters and kitchen of a longhouse, a place where people gathered for meals and discussions around the fire.
“Waxed hardwood floors, beautifully worked furniture and rich cloth, everything in this house reflects your rank in society, but it is not a castle.”
“That is because I am much happier here than in the family fortress,” Kalaan replied, suddenly clenching his teeth.
He was beginning to feel the early signs of the upcoming transformation and to hide his pain he went into further explanations.
“I do not like to live in the fortress, for there are too many memories of my father, Maden.”
“You did not get on well with him?”
Kalaan turned around after opening one of the wardrobe doors. He was tense and Salam thought he caught a hint of sadness in his
A young boy of about twelve jumped up from a bench at the table and ran towards Kalaan grinning.
“Oy’ve kept the house well cap’n!” he shouted proudly. Despite his sleepy eyes and obvious fatigue he could not hide his joy at seeing Kalaan.
“Well done, my boy.” The count congratulated him and affectionately ruffled his blond locks.
He took a pouch out of his pocket and filled the boy’s open hands with five-franc coins. It was truly a fortune, but the boy deserved it. He and his mother, one of the castle servants, took good care of the house. In the winter he collected tinder and kept a fire going to keep the humidity at bay. When he heard the cannon shots, he must have come up from the village to rekindle the fire and wait for the lord of Croz, instead of running to the levee like the others and jumping into his father’s arms.
“Ohhh... all this?” The boy could hardly believe his eyes. He quickly put the coins in his pockets after quickly inspecting them for holes.
“You’ve done good work Gerald; now run join your parents! They must be home by now and I’m sure you cannot wait to see your father.”
“Oh ya, cap’n!” Gerald exclaimed before running off as fast as he could. He returned quickly a moment later to close the door he had left open and ran off again, his wooden clogs sounding loudly on the cobblestones.
Salam smiled, watching the child through the window and turned to Kalaan who was looking strangely at Salam’s feet. The Tuareg lowered his eyes in the same direction and realized he was standing in a puddle on the waxed floorboards.
“Let us rid ourselves of this wet clothing.” Kalaan went to the fireplace and placed several high-backed chairs in front of the hearth. He removed his heavy coat and threw it on a chair, then went to sit on one of the benches to remove his boots and socks, which he threw aside paying no heed to where they landed.
Salam showed more discipline. He neatly placed the cape he had been lent over the back of one of the chairs, then took off his shoes and placed his socks side by side in front of the fire. He took the towel Kalaan handed him with a teasing smile, but rather than dry himself, he mopped up the puddles they had made.
“Aren’t you a real little lady of the house!” laughed the count, teasingly.
“We will see who the real lady is in less than an hour,” Salam coolly replied raising his eyebrows.
Kalaan broke out laughing, putting Salam in a good mood, which he was careful to hide. Sometimes it felt very good to mark a point and take the arrogant young man down a peg or two.
“You would do well to remove your cheich and your takakat ,” Kalaan suggested. “You will become ill if you stay in those wet clothes. I should add that cloth on your head has no use here.”
He walked over to a typical old Breton wardrobe standing against one of the walls. Salam ignored the advice and began to examine his surroundings. They were in the living quarters and kitchen of a longhouse, a place where people gathered for meals and discussions around the fire.
“Waxed hardwood floors, beautifully worked furniture and rich cloth, everything in this house reflects your rank in society, but it is not a castle.”
“That is because I am much happier here than in the family fortress,” Kalaan replied, suddenly clenching his teeth.
He was beginning to feel the early signs of the upcoming transformation and to hide his pain he went into further explanations.
“I do not like to live in the fortress, for there are too many memories of my father, Maden.”
“You did not get on well with him?”
Kalaan turned around after opening one of the wardrobe doors. He was tense and Salam thought he caught a hint of sadness in his
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