Karay whispered in the good woman's ear as she kissed her cheek. 'Only when it suits me.
Bless you, Madame Frane.'
Garath had delivered the comte to his bedchamber. He sat in the kitchen, watching Mathilde
crimp the edges of a large plum pie as he worked his way through the tray of food that the
comte had left untouched. 'Mmmm, that plum pie looks good. Maybe he'll eat a slice for his
supper, eh?'
Mathilde made some chevron slits in the centre of the pastry. 'I hope he does, Garath. I'm
worried sick about the man— he's fading away from lack of good food. That, and the troubles
he's created in his mind.'
A timid rap on the kitchen door interrupted Mathilde's woeful musings. She raised her voice
irately. 'Yes, who is it?'
The smaller of the two guards poked his head around the door, respectfully pulling off his hat
and revealing a tousled mop of hair. 'Marm, I met the sergeant in the square and he told me
to bring these people to see the comte.'
Mathilde wiped floury hands upon her apron. 'People, what people?' A billy goat pushed his
way past the guard and wandered into the kitchen.
Mathilde grabbed her rolling pin, shouting, 'Yaaah! Get that beast out of my kitchen! Garath,
help!'
The guard was brushed aside as, knocking the door wide open, a herd of goats came bleating
into the room, followed by Ned and the rest of the party.
Mathilde immediately shouted at Ben, Dominic and Karay, brandishing the rolling pin. 'You
three, I might have known it! Gypsies, assassins, get out of my kitch—waaaahi'
She clapped a hand to one cheek. The pie was spoiled as the rolling pin fell into it. Mathilde
swayed, grasping the table edge as she stared at the man clad in bearskin.
Garath saw him too, and his voice trembled as he spoke. 'Monsieur Edouard... you're alive?'
Mathilde recovered herself quickly. 'Fool! That's not Edouard, 'tis his son, Adamo... but...
but... he's a grown man!'
Adamo pushed his way through the goats to the cook, who had been his nursemaid in infancy.
'Oh, 'Tilde!' He swept her up in both arms and lifted her onto the tabletop.
Mathilde would not let go of Adamo and rained kisses on him. 'See, Garath, he knows me.
'Tilde! That's the name he used to call me when he was little. Adamo! You've come back to
me! My Adamo!'
The unbaked plum pie had been swept off onto the floor. Pantyro, Clovis and Ajax the Less
began making short work of it, as Arnela watched them ruefully. 'I'd have enjoyed a slice of
that pie if it had been baked. It's years since I tasted a nice home-baked plum pie.'
It was quite a time before order was restored to the kitchen. Arnela herded her goats out into
the garden, where they immediately began eating flowers, grass, leaves and anything that
resembled food to them. Mathilde seated the five travellers at her table and began producing
food like magic. Each time she passed Adamo, she would hug him fondly.
'Here, my love, have some of this almond cake, and a dish of my vanilla custard. The beef
stew in the oven won't take long to heat, and the baked carrot and turnip. Garath, bring more
ale, and milk, too. Oh, I must pop some of that raisin flan in to warm up. Eat, all of you!
Come on, eat, eat!'
Crimson twilight of early autumn evening flooded through the kitchen windows as Garath lit
the lanterns. He kept turning to look at Adamo and shaking his head. 'We can't have you
walking in on the comte in that state, sir.'
Mathilde changed her juice-stained apron for a clean one. 'I should think not, 'twould frighten
the poor man to death! Garath, tell Hector to get hot water and fill up that big tub you keep in
the stables, put lavender water in it, too. I'll sneak up to Monsieur Edouard's old room—
there's a whole wardrobe of his clothes still there. He was almost as big as Adamo, they
should fit well enough. Then you can take that horrible bear's hide and burn it!'
Ned looked up from beneath the table, where he was munching on an enormous pork chop.
'Maybe Adamo would like to burn it, eh Ben?'
The boy caught his dog's thought and asked Adamo, 'Would you like to burn the bearskin, my
friend?'
A rare smile lit up the big fellow's face as he pointed to himself. 'I... burn ... it... Ben ... my
friend!'
The boy's strange blue eyes smiled back. 'I wager you will!'
After Garath had left him lying upon his bed, tiredness of both mind and body overcame the
old comte. He drifted into a deep sleep, unaware of any activities that were going on
downstairs. The few hours he lay there felt as long as a full night's rest. Therefore, he was
mildly surprised when he woke to the curtains being drawn open, revealing evening's glorious
scarlet sun rays flooding the bedchamber. Confusion set in on the old man. Was he awake, or
was it a dream? Shading his eyes, he blinked upward at the tall, handsome man who was
standing by the bed gazing calmly down at him. A strange and limited conversation took place
—the visitor spoke only one word. 'Pappa?'
Vincente Bregon shook his head. 'No, no, our father died many years ago, Edouard, a long
time ago. Edouard, is it you?'
Then the strange boy, Ben, this one who had eyes which had looked across seas and oceans,
came and sat upon the bed. 'No, sir, it isn't Edouard. This is his son, Adamo. We've brought
him back to you, just as we vowed we would.'
Unsure whether he was still awake or not, the old man nodded. 'Of course, Adamo never
knew his father. Pappa, that's what he used to call me. Ah, but that was before the Razan stole
him.'
Before anyone could stop him, Ned bounded up onto the bed and licked the old man's face.
Comte Vincente Bregon de Veron sat up straight, fully awake.
Seconds ticked by as he looked into the face of his long-lost nephew, then recognition
dawned. Taking the tall man's hands, he pressed his face into them. 'Adamo, my dear
brother's son, it is you? Adamo! Adamo!'
29
THREE MARKET FAIRS HAD COME AND GONE. Early mists drifted away into a crisp,
golden autumn morn. Ben gripped the iron tongs, holding a horseshoe against the front hoof of
a placid white mare. Smoke arose from the forged metal in a blue-grey cloud.
From his seat atop a hay bale, Ned winced, passing Ben a thought. 'Ooch! Didn't that hurt the
poor old nag? It was almost red hot!' Ben mentally answered his dog's inquiry. 'Of course it
didn't—horses enjoy having new shoes fitted. Garath's going to show me how to nail the shoe
onto her hoof now. Hold still, good girl, this won't take long.'
Ned cut in with a horrified thought. 'You mean you're going to hammer nails into the poor
mare's foot? I'm off, before you and Garath decide to give me a new set of shoes!'
Leaping off the bale, the black Labrador shot outside into the cobbled stable yard. Ned
narrowly missed being run down by two more horses that clattered in, with Karay and Adamo
on their backs. The girl called out needlessly, 'Mind yourself, Ned, or you'll get run down!'
Ned barked his disapproval at the words his mouth could not say. 'I'd sooner be run down
than have iron shoes nailed to my paws, miss. Have y'seen what those two are doing to a mare
in the stables? I'll bet Arnela doesn't do that to her goats!' He dashed off barking to find his
goatherd friend.
Karay laughed. 'Let's go and see what Mathilde's baking for lunch. Something nice, I hope,
I'm starving!'
Adamo helped her down from her horse. Tugging her hair playfully, he remarked in his slow,
