November 1101—in the forest south of the Beauvoir Pass
November 1101—in the forest south of the Beauvoir PassRolfe felt the cold as never before.
The wind wound its way beneath his heavy cloak, its fingers creeping under his tabard to chill his flesh. He shivered as he rode, knowing that winter had only just bared its teeth. It had not even snowed as yet.
Clearly, his years beneath Outremer’s sun had thinned his blood overmuch.
Wolves howled, their voices at greater proximity than Rolfe might have liked. He was in the forests that covered the flanks of the Alps to the south of the Beauvoir pass, and he knew it would become colder as he climbed higher. He regretted leaving Thierry and Luc in Milan, for he would have welcomed their company, but he was determined to arrive at Viandin well
