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to work.
    ‘Feeling a touch bilious, master? I can see you're suffering. You have a delicate constitution. Up all night with a bad stomach, I'll be bound. His Majesty the King suffers exactly the same trouble and I'm sure you know what he uses – wolf's dung. He wouldn't be without it. As luck would have it, I happen to have a packet here. And not ordinary wolf'sdung, this is imported all the way from Russia, as used by the King himself. Would His Majesty use anything but the best? He always insists on Russian dung, for everyone knows they have the strongest wolves.’
    The man waved his hand dismissively. ‘I have no need of such stuff.’ But his gaze lingered just a little too long on the packet for a man who was indifferent, and I knew I had a sale.
    ‘My apologies, sir, but you're looking so pale. I can't bear to see any nobleman suffering unnecessarily, but no matter, I have a good customer in Gloucester, the sheriff there. Perhaps you know him. He's desperate for all I can bring him. With the foreign ships not putting to sea and demand higher than ever, he's stocking up –’
    ‘I'll take it,’ the man broke in hastily. Then, recovering his business sense, added, ‘But you'll have to take rosewater for it. I have no money left. The price the merchant charged for this was extortionate.’ He pulled out a flask. ‘My wife insisted I bring her some back for her baking, but I'll tell her there was none to buy. It's good quality.’ He pulled off the stopper and waved the flask in the air, allowing the smell to waft out.
    Rosewater is no use to me. On the road, you need coins to buy food or goods that will keep long enough to sell at the next fair or the one after that. Rosewater, once unsealed, quickly loses its pungency or turns bad. I was about to refuse, when I heard a deep sigh next to me. Rodrigo had inched forward and was breathing in the sweet perfume. ‘It is excellent.’
    In three words Rodrigo had managed to destroy any bargaining power I had. The man sauntered away with his wolf's dung, confident that he had got the better of me.
    I rounded on Rodrigo. ‘Are you out to ruin me?’
    He gave a sheepish grin. ‘But I could not resist. I smell this and suddenly I am a little boy in Venice again. Always for Christmas children were given little figures of the Christ child made of marzapane. For days before the air was filled with the smell of almonds and rosewater and we could not wait to taste it. We tried to creep into the kitchens to steal just a little piece, but we never could.’
    I shook my head. I'd never heard of it.
    ‘It is a paste made from sugar, eggs and almonds and flavoured with rosewater. Very costly, that is why it was so special. I have not tasted such a thing since I left Venice. It is…’ he kissed the tips of fingers, ‘squisito ! To me it is the taste of Venice.’
    Annoyed though I was, I couldn't help smiling at his ecstatic expression. ‘You miss Venice very much?’
    ‘Even more now that we live on the road.’ He raised his eyes miserably to the heavy grey clouds. ‘I never intended to stay away so long. When this pestilence is past I shall return to my homeland. Jofre too. I will take him back, no matter what his father says.’
    The day we'd met in the inn, Rodrigo had me told that Jofre's father had sent him away. I'd thought nothing of the remark at the time; most boys are sent away to learn a trade or to serve in some great house. But most fathers would be overjoyed to see their sons again. Why would a father forbid his son's return?'
    Rodrigo's gaze was still resting on the flask of rosewater as if it was a magic potion which had the power to carry him home. He smiled wistfully. ‘Deo volente , as soon as the curse of this sickness is lifted from us, I will go back to the place of my childhood.’
    ‘But you can never return to that, Rodrigo. You can never again be what you were there. Just as a ewe rejects a lambthat has been separated from her, so your homeland