I assumed he wasn’t talking about the tanning that takes place on a beach with a good book and a thermos of lemonade. As he excitedly explained the process, going on about a solution of lime and removing the hair from an animal hide, it threatened to turn my stomach. But apparently not enough to keep me from lunch. Nick’s stand in the medieval bazaar was just as void of customers as it had been when I passed the first time—and the stack of bread just as tall. “Got any bread to spare for a hardworking lawman?” I said as I slapped the counter. “Wait. What did they call lawmen in the Middle Ages?” He handed over a whole loaf of crusty brown bread. “For my special customers,” he said with that twinkle in his eye, “I might have even saved some butter.” He reached below the counter and pulled up a ball of pale gold butter. “They churn it fresh daily. I’ve never had anything like it.” I tore off a bit of the bread and spread the butter on it with a scary-looking knife he provided.
