A subtle realisation dawned upon me: we were both hungry, both in complete understanding of the fact there was nothing for it but to swallow our hunger and put it to the side, yet both of us were comfortable leaving off any further discussion on the subject. It was a small thing but just the sort of detail that enlightens one as to the suitability of one’s travelling companion. There had been other moments like it. Our sensibilities meshed well.

‘I also brought in a pastor to our village, an older, eloquent soul whom I succeeded in advancing through the hierarchy—’

But his words were cut off mid-sentence by a fearful development that struck before we could act. Several men wearing scarves over their mouths and noses and bearing torches ran out ahead of our approach, yelling at us and blocking our path.

‘Dismount from your horse, now, we command you!’ bellowed one of the men.

‘Lepers,’ Clovis said, turning to me, in a low voice. ‘They are hunting lepers.’

‘Not very well,’ I offered, being a bit familiar with this, as the southwestern town of Metz had one of the earliest leper houses in the realm. ‘Most people know better than to approach them this way.’

Hannibal neighed, bringing his head up several times. The torches were spooking him, and he cut back, jolting us from our seats. The men advanced again, and he reared up on his back legs with a loud neighing sound and I slid off his back. Clovis managed to stay on and coax him back down.

‘Shew us your skin,’ they persisted, drawing closer as Hannibal came down.

‘Remove yourselves at once!’ Clovis yelled, reaching for the knife in his holster. ‘Is this the voice of a leper? You can look at all the skin you want when I bury this thing in your chest up to the hilt. Who wants to be the lucky fellow, eh? Now off with you!’

Amid snarls and grumblings, the men departed. In all my years in Mainz, I had seen one leper out in public, wearing his bell, who went out of his way to avoid coming into close contact with me on my walk.