For now that the siege was established, there was no more fish from the brook, nor hares and ortolans from the country-side.
The friar cursed the fool roundly, as was his wont upon every occasion, for he was none so holy that he disdained the milder forms of objurgatory oaths.

But Peppe for once had no vicious answer ready, a matter that led the Dominican to ask him was he ill.
Never heeding him, the fool unfolded and smoothed the crumpled paper in a corner by the fire.

He read it and whistled, then stuffed it into the bosom of his absurd tunic.
"What ails you ?" quoth the friar.

"What have you there ?" "A recipe for a dish of friar's brains.

A most rare delicacy, and rendered costly by virtue of the scarcity of the ingredients." And with that answer Peppe was gone, leaving the monk with an ugly look in his eyes, and an unuttered imprecation on his tongue.
Straight to the Count of Aquila went the fool with his letter.