Happily I
did not suffer for my lack of experience; after trying one or two
doors in vain, I found a sleeping-place which seemed to be
unoccupied, and straightway took possession of it. No one appeared
to receive the arriving guests. Feeling very hungry, I went into the
room at the end of the passage, where I had seen a tablecloth; a
wretched lamp burned on the wall, but only after knocking, stamping,
and calling did I attract attention; then issued from some
mysterious region a stout, slatternly, sleepy woman, who seemed
surprised at my demand for food, but at length complied with it. I
was to have better acquaintance with my hostess of the _Concordia_
before I quitted Cotrone.
Next morning the wind still blew, but the rain was over; I could
begin my rambles. Like the old town of Taranto, Cotrone occupies the
site of the ancient acropolis, a little headland jutting into the
sea; above, and in front of the town itself, stands the castle built
by Charles V., with immense battlements looking over the harbour.
From a road skirting the shore around the base of the fortress one
views a wide bay, bounded to the north by the dark flanks of Sila (I
was in sight of the Black Mountain once more), and southwards by a
long low promontory, its level slowly declining to the far-off point
where it ends amid the waves.
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