walled garden. Though it was mid-afternoon, he was still clad in his nightshirt and dressing
gown. He looked old and haggard. A small garden beetle trundled slowly over his sandalled
foot, a magpie was strutting boldly about on the open windowsill. They were ignored by the
old man, who stared unhappily at the fading blooms bordering the gravel path. His mind was
elsewhere. The magpie spotted the beetle. It was about to descend on the insect and snatch i
when it was disturbed by footsteps. The bird flew off, giving the beetle an unknowing
extension to its short life.
Mathilde, the equally old but energetic cook, bustled into the gazebo, sniffing irately as she
placed a tray of food and drink on an ornamental table beside her master. 'Still sitting here
like a scarecrow, eh?'
Wiping the sleeve of his gown across both eyes, the comte replied wearily, 'Go away and
leave me alone, woman.'
However, Mathilde was not about to go away. She persisted, 'Can ye hear the market fair
outside? I can. Why don't you put on some decent clothing and get out there? 'Twill do you
good. Summer's almost gone, and you sit out here from dawn to dusk, day after day, like
some old cracked statue.'
He sighed, staring down at the beetle, which was laboriously crawling from his big toenail to
the floor. 'Give your tongue a rest, Mathilde. 'Tis my own business how I conduct my life.
Go back to your kitchens.'
Mathilde stubbornly tapped the tray and continued her tirade. 'You'll become an old skeleton,
eat something! You never touched the nice breakfast I served you this morning, so I've
brought you chicken broth with barley and leeks. Look, fresh bread, cream cheese and a glass
of milk laced with brandy. Taste it, that's all I ask, just take a little bit.'
The comte turned his lined face from her stern gaze. 'Take it away, I'm not hungry. Please,
give it to one of the servants. I have no appetite for food or drink.'
The faithful Mathilde knelt by his side, her voice softening. 'What is it, Vincente, what ails
you?'
Again he wiped the sleeve across his eyes. 'I'm an old fool—worse, an unthinking old fool.
On a silly impulse I sent three young people and a dog to their deaths!'
Mathilde stood up brusquely, her attitude hardening. 'Oh, 'tis that again, is it? Well, let me tell
you, sir, 'twas not your doing—they volunteered themselves to go. Hmph! Gypsies and
vagabonds, little wonder they never came back. If you ask me, they've probably joined up with
the Razan. They're creatures of a kind, all of them!'
The comte's eyes flared briefly, his voice sharpening as he pointed a finger toward the big
house. 'Go, you bad-mouthed old fishwife. Go!'
She bustled off in a huff, muttering aloud, 'Well, I've done my duty to the Bregons. Soon
we'll have a dead comte on our hands, one who starved himself into his grave. What'll become
of Veron then, eh? Those Razan'll march straight in and take over the entire place. Mark my
words!'
The comte spoke, not so much to answer her, merely ruminating to himself. 'Why does God
choose fools to rule? I was deluding myself that Adamo would be still alive after all these
years. That pretty young girl, those good young boys and their dog, their lives are lost now, all
because of a stupid old man's desires. Oh Lord, forgive me for what I've done!'
Garath, the comte's blacksmith and stable master, trudged up the three steps into the gazebo.
Placing a strong arm under the older man's elbow, he gently eased him into a standing
position. 'Time for you to go inside now, sir. Shall I send someone out to bring your food in
also? That soup still looks hot, you may fancy it later.'
Shaking his head, the comte allowed himself to be led off. 'Do what you wish with the food.
Take me to my bedchamber, Garath, I feel tired.'
It was the last day of the market fair, and a few people were leaving early owing to the long
journey home they would have to take. Seated in a two-wheeled cart drawn by a lumbering
ox, a farmer, together with his wife and teenage daughter, made their way to the gate in
Veron's walls. The cart was held up at the gateway. It could not proceed because of an
argument that was going on between two fresh-faced, newly appointed guards and five other
people. The farmer sat patiently, holding the ox reins, whilst the dispute outside the gate
carried on.
Karay's voice rang out. 'Five centimes? That's daylight robbery! It was only two centimes
apiece and one for the dog last time we came here! Go and get the comte, he'll be glad to let
us through for free!'
The tallest of the two guards, who was little more than a runaway farmboy, laughed at the
girl's claim. 'Hoho, personal friends of the comte, are we? Listen, girl, we may be new t'this
job, but we ain't soft in the head. Entrance fees to the fair have risen, how d'you suppose the
sergeant can make up our wages, eh?'
Arnela's voice replied with a dangerous edge to it. 'You keep a civil tongue in your head,
boy, or you'll feel the back of my hand. Where is your sergeant? Go and fetch him—he'll
certainly know what to do!'
The smaller guard was even younger than his comrade but was polite and serious. 'Marm, the
sergeant's having his meal in the big house kitchen. You'll have to wait until he comes back
here, neither of us is allowed to leave his post. If you pay us the entrance fee, then I'm sure
he'll be glad to sort out the difference with you later. Sorry, but 'tis more than our job's worth
to let you in free, you understand, marm?'
Karay's voice chimed in. 'So, then, how much d'you want?'
The taller guard took up the dispute again. 'Well, er five centimes apiece for the two ladies,
an' five each for the boys, an that, er, other person. Let's see, that's twenty centimes all told, if
y'please.'
Karay's scornful laugh rang out. 'Where did you learn to count?'
The guard continued, pretending to ignore her. 'We'll call it three for the dog, and er, say, one
centime apiece for those goats, when we've counted 'em!'
Arnela pushed forward, her temper growing short. 'Enough of this foolishness, let us in!
We've got business with the comte. Stand aside!'
The guard's spears crossed, blocking her path. The big woman pointed a warning finger at the
tall guard.
'D'you want me to take those spears and wrap them around your necks and give you both a
good spanking, eh?'
The farmer's wife came walking through the gate and entered the dispute. She took coins from
her purse, offering them to the guards. 'Let these folk through, take these five francs!' She
turned to Karay with a smile. 'Remember me, Veronique?'
The quick-witted girl recalled everything in a flash. She recognised the lady as the pancake
seller whose fortune she had told when they had first come to Veron.
'Oh, Madame Gilbert, what a pleasure to see you again. Thank you so much for paying our
toll. I'm, er, with some friends at the moment. We're a bit short of money, until I get a
fortunetelling engagement, you understand.'
The farmer's wife nodded knowingly. 'Of course, my dear Veronique.' She winked at Karay.
'After what you did for me that day, 'tis the least I can do. I'm no longer Madame Gilbert. I
married the farmer. I'm Madame Frane now, and very happy to be so. I acted on the good
advice you gave me. That's my husband and our daughter Jeanette in the cart. I sold the
pancake business at a handsome profit. My life is so happy now, thanks to you. Well, I must
go, we've got a long journey back to the farm. Good-bye, Veronique my dear—that is, if your
name really is Veronique?'
