AVIGNON 29 December 1347 AD
Marius did not look back to his wife and son. His focus had to be on the journey ahead, to a town unknown and strange to them that would determine their future. Day had dawned, and if he kept its weak December rays to his left, the route would lead south to the river Rhone. A sturdy oak thumb-stick he had whittled served to beat through the forest undergrowth where shrub hindered progress. It would do as a cudgel, should it be needed. Into a cord round his waist he pushed a well-honed dagger. "I know not what manner of wild beast I may encounter, so I will be prepared. When we were young, tales of wizards and werewolves frightened us so we never dared venture into the dark wood."
It was not far before the track narrowed to a path which, in turn, died away. "I
