Iacobus by Asensi Matilde

Author:Asensi, Matilde [Asensi, Matilde]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Published: 2013-08-13T05:00:00+00:00

“I think it’s going to rain,” said the boy as we went outside, looking up at the sky covered with clouds.

“Maybe, which is why we should get a move on.”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something, sire.”

“What is it?” I asked distractedly as we were walking over the extraordinary bridge again.

“Do you remember that count who threatened you in Saint Gilles?”

I came to a stop on the top of the bridge. The city seemed to be drowning in a foggy haze at our feet.

“Yes. What about him?”

“He’s been following us since we passed through Obanos.”

“He’s been following us since we left Avignon,” I growled, resuming my pace.

“True, sire, but now he’s being more brazen about it. I’m telling you this because I think he wants to talk to you again.”

“If he wants to talk to me he knows what he has to do!”

My mood was suddenly as black as the afternoon. I was no longer interested in visiting the city. The sad truth was that I didn’t have a single damn clue that would lead me to the gold — except, perhaps, the insignificant capital in Eunate which could end up being nothing more than an error by the master mason — and Joffroi of Le Mans knew it, he knew that my hands were empty. That’s why he was trying to intimidate me. His ostentation was nothing more than pressure. I was perfectly aware of my failure without all of his bravado. A dreadful thunderbolt clapped in the sky and remained vibrating in the air, as if it had split the universe in half with a stone and the pieces were crumbling.

“It’s about to rain, sire.”

“Fine. Let’s go into that tavern,” I grumbled.

Hanging over the door was a crude wooden carving of a small undulating snake, hanging from an iron pin. Underneath it, in Gothic letters, was the word: ‘Coluver’ (25).

“The owner must be French,” I said as I pushed the door open.

“The owner and all his customers,” added Jonas, surprised, when we were inside.

An impassable mass of villagers and Franc pilgrims filled the tavern with an awful racket. I instinctively covered my nose with my hand to avoid smelling the unpleasant odor of human underarms.

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