The innkeeper moved to and fro, serving wenches hurried busily back and forth with dishes, and the Green Lady’s servants also helped, which meant the food and drink arrived quickly. The food was simple but tasty, the wine tolerable; surprisingly good for an inn of that class.
They said nothing for a time, a taut energy sparking between them, turning their attention to beer soup with egg yolks, local trout from the Piława, wild boar sausages, hare in cream and pierogis.
Then there was caraway cake and Cypriot Malvasia, gingerbread and more Malvasia, the fire in the hearth crackled, the servants stopped interfering and Liebenthal and company went to bed in the stables. It was now very quiet and warm, hot even, the blood pulsed in the temples and burned on the cheeks. The fire was reflected in flaming glances.
“Your good health, dear ephebe.”
“And yours, madam.”
“Drink. Do you want to say anything?”
“I’ve never… I’ve never ravished a woman. Neither using violence, nor magic. Never, ever. Believe me, madam.”
“I do. Though it’s difficult to admit it… You have the eyes of Tarquin, gorgeous boy.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Not a bit of it. Sometimes, neither violence nor magic are needed to seduce a woman.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m a riddle. Solve me.”
“Madam—”
“Don’t say anything. Drink. In vino veritas.”
The fire in the hearth had died down and was glowing red. The Green Lady rested an elbow on the table and her chin on her knuckles.
“Tomorrow,” she said, and her voice vibrated throatily and enticingly, “we shall arrive at Stolz. Whichever way you look at it, you know perfectly well, tomorrow will be for you… an important day. We can’t know or predict what will happen, for God moves in mysterious ways. But… Perhaps this night…”
“I know,” he replied when she paused, then stood up and bowed low. “I am aware, O gracious lady, of the gravity of this night. I know it may be my last. Which is why I wish to spend it… in prayer.”
She said nothing for a while and drummed her fingers on the table. She looked him straight in the eyes. For so long that he eventually lowered his.
“In prayer,” she repeated with a smile, and it was a smile worthy of Lilith. “Ha! That is also a way to drive off sinful thoughts… Oh well, then I, too, shall spend the night in prayer. And contemplation. On transience. On how transit gloria.”
She stood up and he knelt down. At once. She touched his hair and then quickly withdrew her hand. He thought he heard a sigh. But it might have been his own.
“Beautiful lady.” He lowered his head still further. “Green Lady. Your gloria will never pass. Neither your gloria, nor your beauty, neither of which have their equal. Oh… If only fate had brought us together in other—”
“Say nothing,” she murmured. “Say nothing and go now. I will also go. I must to my prayers.”
They reached Stolz the following day.
Chapter Fourteen
In which various facts come to light at Stolz Castle. Including the fact that to blame for everything are, respectively: the perversity of women and Wolfram Pannewitz.
Jan of Biberstein, Lord of Stolz Castle, was almost identical to his brother Ulrik. It was known that the Lord of Stolz was much younger than the Lord of Frydland, but it wasn’t conspicuous. It was caused by the knight’s appearance, which was truly Homeric. He had the height of a titan, the build of a hero and shoulders worthy of Ajax. In order to utterly exhaust the Homeric comparisons, the faces and Greek noses of the two Biberstein gentlemen instantly brought to mind Agamemnon the Atreides, ruler of Mycenae. Grave, proud, lordly, noble—but not in the best of humour that day.
Jan of Biberstein was waiting for them in the chamber armoury, a high-ceilinged, harshly cold chamber stinking of ironmongery.
He was decidedly not in the best of humour.
“Everybody out!” he commanded right to begin with, in a voice that shook the spears and glaives on stands by the wall. “Private and family matters are going to be discussed here! I said, everybody out! This does not apply to m’Lady Cup-Bearer, naturally. You are welcome here and your presence is desired.”
The Green Lady nodded slightly and adjusted her sleeve with a gesture indicating mild interest. Reynevan didn’t believe it. She was interested. Very interested, probably.
The Lord of Stolz crossed his arms on his chest. Perhaps it was by chance, but he was standing such that the shield with the red horn on the wall was positioned directly above his head.
“It must have been the Devil,” he said, looking at Reynevan as Polyphemus must have looked at Odysseus and his companions. “The Devil must have tempted me to go to Ziębice for the tournament on the Birth of the Virgin Mary. The Devil was embroiled in it, without a doubt. But for devilish forces, none of those misfortunes would have happened. I never would have heard of you. Wouldn’t have known you exist. Wouldn’t have to fret over the fact that you exist. Wouldn’t have had to go to such trouble to finally stop you existing.”
He was silent for a time. Reynevan was quiet. He was even breathing quietly.
“Some say,” Biberstein continued, “you defiled my daughter out of revenge, for a grudge you bore against me. The Bishop of Wrocław, gracing the affair with his attention, declares that it was because of Hussite and heretical instigation to maltreat me, a Catholic. Duke Jan of Ziębice claims, however, that you are a degenerate and have a criminal nature. It is also said that you are in league with the Devil and the Devil procures your victims. It is all one to me, frankly speaking, but just out of interest: why did you do it? Answer me when I question you!”
Reynevan suddenly realised he had completely and absolutely forgotten the defence summation he had composed in advance for that circumstance and which was intended to eclipse that of Socrates. He realised that with a feeling closer to horror.
“I do not mean…” He put all his effort into making his voice sound strong. “I do not mean to lie or put on a good front. I take responsibility for… For what happened. For the results… Miss Katarzyna and I… Sir Jan, it is true that I am at fault. But I am not a criminal, I have been slandered in your eyes. What happened between myself and Miss Katarzyna… There was no evil intent. I swear on my mother’s grave, neither evil intent, nor premeditation. It was determined by chance—”
“Chance,” Biberstein repeated slowly. “Let me guess: you’re walking along without evil intent, returning home, let’s suppose, from a tavern. The night is dark, pitch black. In the gloom, by chance, my daughter bumps into you and wallop! Quite by chance, she impales herself on your cock, which by chance is sticking out of your britches. Was it thus? If so, you are absolved in my eyes.”
“I am prepared,” Reynevan took a breath, “to make amends—”
“It is to your credit that you are. For you shall. Today.”
“I’m prepared to wed Miss Katarzyna.”
“Oh!” Biberstein turned his head towards the Green Lady, who appeared preoccupied with contemplating her fingernails. “Did you hear, m’Lady Cup-Bearer? He is ready! On hearing that dictum, should I be beside myself with joy? Knowing the bastard will have a father and Kasia a husband? Has no one explained the situation to him? That all I need do is snap my fingers and a queue of forty suitors will form. And that I, Biberstein, can take my own sweet time choosing a husband for my daughter. Listen, you pup. You don’t fulfil the conditions to be Kasia’s husband. You are an outcast. You are a heretic. And if that wasn’t enough, you’re a pauper. A beggar. Yes, yes, Jan of Ziębice has confiscated the entire patrimony of the Bielawa family. For treason and heresy.