Fourteenth Century Metalwork Techniques for Breaking Your Own Heart
by Cara Masten DiGirolamo Mathilde couldn’t abide children, but she smiled (grimly) as they swarmed the cases, leaving sticky fingermarks, spit, and other unspeakables on the glass. The boys in uniform shorts and polos jostled for space, pointing out the most rust-eaten daggers and making up stories about their bloody histories. The girls gaped and gasped at the needle-dirk and the great lump of broken broadsword. All children loved weapons. “All right, all right, be quiet and listen to Dr. Brenard,” their teacher said, casting Mathilde a quick grin. If they hadn’t been in front of a horde of children, Mathilde would have flicked her thumb at Amélie. No one else called her Dr. Brenard, and if Amélie thought it was some kind of favor to always bring her classes to see Mathilde’s exhibits, she should think again. “Right, let’s look at the maille coats—” Mathilde went into her usual spiel. The modern French came easily to her tongue now, but she relished the few terms that had remained ...
