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,
halting speech, "You are always hungry, Karay!"
She looked up at him fondly. "Huh, look who's talking. Have you noticed how much you can
put away?"
Comical innocence shone in Adamo's brown eyes. "I am bigger than you, Adamo needs more
food!"
Arnela was sitting in the gazebo with a tiny month-old nanny goat on her knee. Dominic
perched against the windowsill, painting them both. He had been given brushes, paints, canvas
and an easel, a gift from the comte. Ned came lolloping along. Sitting next to the big goatherd
woman, he placed a paw on her knee and gazed faithfully up at her and the goat.
The facemaker chuckled admiringly. "Stay like that, Ned, what a perfect tableau it makes.
Well done, boy, good dog!"
The black Labrador held his pose, emitting thoughts that would never reach Arnela or
Dominic. "Why d'you think I sat here? Anyone with half an eye could see the picture was off
balance. Note the way I present a noble profile in just the right light. If only someone would
let me paint, I'd dash off a few masterpieces with my tail. Hidden depths of talent, y'know,
quite common among us Labradors!"
The baby goat bleated. "Maaahaaah!"
Ned flicked it a glance. "Huh, who asked you?"
Lunch that day was not a snatch-and-bite-in-the-kitchen affair. Mathilde would not even let
them enter her domain; she shooed them all out.
"Go and get cleaned up, all of you, put on some fresh clothes, too. Go on!"
Adamo protested, "We are hungry people, feed us, 'Tilde!"
But even his plea did not move the old cook. "The master wants to join you in the dining
room, he told me so specially. Lunch will be served in one hour. Go away!"
Ned passed a thought to Ben as they went upstairs. "Maybe the comte wants to speak to us
about something in particular."
Ben paused on the stairway. "That's what I was thinking, too. I've been getting an uneasy
feeling for the past few days. We've been a long time in Veron, maybe a bit too long."
Ned licked the boy's hand. "Too much to hope that our angel has forgotten about us, I
suppose?"
Ben sighed. "I'll wager that angels never forget anything, mate." He shrugged and tried to
brighten up. "We're probably worrying over nothing. Come on, let's get dressed!"
He bounded up the rest of the stairs, laughing aloud at the dog's reply. "Dearie me, what shall
I wear to lunch?"
Vincente Bregon looked every inch the comte de Veron as he entered the dining room—
dressed in the finest silks and linens, his hair and beard neatly trimmed, his step vigorous and
steady. To the eyes of his guests he seemed many years younger. Seven places were laid for
the meal. Ned was underneath the table, already making inroads upon a slab of roasted pork
crackling. Ben, Dominic, Arnela, Karay and Adamo sat laughing and chattering with one
another, each of them clad in new outfits provided by their host's generosity.
The comte seated himself. Banging the tabletop with mock severity, he raised his voice:
"What? My guests sitting here staring at an empty board! Where's that lazy old cook of mine?
Dozing in front of the oven fire, I wager. Can't a man get a decent meal in his own house
anymore?"
Mathilde entered, leading two young maidservants who were pushing a trolley laden with
food. Her scornful wit was not lost upon her audience. She wagged a finger in the comte's
face. "The lunch has been ready this past quarter hour, waiting on you to dodder downstairs in
your bib and tucker. Dozing in front of the oven fire, indeed? The only time I'll do that is
when I've got you in the oven, baking some life into those old bones of yours, you crotchety
old codger!"
Ben and his friends shook with laughter as the pair exchanged good-humoured insults.
"Be silent, you frowzy old loaf-burner!"
"Yah, go and take a nap, you mumbling old chin-dribbler!"
The comte rose. "I'll not stand for that in my house, Madame!"
Mathilde winked at Karay and Adamo as she retorted, "Then sit down!"