Domaine du Saut au Loup
The merchant drew his red woollen cloak tighter around his chest as continued the ascent towards the crest; he knew once he was over it he would catch sight of the royal fortress of Chinon on the far side of the river, and the warm glow of light coming from the windows of the town’s many dwellings below. The sun was in the process of setting behind the distant trees, and night was drawing in, but safety, a good meal and a pitcher of the local wine, followed by a bed for the night, were not far away.
It had been a long journey by foot, up past the new town of Richelieu, and the little hamlet of Ligré. He had taken his usual route, past Le Carroir Bon Air, the pile of stones left there by Gargantua or Pantagruel many millennia ago, probably during the course of one of their palet games. Then the road had begun to climb, past the noble residence at the heart of the roadside vineyard, towards the dense pocket of woodland which ran up the slope and over the other side. Before long the trees had begun to close in on either side, their contorted forms creating curious shadows on the ground in the cool, icy moonlight.
This was the most dangerous part of his journey; he had even heard of people disappearing in the woods. Some said they had been taken by a wolf, but he was having none of that. It was much more likely they had been attacked by bandits, robbed, kidnapped or murdered; none of these three fates held any appeal for the merchant. He wondered what he would do if he were confronted by a gang of armed brigands, eager to relieve him of his purse.
“Run, I suppose”, the merchant said out loud, chuckling to himself.
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