Chateau Comtal, Carcassonne
The sleepy little castle town of Carcassonne awakened early. From nearby villages came donkey carts laden with produce. In the air were sounds of wooden wheels; of bleating goats and braying donkeys trotting into market. By the time the church bells began ringing for the morning Angelus, merchants emerged like insects and commenced shouting their wares. At once, the soft hubbub of noises turned into an almost deafening cacophony of sounds. Another uneventful day in Carcassonne has begun.
Raengarde Galen, now 51 and plump as a fattened pig, pushed herself up in bed, her ears assaulted by the familiar noise. Continue reading “The Curse of the Trencavels – Chapter I”