At first light, the fresh-faced landlord’s daughter knocked sharply on the bedroom door.
“Rise and shine, gentlemen.” She called, “father says your breakfast is served, when you’re ready.” She gave her customary giggle and went back downstairs.
“He looks after us well, doesn’t he?” Monaud said, splashing cold water from a bowl onto his face.
“He does, indeed, and it’s no coincidence he’s a Catholic like us,” Bertrand replied detachedly.
Their table in the empty tavern awaited them with still-warm bread, a basket of fruit and pitcher of milk.
“Ah, good morning to you, sires. Did you sleep well?”
“We did, thank you.”
“What do you have planned for today?” The landlord asked, sitting down beside them.
“We’re going to watch J -” Monaud was stopped short as Bertrand kicked his shin under
