Late one evening, a knight was riding from here to there. Behind him a storm was coming on. He could hear distant growls of thunder and wanted very much to rest until dawn. Soon it would be dangerous to be on the road. Now on this particular road there was only one house that could offer shelter. When the knight saw it half-screened behind some trees, he turned off the road.
The house belonged to a man who kept pigs. There was a full house with a shed, and across a muddy yard there was a barn. Not just a roof and posts but enclosed – doors that shut. Fancy for pigs. Expensive for a swineherd. But these were not bacon pigs. They were dark and clever and tender of nose: they were truffle pigs. And they had made the father of the house wealthy.