supper, eh?"
Mathilde made some chevron slits in the centre of the pastry. "I hope he does, Garath. I'm
worried sick about the man— he's fading away from lack of good food. That, and the troubles
he's created in his mind."
A timid rap on the kitchen door interrupted Mathilde's woeful musings. She raised her voice
irately. "Yes, who is it?"
The smaller of the two guards poked his head around the door, respectfully pulling off his hat
and revealing a tousled mop of hair. "Marm, I met the sergeant in the square and he told me
to bring these people to see the comte."
Mathilde wiped floury hands upon her apron. "People, what people?" A billy goat pushed his
way past the guard and wandered into the kitchen. "Maaaahaah!"
Mathilde grabbed her rolling pin, shouting, "Yaaah! Get that beast out of my kitchen! Garath,
help!"
The guard was brushed aside as, knocking the door wide open, a herd of goats came bleating
into the room, followed by Ned and the rest of the party.
Mathilde immediately shouted at Ben, Dominic and Karay, brandishing the rolling pin. "You
three, I might have known it! Gypsies, assassins, get out of my kitch—waaaahi"
She clapped a hand to one cheek. The pie was spoiled as the rolling pin fell into it. Mathilde
swayed, grasping the table edge as she stared at the man clad in bearskin.
Garath saw him too, and his voice trembled as he spoke. "Monsieur Edouard... you're alive?"
Mathilde recovered herself quickly. "Fool! That's not Edouard, 'tis his son, Adamo... but...
but... he's a grown man!"
Adamo pushed his way through the goats to the cook, who had been his nursemaid in infancy.
"Oh, 'Tilde!" He swept her up in both arms and lifted her onto the tabletop.
Mathilde would not let go of Adamo and rained kisses on him. "See, Garath, he knows me.
'Tilde! That's the name he used to call me when he was little. Adamo! You've come back to
me! My Adamo!"
The unbaked plum pie had been swept off onto the floor. Pantyro, Clovis and Ajax the Less
began making short work of it, as Arnela watched them ruefully. "I'd have enjoyed a slice of
that pie if it had been baked. It's years since I tasted a nice home-baked plum pie."
It was quite a time before order was restored to the kitchen. Arnela herded her goats out into
the garden, where they immediately began eating flowers, grass, leaves and anything that
resembled food to them. Mathilde seated the five travellers at her table and began producing
food like magic. Each time she passed Adamo, she would hug him fondly.
"Here, my love, have some of this almond cake, and a dish of my vanilla custard. The beef
stew in the oven won't take long to heat, and the baked carrot and turnip. Garath, bring more
ale, and milk, too. Oh, I must pop some of that raisin flan in to warm up. Eat, all of you!
Come on, eat, eat!"
Crimson twilight of early autumn evening flooded through the kitchen windows as Garath lit
the lanterns. He kept turning to look at Adamo and shaking his head. "We can't have you
walking in on the comte in that state, sir."
Mathilde changed her juice-stained apron for a clean one. "I should think not, 'twould frighten
the poor man to death! Garath, tell Hector to get hot water and fill up that big tub you keep in
the stables, put lavender water in it, too. I'll sneak up to Monsieur Edouard's old room—
there's a whole wardrobe of his clothes still there. He was almost as big as Adamo, they
should fit well enough. Then you can take that horrible bear's hide and burn it!"
Ned looked up from beneath the table, where he was munching on an enormous pork chop.
"Maybe Adamo would like to burn it, eh Ben?"
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!"
The comte chuckled. He patted the empty chair next to him. "No, no, Mathilde, 'tis you who
must sit down, here, right beside me. Let the maids serve our lunch today."
Mathilde protested. "Cooks don't sit at table with the master, who ever heard of such a thing?"
But the comte of Veron would brook no argument. "Madame, I am ordering you to sit and
dine with us. When lunch is over, I have things to say which concern us all!"
The meal was delicious. A steaming mushroom soup was followed by salad and a collation of
cheeses, ham, brown bread, eggs and a grilled carp. Over a dessert of hot summer pudding
and cream they sipped cider, fruit juice and glasses of the local wine mixed with fresh
springwater.
Ben nodded and smiled at the amiable banter and conversation of his friends. However, he
heard little of it as he and Ned exchanged apprehensive thoughts.
The dog's paw touched his master's foot beneath the table as Ned voiced his opinion. "I don't
know why, Ben, but I'm beginning to feel rather uneasy about something or other. I can't think
what it is."
The boy reached down and stroked his Labrador's silky ear. He had forgotten the message that
the angel had woven into his dreams when he first met Karay. That night in the forest seemed
so long ago and faraway.
He answered Ned, trying not to sound perplexed. "I expect our angel will let us know if
anything's amiss. Strange, but I can't remember any warning the angel gave me about moving
on, can you?"
Ned poked his head out from under the tablecloth hem. "No, I don't recall a thing—that's
what's bothering me."
Around the table it had gone suddenly quiet. Dominic nudged Ben's arm and whispered to
him, "Sit up straight, friend. You look half asleep there. The comte has something to say to
us!"
Ben suddenly became attentive. "What? Oh, er, sorry!"
The comte drew from his finger the large gold ring that bore his family's crest. It was far too
large for him and slipped off easily. He placed it on the little finger of Adamo's right hand,
where it fitted snugly.
"This was your father's ring. He was the rightful lord of Veron. The ring carries the Bregon
seal: a lion for strength, a dove for peace, and a knotted rope symbolising union and
togetherness. Adamo Bregon, son of Edouard, my brother, you are now to be known as comte
de Veron, as is your birthright!"
The others around the table applauded warmly. Even Ned emerged from beneath the table, his
tail wagging furiously. Wiping a joyful tear away with her apron corner, Mathilde turned to
the new comte. "Well, sir, are ye not going to say something to us all, a nice speech maybe?"
Adamo stood up. He looked so tall and strong, yet so calm and happy. His broad face broke
into a smile, which touched the hearts of everyone present. Then he bowed and kissed Karay's
hand, speaking haltingly. "You will be my comtesse, Karay... please?"
The girl's answer was inaudible—she merely nodded once.
The old comte took both their hands in his. "I have watched you both. This is what I was
hoping for. As for my other friends, Ben, Dominic and our faithful Ned, I have asked myself
what I can do to repay you for restoring Adamo to me. You are not servants—it would be
churlish and ill mannered to offer you money. But I know that you have no parents to care for
you. In view of this I have reached a decision. In a few days we will go together on a journey.
Toulouse will be our destination. There, at the cathedral, I will consult the bishop, and then I
will speak with the justices of my wishes, so that all people will know: I intend to give you
both my name, adopting you as my sons. Together you will live here as part of our family. As
for you, my dearest Mathilde, you shall become a lady companion of our household. No more
cooking and working in kitchens . . ."
Neither Ned nor Ben heard the rest of Vincente Bregon's speech. Like lightning at midnight,
the angel's message flooded into their minds, blotting out all else.
"A man who has not children
Will name you as his son.
In that hour you must be gone!
Turn your face back to the sea,
You will meet another one,
A father with no children,
Before you travel on.
Help him to help his children,
As his kinsman would have done."
Ben heard Mathilde's voice as the import of the command hit him. She was interrupting the
old comte. "No such thing, sir. I'm not going to sit about with nothing to do for the rest of my
days. Cook I am, and cook I stay! No silly young girl is going to take charge of my kitchens.
Ben, are you alright, boy? You've gone white as a sheet."
The boy stood up, swaying slightly, his mind in a daze as he made up a suitable reply. "I'll be
fine in a moment, thanks. A little too much of your good wine, Mathilde, even though there
was water in it. Please, don't fuss, I'll go and take a walk in the fresh air. I'll be alright soon.
Ned will come with me."
Dominic, the Facemaker of Sabada, stared into his friend's clouded blue eyes. They were
distant and sad. "Ben, do you want me to come with you?"
The boy knew that his friend could see the truth of what was about to happen. Ben shifted his
gaze fondly from the old comte, to Mathilde, then from Adamo to Karay, and finally back to
Dominic. He blinked a few times. "No, mate, you stay here. I only need Ned to go with me."
Then the boy and his dog left the room.
30
FOUR DAYS LATER, in the late afternoon, Ben and Ned sat on the dunes, staring out to sea
at the Gulf of Gascony. All the tears they could cry had been shed. They had travelled fast,
both night and day, stopping only to catch a brief hour's rest here and there when weariness
The Angel's Command fd-2 Page 32
