Chapter 7 - 1299
The journey from the Provence casale to Nicosia was long and arduous. Initially, the road ran along the coast until it turned a left-angled bend. Henceforth it meandered up and down the hills and into the plain.
Provence’s breath turned to mist in the frigid air, but he rode oblivious to the cold and the snow, giving his mount its head to find its way through the mire. He contemplated the eight long years he had been deprived of his son Albert. The boy took off after Provence had tried to impose the marriage to Roussillon’s daughter on him. Maybe it was better this way, for Albert at least, for Provence would have to guard his back for the rest of his life.
Roussillon had not taken the news of Albert’s disappearance well. He had leaned forward belligerently, his mouth t
