His back was resting against something that was probably a wall, for it was hard and gave off the smell of old lime plaster. There was also a crumbling wall beside him, shielding a blazing bonfire from the wind. The wind was blowing fiercely, stronger gusts howling. Fir trees soughed and creaked. Reynevan had a strong impression that he was somewhere high, at the top of a mountain or hill.
“You’re awake?”
The powerful man who had seized and bound him was wearing a coarse, black woollen cloak. He also sported armour. And a knightly belt. He didn’t resemble Birkart Grellenort or any of his Black Riders. Reynevan’s astonishment was even greater than his sense of relief; he had thought it was Grellenort who had caught him. Then why had this strongman in armour kidnapped him and who was he? For it couldn’t be the Rübezahl, the spirit of the Karkonosze, could it? Reynevan swallowed. He didn’t believe in the existence of the Rübezahl. On the other hand, during the course of the last two years, he had encountered and seen plenty of things the existence of which he didn’t believe in.
“Are you Reinmar of Bielawa? Confirm it. I wouldn’t like to make an error.”
“I am Reinmar of Bielawa. Who are you?”
“Who am I?” The voice of the knight in the black cloak changed a little, and not encouragingly. “Let’s say I’m a consequence.”
“A consequence of what?”
“Your past deeds. And misdeeds.”
“Oh. An avenging angel? An emissary of doom? The relentless long arm of the law?”
Reynevan himself was surprised by how easily he assumed an easy tone. Routine, he thought. I’m quite simply good at it now.
“You demanded I confirm my identity,” he went on, still careless, “so you don’t know me. I’ve never clapped eyes on you before. Thus you are acting, obviously, on behalf of somebody and on somebody’s orders. Whose? Who has reason to judge my past misdeeds? Let me guess. I know the men who are after me.”
“You are awfully verbose.”
“Jan of Biberstein and the Inquisition? Out of the question. It’s unlikely to be Lord Bergow and the Lusatians. Who does that leave? Konrad, Bishop of Wrocław? The Sterczas? Duke Jan of Ziębice? Buko of Krossig? Adèle Stercza, perhaps?”
The black knight sat down opposite. Fire lit up his face and flickers of flame were reflected in his armour.
“Interesting names. Interesting persons. Particularly the last one, Adèle of Stercza. Would it surprise you if I were acting on her behalf? On her orders?”
“And are you?”
“Take a guess.”
They both said nothing. The wind blew and whistled, smothering and fanning the fire by turns.
“There is no shortage of pretty maids in Silesia,” the knight said. “Nor is there a lack of comely, free-spirited women. And lately, the population of beautiful, willing and relatively unexploited widows has been quickly growing in strength. And you, Bielawa, took the very worst virago, Adèle of Stercza, from that horn of plenty. What exactly drew you to her? What did you see in her that the others didn’t have?”
“You are awfully verbose.”
“Did it arouse you that she was married? That her husband was far away, in foreign lands? That he wasn’t satisfying his wife as he ought? That she would only know true pleasure with you? What did she say to you? What did she whisper into your ear? Did the two of you mock the cuckolded husband during your amorous frolics in her chamber? I think—”
“I don’t care what you think.” Reynevan cut him off sharply. “You speak of things about which you had, have and will have no idea. Thus, let it lie.”
“Aha! It hurts when I touch that place, does it? It was amusing to mock the cuckold, but the amusement ended when you became a cuckold oneself. That harlot led you a merry dance… Half of Silesia roared with laughter to hear how you went to the tournament in Ziębice and professed your love for the slut in front of Duke Jan. Oh, how the beautiful Adèle blemished your knightly honour… And exposed you to ridicule! You must indeed hate her, I think. But I shall console you… Delight your soul—”
“You ought to know that I don’t feel injured by any means. And don’t call her a ‘harlot’ again in my presence. You feel safe because my arms are bound. So don’t look to my honour, but rather look to your own, for you cheapen it. And I can manage without being consoled. But just out of interest: how did you intend to console me?”
The black knight said nothing for a long time, looking on with a strange expression. He finally spoke.
“Adèle Stercza is dead.”
Silence reigned again for a long time. And, again, it was the knight who broke it.
“Duke Jan, Lord of Ziębice,” he said, weighing his words, “decided to strengthen the alliance of his duchy with Kłodzko, with Sir Půta of Častolovice. They both judged that the best way to do so would be for Jan to wed Anka, Půta’s youngest daughter. But there was a problem, and the problem’s name was Adèle. Adèle of Stercza, who was already strutting around Ziębice like the lady of the manor and a duchess. Who, when she was informed about Duke Jan’s marriage plans, created such a stink that the walls shook. It became clear that she wasn’t just another mistress, not one of those innumerable lovers who could be urged, bribed or ceded as a vassal. It was clear that if ditched, Adèle would cause a great fuss and create an enormous scandal. So Půta of Častolovice pulled a sour face, anxious to avoid a scandal, and assured Jan he would not expose his Anka to any unpleasantness. There would be no betrothal, he vowed on all the saints, until the suitor became blameless, and order and piety had returned to the Ziębice court. He would not send his daughter to Ziębice until he was certain that she wasn’t threatened by any gossip, mockery or slights.
“Jan of Ziębice quite swiftly found a way of getting rid of the problem, allegedly at the instigation of his confessor. It may interest you to hear that you contributed to the plan in some small way, m’lord, for the herzog recalled that the Burgundian was once in collusion with Reinmar of Bielawa, the notorious sorcerer. You have a most strange expression. I thought you’d be delighted to hear of her taming, that the news that you are partly responsible for the Jezebel’s fall would gladden you… I thought—”
“You thought wrongly. Go on.”
“It was additionally proved that Adèle had indeed tried to beguile the duke using love witchcraft. She was accused of black magic and of making a pact with the Devil. The case was investigated by the most distinguished specialist in witchcraft in the region, Mikołaj Kappitz, abbot of the abbey in Kamieniec. He found Adèle guilty, revealed in and around her devilish practices and scents. They say he disclosed it all for the one hundred Hungarian ducats the duke paid him. They arrested a herbalist and scorched her heels… She confessed that Adèle had bought love potions and other things from her. That she plotted her revenge in advance out of fear that Herzog Jan would abandon her by ordering a devilish decoct which would have caused the permanent impotence of the duke’s male member. And, just in case, also poisonous herbs. For Anka of Častolovice.
“Adèle was shown the herbalist’s testimony and an agreement proposed, but the Burgundian was unafraid. A trial for witchcraft? By all means. I’ll have plenty to testify at the trial; the judges, canons and abbots will have plenty to listen to. I know a lot and am only too happy to share it. We shall see if Duke Jan is pleased when it is trumpeted.