Finally Guilhem had his horse. It was true, Montpellier had everything. Even fine Andalusian palfreys. His contacts delivered his new pride and joy, as promised when he had handed over that money in Montpellier.
He managed to hang on to his horse for exactly two weeks.
After two weeks, his cousin passed through, pretending to be a pilgrim. He had nothing to give her. He tried to get her to accept his French translation of Vegetius. Isabella refused it in the charming way only a precious child can.
“I love you without gifts,” she proclaimed, and spoiled it all by saying, “Besides, you’re stuck here, beyond civilisation. You need everything you can get.” Then she took his horse.
It was the fault of the pilgrims. Guilhem wondered why he had ever mentioned the Templars as desirable. Pilgri
