“Jan, who believed the case concluded, was furious. He issued orders. Before she knew where she was, the beautiful Burgundian was thrown into the town hall dungeon. She went from eiderdowns and satins to rotten straw…”
“Was she…” Reynevan relieved his tight throat by coughing. “Was she tortured?”
“Not a bit of it. She was a noblewoman, after all. Jan of Ziębice didn’t dare to stoop to villainy of that kind on a noblewoman. He wished only to frighten her with imprisonment. Force her to be subservient, to leave Ziębice politely and without making a fuss on her release. He didn’t know—”
“What…” Reynevan felt a hot flush rush to his cheeks. “What didn’t he know?”
“A gang operated in the town hall gaol.” The knight’s voice changed and Reynevan thought he heard the soft grinding of teeth. “Guards, hangman’s assistants, ruffians from the castle guard, a few commoners, a few apprentices… In brief, they had set up a free brothel in the prison. When a woman—especially one suspected of witchcraft—was imprisoned, the rogues visited by night—” He broke off, then continued in an even more altered voice. “Once, one of the scoundrels left the belt from his britches in the cell in the haste and confusion. They found Adèle in the morning. Hanged with that belt.
“No action was taken, naturally. No one was punished. Jan of Ziębice feared publicity. The Burgundian, it was proclaimed, had been killed in the cell by the very Devil after betraying him, for she meant to renounce him and had asked for the sacraments. That was all confirmed and imparted from the pulpit by that same Mikołaj Kappitz, the abbot from the Cistercian abbey in Kamieniec. He mentioned you again then, as a matter of fact, as a warning about what consorting with sorcerers can lead to.”
“And no one…” Reynevan overcame the lump in his throat. “No one—”
“No one,” the knight finished. “Who cared? And today everybody has forgotten about it. Aside from Sir Půta of Častolovice, perhaps. Sir Půta is still on good terms and allied with Duke Jan, but Jan’s marriage to Anka keeps being postponed.”
“And it will not come to pass,” rasped Reynevan. “I’ll kill Jan. I’ll ride to Ziębice and kill him. In the church, if needs be, but I shall. I’ll avenge Adèle.”
“Avenge her?”
“Indeed. So help me, God and the Holy Cross.”
“Don’t blaspheme,” the knight admonished him dryly and hoarsely. “One doesn’t seek God’s help in vengeance. Revenge, if it be true revenge, must be cruel. He who avenges must turn from God. And is accursed. For ever.”
He swiftly drew a misericorde, leaned over, seized Reynevan by the shirt front, tugged him up, choking him, and brought the blade to his throat, his face to Reynevan’s face and his eyes to Reynevan’s eyes.
“I am Gelfrad of Stercza.”
Reynevan closed his eyes and twitched, feeling the blade of the misericorde cutting the skin on his neck and hot blood dripping down inside his shirt. But it only lasted a moment, a fraction of a moment, and the blade was withdrawn. He felt the bonds yield as they were cut.
Gelfrad of Stercza, Adèle’s widower, straightened up.
“I had resolved to kill you, Bielawa,” he said hoarsely. “Having learned who you were in Szklarska Poręba, I tracked you, waiting for an opportunity. I know you were not guilty of Nicolaus’s death. Two years ago, you spared Wolfher’s life. Had it not been for your nobleness, I’d have lost two brothers instead of one. In spite of that, I resolved to take your life. Yes, yes, you suspect correctly… I wanted to kill you because of my wounded male pride. I wanted to wash away the filth of notoriety from my coat of arms with your blood. Drown—in your blood—the disgrace of a wretched cocu, a king among cuckolds.
“Ah well…” he ended, replacing the misericorde in its sheath. “Much has changed. No one knows I’m alive and in Silesia, not even Apeczko, now the family’s senior member, nor my brothers Wolfher and Morold. And I won’t stay here long. I’ll sort out what I must and never return. I now reside in Lusatia, in the service of the Six Cities… I’m also going to marry a Lusatian girl. Soon. I’m already courting, don’t you know? If you could see her… Cornflower-blue and none-too-quick eyes, a snub nose covered in freckles, short legs, a big arse, nothing French, nothing Burgundian… So perhaps something will change for the better in my life. With any luck.
“I shall treat what you said as your word of honour,” he said, turning around. “Know that I’m going to Ziębice. You can guess why. I’m going to Ziębice to fulfil a duty. I shall carry it out, may the Devil help me. But if by a stroke of luck I don’t… If I don’t succeed… Then I shall hold you to your word, Bielawa. To your verbum nobile.”
“I vow,” Reynevan said, rubbing his numb wrists, “here in the face of these ancient mountains, I vow that Adèle’s tormentors and murderers will not sleep peacefully or enjoy impunity. I swear that before Jan of Ziębice dies, he will know for what he is dying. I take this oath and shall discharge it, even if I sell my soul to the Devil.”
“Amen. Farewell, Reinmar of Bielawa.”
“Farewell, Gelfrad of Stercza.”
Chapter Thirteen
In which the Green Lady—no less mysterious than the Green Knight from the well-known legend—demands various services of Reynevan, including that of giving her pleasure.
Reynevan waited for them in Mokrzeszów, a village about half a mile outside Świebodzice, by the highway leading to Świdnica. He didn’t have to wait long. The knights who’d been escorting him until the day before must have left Świebodzice in the early morning. When he saw them coming down the road, the Sunday Mass in the Mokrzeszów church was still in progress, the parish priest having reached the postcommunio.
When they saw him, they were dumbfounded and reined in their mounts. Reynevan had time to have a good look at them. The brawl with the Inquisition—although it had probably been quickly explained—had left its marks. Priedlanz had a black eye. Kuhn’s head was bandaged. Liebenthal’s nose, likely broken, was red and blue and piteously swollen.
The latter was first to shake off his astonishment. And react. Exactly as Reynevan had expected. The knight dismounted and attacked him with a cry.
“Leave him, Wilrych!”
“I’ll kill the whoreson!”
Reynevan shielded himself from the punches, retreating and covering his head. He didn’t even try to fight back. In spite of that—quite by chance—his fist somehow made contact with the knight’s swollen nose. Liebenthal howled and fell to his knees, cradling his face in both hands. But Stročil and Priedlanz lunged for Reynevan, catching him by the arms. Kuhn, convinced that Reynevan intended to attack the kneeling Liebenthal, shielded his comrade with his body.
“Gentlemen…” Reynevan uttered. “Why this violence… I’ve returned, haven’t I? I shan’t try to escape any more. I yield to being delivered to Stolz without resisting.”
Liebenthal stood up, wiping the tears from his eyes and the blood from his moustache, and drew a knife.