Bartholemy tethered his pony to the hitching rail outside the cluster of black-timbered buildings, stomped his feet to bring some life into them, and went through the door.
The blast of heat from the fire caused him to halt, turn his head and wait for a moment. He pushed the door closed and took in his surroundings.
A wide room, trestle tables assembled close to opposite walls, a few weary travellers stooped over bowls of steaming broth. Smoke trailed from the blazing fire to the roof before it travelled across to the vent in the far corner, but not before it left behind the residue of various smells; dung, turf and peat. Windows were shuttered, to keep out as much cold as possible, and torches hung from sconces set high on the walls, whilst tallow candles guttered, giving off a feeble,
