“Hold him!” he bellowed, or rather boomed. “Hold the bastard tight! I’ll cut off his ears! I swore I would! And I will!”
“Leave it, Wilrych,” repeated Priedlanz, looking back at the people now leaving the church. “Control yourself.”
“You can see he came back,” added Stročil. “He promised he won’t try to escape again. Besides, he’ll be trussed up like a turkey.”
“One ear at least!” Liebenthal struggled to break free of Kuhn, who was trying to restrain him. “Just one! As a punishment!”
“No. He’s to be delivered whole.”
“A piece of ear, then!”
“No.”
“Well, at least a punch in the face!”
“That you may do.”
“I say! Gentlemen! What’s going on here?”
The woman who had uttered those words was tall, and her imperious pose made her appear even taller. She was wearing a travelling houppelande, simple of fashion and grey, but made of delicate cloth of high quality, trimmed with a dormouse collar and gloves edged with the same fur. The woman’s calpac was also made of dormouse, worn over a muslin couvre-chef covering her hair, cheeks and neck. A pair of eyes looked out from under the calpac. Eyes as blue and cold as a bright January morning.
“Are you staging a nativity play, gentlemen?” asked the woman. “Though Advent hasn’t even begun?”
Liebenthal stamped his foot, frowned angrily and lifted his head, but quickly restrained himself. He was aided in his decision by, among other things, the sight of soldiers emerging from the vestibule behind the woman. Among others. But not only.
“Lord Liebenthal, am I right?” The woman eyed him. “You were my guest in Żary Castle last summer, and in the party that was subsequently assigned to me. I recognise you, although your nose had a different shape and colour then. Do you remember me? Do you know who I am?”
Liebenthal bowed low. Priedlanz, Stročil and Kuhn followed his example. Reynevan also bowed.
“I await an answer. What is occurring here?”
“We must urgently deliver this man to Stolz,” said Liebenthal, pointing to Reynevan, “on the orders of His Grace Ulrik Biberstein. We must deliver him to the castle—”
“Bruised and battered?”
“I have orders.” The knight cleared his throat and blushed. “I gave my word—”
“Your word,” interrupted the woman, “won’t be worth a row of buttons if this young man arrives at Stolz with even a single bruise. Do you know the Lord of Stolz, Sir Jan Biberstein? For I do. And I warn you: he can be hot-headed.”
“What can I do,” roared Liebenthal pugnaciously, “when he defies me and tries to flee?”
The woman waved a hand. She was wearing rings with gemstones in gold settings, the total value of which was too high to permit a rapid valuation. Servants and soldiers approached, followed by bowmen led by a fat corporal in a brass-studded brigandine with a broad short sword at his side.
“I happen to be making for Stolz now,” said the woman. Addressing her words more to Reynevan than to Liebenthal. “My party will guarantee you safety on the road,” she added freely—casually, even—“and the appropriate execution of Sir Ulrik’s orders. I, for my part, promise you a reward, a generous reward, which Jan Biberstein will not refuse when I praise you before him. What do you say to that, m’Lord Liebenthal?”
Liebenthal had no choice but to bow again.
“I, myself, shall guarantee the good treatment of the prisoner,” added the woman, still looking at Reynevan. “Meanwhile, you, Reinmar of Bielawa, will repay me with pleasant conversation on the route. I await an answer.”
Reynevan straightened up. And bowed. “I’m honoured.”
“Naturally you are.” The woman gave a studied smile. “So let us be off. Give me your arm, young man.”
She held out a hand and the gesture revealed from under the dormouse cuff a close-fitting sleeve of green velvet cloth of a vivid, gorgeous, intense shade. He took her hand. The touch made him tremble.
“You know me, Madam,” he said. “You know who I am. You have a considerable advantage over me.”
“You don’t even know how considerable.” She smiled rapaciously. “And you may call me…”
She hesitated and glanced at her sleeve.
“… the Green Lady. Why do you look so? Because only you, knights errant, are allowed to appear incognito, under romantic sobriquets? I’m the Green Lady to you and that’s that. The thing is not in the colour of the robe. I boldly compare myself to that Green Knight. Men have been ready to put their heads on the block for a single glance from me. Perhaps you doubt it?”
“I wouldn’t dare. Should such an opportunity arise, I won’t hesitate, either.”
“An opportunity, you say? Who knows? We shall see. For the time being, assist me into the saddle.”
They rode on, with the ridges of the Sudety Mountains blue against a background of clouds on their right. The Green Lady and Reynevan were preceded only by the outriders: a fat sergeant and two bowmen. Following the Lady and Reynevan came the rest of the soldiers, plus servants leading reserve and packhorses. Liebenthal et consortes formed the procession’s rearguard.
They weren’t alone, for the road was actually quite busy. It was unsurprising—they were riding along a busy trade route, well travelled since ancient times, linking the West with the East. The section to Zgorzelec was known as the Via Regia, the royal road, which passed through Frankfurt, Erfurt, Leipzig and Dresden to Wrocław. In Zgorzelec, the road forked into the so-called Sudety Highway, which ran along the foot of the mountains through Jelenia Góra, Świdnica, Nysa and Racibórz, to connect with the Wrocław road again in Krakow and head east towards the Black Sea. No wonder that wagon after wagon and caravan after caravan were moving along the Sudety Highway. Traditionally, oxen, rams, swine, leather, furs, wax, potash, honey and suet journeyed from east to west, towards Germanic countries. Wine was traditionally transported in the opposite direction, and goods manufactured by the advanced industry in the west, which in the east traditionally never gained a foothold to develop.
The Green Lady tugged on the reins of a shapely white mare and rode close enough to brush her knee against Reynevan’s.
“I see dried blood on your collar,” she remarked. “Whose work is it? Liebenthal and company?”
“No.”
“A short answer.” She pouted. “Painfully succinct. And to think, I had so hoped you’d elaborate on the subject, regale me with a thrilling tale. You were to amuse me, I remind you. But since it’s not to your liking, I shan’t insist.”
He didn’t answer, being simply tongue-tied. They rode on in silence for some time. The Green Lady gave the impression of being utterly absorbed by the views. Reynevan kept glancing across at her. Furtively. She eventually caught him at it, caught his gaze like a spider ensnares a fly. He fled from her look. It sent shivers up his spine.
“If I understood rightly,” she resumed the conversation quiet carelessly, rupturing the silence hanging between them, “if I understood right, you managed to flee from your guards. In order to return the following day. Voluntarily. You enjoyed one mere night of freedom. And now you’re heading to Stolz Castle, into the hands of Sir Jan Biberstein. You must have had a reason to act thus. Did you?”