1001 Nights Cast

The inn at La Roque Gageac was backed into the great cliff along with the rest of the village. Jacques and his master sat at a table at the front and gazed out over a moonlit stretch of water. It was late and the air was still. They had eaten a small meal of beef, potato and sweet corn that they now washed down with a pichet of pinot.

‘Well, Jacques, at last we can rest our bones. No thanks to that scrounger Reynard!’

‘We might have guessed master, that he would be ahead of us.’

‘Just the same I would have thought that at the rate he was travelling after you trounced him that he might have at least been well beyond Castelnaud by now or even Beynac-et-Cazenac. To think that the cunning dog has taken the only available guest room! They should have put him in the stables or the barn! Did you see him there? Sitting at the kitchen table with that squint-eyed smirk of his. Hiding behind the skirts of the farmer’s wife if you ask me.’

‘Be that as it may master, let us just be pleased that we have a roof over our head, a good meal, a good red wine, a friendly enough host and your horse looked well pleased by a long cool drink and the sack of oats you bought him. Tomorrow we will give him a long swim in the Dordogne.’

‘You are right of course, Jacques.’

They settled back, stretched out their legs and gazed across the river. Jacques poured his master another glass of wine. His master nodded for the servant to pour one for himself.

This was the scene that Diderot and I saw as we rounded the bend in the river. The flickering lights of the village that ranged up the cliff face were going out. The inn alone remained alive yet tranquil. We both pulled our hoods over our heads. Before we were in hearing range I said to my companion.

‘I’m glad that I ran into you Monsieur Diderot. But I must say that it was with some trepidation.’

‘Why is that, pray tell?’

‘I have not been sure if you would agree with the way things have turned out. Do you think that I should have left Reynard at the farmhouse?’

Diderot replied, ‘The master had great self-control I must say. That was just within the limits of his character. Of course I am inclined to think that our readers have developed something of a regard for Reynard—a regard that borders on respect. Perhaps we should ask them what should happen next. Should Reynard arrive unexpectedly tomorrow morning and give the master a bit of a turn? I would think that he would like to have a good farm breakfast before he moves on. Does he have another scheme up his sleeve for some more revenge?’

‘I think he may have had enough for the moment. It is more in his character now to seek out a house of ill repute and have himself a good time. He’s not one to hold a grudge for long. But having read your books I feel as if…’

‘Please, do not concern yourself for a moment! Did Monsieur Sterne complain when I took inspiration from his Tristam? Not at all. Just think that in the future, an artist in the mysterious lands of the Antipodes whose life we cannot yet envision is likely to take my stories and play with them, as she will! How could I begrudge you? But quiet now. We are close to the inn.’

His voice had dropped to a whisper and we pulled our cloaks closer and our hoods over our forelocks.

‘Now, when we get there, it might be that they will recognise me mainly from my voice. So we must be silent. You can engage the innkeeper with our requests. I will go to the back. Remember, we cannot sit together. It would attract the master’s attention. He has such an ear for intrigue and indiscretion. He will imagine something where there is inclined to be nothing! I will think up a plan for the morning after they have swum the horse.’

I slid past Jacques and his master like a shadow. The innkeeper came out from the depths of the cave. He was wiping his hands on a cloth. He nodded to Diderot and questioned me with his black eyes. After I had made the necessary sleeping arrangements, I ordered for Diderot and myself some beef, potato, a small pichet of wine then sat at a table across from Diderot. I dropped my hood and with my back to the two weary travellers, listened in a casual and yet interested way. Perhaps I could take some cue from them as to what might happen next.

‘Well Jacques, I think that the hour is late and…What in the name of…! What on…!’

Jacques sprung to his feet and reached for his staff.

‘Retire into the inn master! There is something in the stable! Call the innkeeper! He and I will see to it! Ask him to bring a lamp!’

The master stumbled past me. The innkeeper came running. He swept up a lamp from the end of the bar. He had a cudgel in his strong brown fist. ‘Stay where you are’, he said to me as he passed.

It was just at that moment that I noticed the pilgrim sitting on the other side of the inn. Diderot was gone and the pilgrim was reading from a girdle book that he had uncinched from his waistband. We were alone. He folded the book and snapped it closed with its metal clasp. He took the knot in his hand and swung it menacingly. Good Fortune! I thought, am I to be clubbed to death by a Bible after all!