After landing on the rock, the Wallcreeper changed shape. The strong wind ruffled his black hair. He raised both arms and uttered a wild, loud, long-drawn-out cry. The whole of Radunia appeared to tremble at the sound.
In a remote wilderness, at the top of a distant mountain, red flames flared up in the windows of Sensenberg Castle, towering over a rocky cliff. The sky above the old stronghold glowed red. The gates thudded open. There were demonic cries and a tramping of hooves.
The Black Riders responded swiftly to the call.
“I have decided,” said Jan, Duke of Ziębice, playing with a dagger, “I have decided to give you a chance, Reinmar of Bielawa.”
Reynevan blinked, his eyes painfully blinded by the glare of candles after many hours spent in the dungeon. There were other men in the chamber apart from the duke, though he knew only Borschnitz.
“Although your crimes are grave and call for the harshest penalties,” said the duke, still playing with the dagger, “I have decided to give you a chance, that you might atone a little for your sins and merit God’s mercy with remorse. Jesus suffered for us, and God is merciful; he forgives us our sins and purges us of all immorality. Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. Everybody may count on the intercession of Jesus and the mercy of our Lord, even a dissenter, blasphemer, sorcerer, demoralised bastard, rat’s spawn, chancre, scum, cunt, whoreson and dog’s prick like you. But the condition is remorse and a firm resolution. I’ll give you the chance to repent, Reinmar of Bielawa.
“The Hussites,” said Jan of Ziębice, throwing the dagger onto a map lying on the table, “still hesitating about whether to storm Kłodzko, are occupying a fortified camp south of the town, near the village of Rengersdorf, beside the Mezilesí road. You know where that is, don’t you? You will go there. Královec knows and trusts you, so will listen to you. You’ll persuade him to strike camp and march northwards. You’ll tempt him with a lie, with a promise of wealthy spoils, the chance of a crushing attack on the bishop’s army, the opportunity to take the bishop himself alive… In any case, it’s your business what deceit you use to convince him; the important thing is that he marches. Northwards, via Schwedeldorf and the village of Rosice, through the Ścinawka valley, and on towards Nowa Ruda. The Hussites won’t ever get that far, naturally, we’ll deal with them… earlier. But it’s important to… Are you listening to me?”
“No.”
“What?”
“You won’t turn me into a traitor.”
“You already are. Now you’re just changing sides.”
“No.”
“Reynevan. Do you know what one can do to a person using red-hot pincers and burning brands? I’ll tell you: one can scorch the sides long enough for the internal organs to grow visible behind the ribs.”
“No.”
“A hero, eh?” Jan of Ziębice tilted his head. “Won’t turn traitor, eh? Not even if you’re taken to the torture chamber? But what will happen if it’s not the hero who is taken there? What if they scorch someone else’s flesh? While the hero is made to watch?”
Reynevan, anxious and utterly paralysed in horror, knew before the duke beckoned with a hand. Knew before the servants dragged Jutta into the room. She was pale and didn’t even resist.
Duke Jan gestured to have her brought closer. If Reynevan had previously deluded himself with the hope that the lord wouldn’t dare to imprison and disgrace Apolda’s daughter, that he wouldn’t harm a noblewoman, a maid from a knightly family, now the duke’s expression and eyes dashed his hopes and dispelled them like dust. A repulsive and cruel smile on his face, Jan of Ziębice touched Jutta’s cheek and the girl jerked her face away. The duke laughed, stood behind her and with a sudden movement tore from her shoulders her cotehardie and blouse. Before the eyes of Reynevan, who was struggling in the grip of the servants, he squeezed her naked breasts. Jutta hissed and thrashed around, but in vain. She was being held too tightly.
“Before we begin scorching these twin beauties,” said Jan, laughing as he brutally groped the girl’s breasts, “I’ll take this maiden to bed with me. And if you continue to play the hero, the maiden will be taken to the town hall cell. Let the fellows there also have their pleasure. For know you, Bielawa, those same warders and guards are still there, that same fraternity who were there when the Burgundian had the misfortune to wind up in the cell. The fellows will get another wench that the duke has grown tired of, ha, ha. And I’ll have you thrown into the adjacent cell, that you might hear and picture it. And then… Then we’ll bring out the red-hot irons.”
“Let her go…” Reynevan softly groaned. “Let her go… Get your hands off her… Don’t you dare… Have mercy on her… Your Grace… I’ll do what you ask.”
“What? I didn’t hear!”
“I’ll do what you ask!”
The horse he was given was skittish, nervous and anxious—or perhaps it simply sensed the rider’s anxiety. He was escorted to the road beyond the Town Gate by a detachment of knights, including Borschnitz, Seiffersdorf and Risin. And Duke Jan in person.
It was cold. Frozen stalks, covered in frost, crunched under the horses’ hooves. The sky to the south darkened, heralding a snowstorm.
“The Hussites,” Jan of Ziębice reined in his steed, “must march through the Ścinawka valley and onwards along the Nowa Ruda road. So be convincing, Bielawa. Be convincing. May you be aided by the thought that if you succeed, if the Hussites march where I want them to go, the maiden will be saved. If you fail or betray me, you will cause her ruin, offer her up to dishonour and torture. So do your best.”
Reynevan didn’t reply. The duke straightened up in the saddle.
“May you be aided in the enterprise also by the thought that by sending the heretics to their ruin you will save your immortal soul. If, thanks to you, we slaughter them, the good Lord will without doubt reward your act.”
Reynevan didn’t answer that time, either. He just stared. The duke didn’t take his eyes off him.
“Oh, what a look, what a look.” He grimaced. “Quite like that of Gelfrad Stercza, with whom you must have had so much in common. You won’t try to threaten me like Stercza did on the scaffold, will you? You won’t say: Hodie mihi, cras tibi, what happens to me today, will happen to you tomorrow? You won’t say that?”
“I shall not.”
“That’s wise. For I would punish you for every syllable you utter. Or rather punish your maiden—one stroke of the red-hot iron for every syllable. Don’t forget that, Bielawa. Don’t forget it for a moment.”
“I will not.”
“Now ride!”
Beggars, lepers and tramps were squatting in the Town Gate. Duke Jan, greatly pleased with himself, ordered Marshal Borschnitz to toss them a handful of coins. The beggars scrabbled over the pennies as the entourage rode on, the clatter of horseshoes echoing loudly beneath the vault of the gate.
“Your Grace?”
“Yes?”
“If Bielawa…” asked Hyncze Borschnitz, coughing into his fist. “If Bielawa carries out… If he does what you’ve ordered him… Will you set the maiden free? And spare him, too?”