The gray-clad man stops a moment, in part as he needs to catch his breath, in part as he wants to take a look at the other man, who remained silent before the threshold - he can just make him up as a motionless shadow, next to the black servant.
"Then grandpa died", he goes on telling his story, "and we continued fighting, first for our land, then for whomever paid us the best money ... we fought for Genua, for Pisa, for Aragona, for the German prince-bishops against the Hungars and the Frisians, for the Ceasar in Bisantium against the Persians and the Huns, even for the Caliph of Cordoba against the Cid Campeador ... I was following my father, and I knew that he kept with him a thing that the grandpa had meant should be given back to its legitimate owner poitta fiat ferru malu1 ... so that when my father died under the walls of a city whose name I can't anymore remember ... but it was a city of Moors, faccis nieddas2 like you, saint man ... that thing was passed on to me and with it the promise. And here I am."
The bearded man unfolds the leather and something drops on the table with a ringing sound. The old man cannot see it, but he can guess it is the curved-blade dagger, the one that had been taken from him years ago, and had been used to gouge out his eyes.
"He stored it away and never wanted to use it for anything else ... honest things like gelding pigs or skinning sheep ... not the right things for a weapon made to kill and maim men ... ferru malu, de genti ki beni de mare3 ... nothing good, so it had to go back to you ..."
"So many years ..." said the old man in a soft voice reaching for the knife with a trembling hand "And you ..."
"Then grandpa died", he goes on telling his story, "and we continued fighting, first for our land, then for whomever paid us the best money ... we fought for Genua, for Pisa, for Aragona, for the German prince-bishops against the Hungars and the Frisians, for the Ceasar in Bisantium against the Persians and the Huns, even for the Caliph of Cordoba against the Cid Campeador ... I was following my father, and I knew that he kept with him a thing that the grandpa had meant should be given back to its legitimate owner poitta fiat ferru malu1 ... so that when my father died under the walls of a city whose name I can't anymore remember ... but it was a city of Moors, faccis nieddas2 like you, saint man ... that thing was passed on to me and with it the promise. And here I am."
The bearded man unfolds the leather and something drops on the table with a ringing sound. The old man cannot see it, but he can guess it is the curved-blade dagger, the one that had been taken from him years ago, and had been used to gouge out his eyes.
"He stored it away and never wanted to use it for anything else ... honest things like gelding pigs or skinning sheep ... not the right things for a weapon made to kill and maim men ... ferru malu, de genti ki beni de mare3 ... nothing good, so it had to go back to you ..."
"So many years ..." said the old man in a soft voice reaching for the knife with a trembling hand "And you ..."
(continues)
(previous)
1 poitta fiat ferru malu because it was an evil iron
2 faccis nieddas blackfaces
3 ferru malu, de genti ki beni de mare evil iron, of people who come from the sea
