We were not alone in the room after all. Behind the bar stood a man every inch a landlord. He was tall, with a ruddy complexion, huge sideburns giving him a Dickensian look while his bushy eyebrows curled up in a most Satanic way, a look belied by his cheerful smile and his arms spread wide in welcome. His shirtsleeves, rolled up almost to his shoulders, revealed the muscular arms of a man used to dealing with full casks of ale as easily as with loaves of bread.
He spoke in the local tongue, with opaque words but transparent welcomes.