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Updated: May 20, 2025
I will go with you if I may, Master. If Stefano is gone Goslar is no good place for me!" Alan remembered now that the jester had spoken in terms of friendship of Martin Bouvin. In any case they were now nearing the gate where the man stood waiting with the horses. Josian and Maddalena were already mounted.
As he shut the gate and slipped away he found Martin Bouvin keeping pace with him, "Do you know what has happened?" the little man asked. "The guests at the Prince's banquet came late into the street and found Simon raving about his gold. They questioned him, and he told them of a mysterious house where an old witch dwelt and changed into a young girl at sunset. The Prince knew the house.
In the central space was a seated figure playing on a harp, while around him were packed in a close group a lion, a ram, a bull, a goat, a crab, fishes, and other figures. Nobody at first saw what it could be. "If I mistake not," said the little stout man, Martin Bouvin, at last, "it is Sir Orpheus playing to the beasts." "To be sure!" cried Guy Bouverel.
As the servant held Alan's stirrup the Englishman looked down and saw under the hood the black piercing eyes and thin face of Giovanni. "It is all right," whispered the Milanese with a glance at Bouvin. "He can ride the pack-horse. His only reason for staying here was Stefano's business." The sleepy guard let them out without a look, and they rode on at a good pace toward the mountains.
Gilbert Gay the merchant, his wife Thomasyn and his son Nicholas were returning from France, and in their company were Alan of York and Josian his wife, Guy Bouverel the goldsmith, and others. West of Canterbury they came up with a stout bright-eyed little man who looked as if he had fed well all his life, and was called Martin Bouvin. "What luck, Martin?" asked Master Gay.
Also outside reputations, as of Doctor Bouvin and her mother, acknowledged celebrities in their branch of medicine. This chain, he said, has never been really broken. There was scarcely a great foreign university without some female student of high reputation. There were such women at Vienna and Petersburg; many such at Zurich.
He went into the alley where Martin Bouvin's little inn was and asked shelter for the night. "I go away to-morrow," he said, "and there is no returning to that place for hours to come." "H'm!" said the inn-keeper. "What really happened?" Alan explained. "My faith," commented Bouvin, decanting some wine into his guest's cup, "you are well rid of that fellow.
If you and the potter can come to an agreement, Bouvin, I will aid you in fitting up the building and you may repay me in dinners. There's not a cook this side Rouen who can match your chestnut soup." "Made with the yolk of an egg and a little wine of Xeres?" asked Guy with interest. "Giovanni made it so for us once." The merchant waved a protesting hand.
Master Gay intended to furnish a suite for himself and any of his friends who came that way. "And by the way," said Guy suddenly, "Cold Harbor will never do for a name. What shall you call the inn, Martin?" Bouvin snapped his fingers. "I have thought and thought until my head goes to split. I would call it Boulogne Harbor, but there is no picture you could make of that."
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