Read Online Trail of Fate by Michael Spradlin - Free Book Online

crossroads.
    â€œTristan, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Maryam said. “Do you think we might be able to find something to eat here besides grapes?”
    We stood off to the side of the trail and watched what few people there were in the village milling about. The church looked deserted, and we were too late in the day for morning mass. A small blacksmith shop was busy, and a few women gathered near a well across the path from the inn.
    â€œLet’s give it a try,” I said, heading toward the inn.
    Angel waited, curled up in a bed of grass a few steps off the trail. Maryam and I crossed through the center of the village and entered the front door. It was dark inside, with only one window at the front letting in any light, and smelled like wet dirt and wood smoke. A small fireplace with a sputtering flame took up one end of the room, and a doorway covered by a cloth curtain led away to the back. No one was in the main room, but we heard the sounds of activity beyond the curtained door.
    â€œSalut?” I called out. Hello.
    The curtain was pulled back and a woman of indeterminate age emerged. She wore a simple peasant frock of gray cloth, and a brown head scarf. She eyed us suspiciously, and for an instant a tremendous weight pressed down on me. I had a vision of Sir Hugh riding into the village and questioning this woman. She would tell him how we’d stopped here just a few short days ago and which direction we’d headed. But we needed food. There was no way around it.
    This was never going to work. I was stuck here, and could speak enough French to get by, but Maryam and I could never pass as natives. As soon as I asked for food, she would know I was an outsider. Sir Hugh would be able to find us easily.
    I spoke to the woman in the best French I could muster, silently cursing myself for not paying closer attention when Brother Rupert had sought to teach me his native tongue.
    â€œAliments, s’il vous plaît ? ” I asked, pointing to Maryam and myself.
    She said nothing, moving to the fireplace where an iron pot hung on a hook over the coals. Using the front of her smock, she lifted the kettle off the hook and brought it to the table, motioning for us to sit. I peered into the kettle and saw some type of still-bubbling pottage.
    The woman went through the curtain and returned seconds later with two wooden bowls and spoons, a small loaf of bread and an earthen jug. She sat it all on the table before us and made motions for us to fill the bowls and eat. So we did.
    The pottage tasted far better than it looked. Maryam smiled and concentrated on eating. The woman reappeared with two cups and poured wine from the jug, and Maryam’s eyes went wide.
    â€œTristan,” she whispered. “I’m forbidden to drink wine.”
    â€œGive me a minute. I’ll try to distract her somehow,” I said.
    The woman stood a few paces away, watching us. I lifted my mug and raised it in her direction.
    â€œCroisés!” I said, letting her know we were Crusaders. Perhaps I could win us some points by appealing to the woman’s sense of Christian duty. She smiled and nodded, then left for the back room again. I drank down a large gulp of wine and quickly poured what was in Maryam’s cup into my own. A few seconds later the woman emerged with a small wheel of cheese, setting it on the table before us.
    My mouth watered at the sight of it, and I took a proffered slice. I placed it on a slice of bread and bit into it. What a delight. After many days of nothing but dates, grapes and figs, and whatever we could scrounge up, it tasted wonderful.
    A familiar barking sounded from just outside the door. I thought Angel might have smelled the food and was hungry herself. Wearily I rose to my feet and took a small chunk of cheese. I was about to open the door when she growled, and I froze. I then stepped to the dirty window and peered out at the crossroads.
    The