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The winter of that year was bitterly fierce, the young knight was met with biting, squally snow and wind as he stepped ashore. The look on his face spoke volumes: After three months of being tossed about in that leaky little cog, to be confronted with this, it said. He bundled his cloak closer about his shoulders, shaking some snow from his mane. He looked along the wharf, at the huddled row of higgledy-piggledy warehouses and merchants' shops that lined the dock, the snow and wind turning them from time to time into a vague blur of browns and greys. St.-Michael's-Port was not showing its visitors its most alluring face.

Reluctantly, the lion stepped off the gangplank and onto the cold stone of the wharf. This cold place and this strange country seemed a world away from this knight's family's palazzo on the balmy shores of the Lupo Peninsula. Shivering he watched as the cog's crew and his retainers brought his luggage onto dry land. There was no sign of the promised wagon, the frown on the lion's face was turned somewhat bitter by the cold. He looked around as his private secretary came down the gangplank, his arms outstretched as if he feared toppling into the sludgy brown water below. The little monk threw back the cowl of his habit as he reached the dockside, his whiskers twitching as he scented the air and his ears turning from side to side.

'It is good to be home, well nearly home, my lord.' He said, the musical cadences of the far western Principality of Menefwy colouring his voice.

The knight looked at the hare with a frown.

'That's all well and good Father Siaffan, but where is the wagon? It was supposed to meet the ship, along with my mount. I will not walk all the way to Castlebridge.'

The hare ducked his head and then allowed it to bob back up again as the wagon rounded the corner of a warehouse. He had never been happy about the use of the so-called 'lower animals' as beasts of burden. Just because they cannot talk and go on all fours, he thought, does not mean that we should make use of them like this. The wagon rolled to a halt by the growing pile of luggage, and the cog's crew set to loading the trunks and cases onto the vehicle. The horse who was leading his dumb compatriots looked at the waiting group with a mournful expression on his face.

'My apologies, my lord,' He said, 'My master was unable to send me promptly to meet you, one of his beasts threw a shoe and it took both of us to have it reshod. He has sent his best destrier for your mount, by way of his apology.'

The monk looked at the heavy warhorse, which stared back at him with dumb, brown eyes. Perhaps, thought Siaffan, they are just dumb beasts, no better than tools to be used by us intelligent animals.

'Thank you.' Said Siaffan to the horse holding the reins, then to his master, 'Sir Henry, we should make haste if we wish to make it to Michaelstown before evening. I have sent word to my order's Abbey, St Sixtus' to have guest quarters for us. Furthermore, the royal court is in Michaelstown presently - it would be advantageous if King Benedict were to meet his new baron sooner rather than later.'

'Fine, fine, Father, if you insist. Come on then, for the love of the Saints let's get moving before I freeze to the spot.'

With that the lion mounted and the little monk followed suit, climbing onto the board that performed the function of a driver's seat and taking the reins from the attendant horse, who was shifting from hoof to hoof in the cold. Siaffan was joined by Sir Henry's valet, a stoat by the name of Innocent, who was, if the stories were true, anything but. With a quiet clicking noise, Siaffan set the cart moving.

After a while, the last houses of the port town dropped away and the little procession was moving at a steady pace across open country. The gently rolling hills of the southern Ironmont plain offered no protection from the cold and soon all three animals were huddling into their cloaks. After the third milestone had dropped away behind them, Sir Henry reined his mount back so that he was riding alongside the wagon.

'Innocent!' He shouted. 'See if you can't lay your paws on one of those flasks of Berean brandy, my ears are about frozen through.'

'Yes, lord Leonis.' Replied the stoat, who scrambled across the stacked trunks in search of the liquor. Presently, he climbed back onto the driver's board and passed a flask across to his master. Leonis pulled the cork from the neck of the flask with his teeth, leaving it dangling on a length of cord, and took a long draught. He let out a long, rumbling sigh of pleasure as the brandy warmed his stomach and passed the flask back to Innocent.

Some miles passed in cold silence. By Siaffan's reckoning it was around midday and he passed the reins over to Innocent. He fumbled with snow-numbed paws in his bag and drew out the one luxury that his order allowed him, a small illuminated breviary - a jewel-like book with the daily offices of the Church. He opened the volume to the ribbon placed in the page for midday prayers.

'Deus in adjutorium meum intende.' He began quietly. Next to him the stoat snorted in amusement, but Siaffan was not going to let a little derision keep him from the prayers that his vows required him to say. The next half a mile or so went by with the mumbling of the prayers and psalms as accompaniment.

'Fidelium animæ per misericordiam Dei requiescant in pace. Amen.'

Seconds after these final words of the office had left Siaffan's lips, a small tavern hove into view, a painted wooden sign hanging from the low eaves showing a crown with two small daggers through it. Siaffan quickly returned his breviary to his bag and took the reins back from Innocent.

'My lord!' He called. 'The Crown and Daggers is the only inn on this road, I suggest that we stop to eat and warm ourselves.'

Leonis waved his paw and then guided his mount over to the tavern. Siaffan followed suit, bringing the wagon to a stop in the lee of the building. The monk attended to the beasts while Innocent scuttled inside to browbeat the publican into providing a table for his master. Leonis stood on the edge of the rutted road, and stretched his arms, easing the cramped muscles.

'Tell me, Father,' He said, 'What can I expect travelling through Ironmont?'

'Well, my lord, we must be on guard against bandits and outlaws, the shire-reeves and the crowners do their best to keep the roads safe, but I should not wish to be on the road after dark. Here the towns will keep their curfew strictly.'

'Very well. We will stop here for as short a time as possible.'