“We are contrary.” The Green Lady smiled the lethal, charming smile of a demoness. “We are devious. For we are the daughters of Eve. After all, it’s said we were formed from a crooked rib.”
“You said it.”
“However,” said the Green Lady, glancing at Reynevan under her eyelashes, “in spite of appearances, it isn’t so easy to delude us. Or seduce us. Ever since the Garden of Eden, we have been known to succumb to serpents, that’s true. But never snakes in the grass.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m a riddle. Solve me, Sir Jan.”
The gleam in Jan Biberstein’s eye dimmed as soon as it appeared.
“My esteemed Lady Cup-Bearer,” he said, stressing her title more than before, “is being playful. But it’s no time for mischief. Am I right, Lord of Bielawa? Or perhaps I’m mistaken? Perhaps you are joyous? Perhaps you think you’re out of the soup? Wriggled out of trouble like an eel? It’s a long way from that, believe me. Lucky for you, you didn’t impregnate my Kasia. But you fell on her like a brigand, and for that alone you ought to be quartered. Or, since you’re a heretic, you should be turned over to the bishop so he can roast you at a stake in Wrocław. Perhaps you wanted to say something, madam? Or am I mistaken?”
“You are.”
The door creaked and the matron entered the armoury. Without her cap. A little flushed. Chest heaving.
“Oh,” said Sir Jan, pleased. “So soon?”
Lady Biberstein glanced at her husband with forgiving superiority, went up to him and whispered into his ear for a long time. The longer she whispered, the more Sir Jan beamed.
“Ha!” he finally cried, beaming all over his face. “Young Wolfram Pannewitz! Ha,’pon my soul! I know him! He was wandering around Goleniowskie Forests, playing at being a knight errant. He must have chanced upon her when she fled from the strongbox… Ha, by a hundred horned devils! Why, I remember! And when he came here later, do you remember, wife, how he shot glances, flushed and slavered… Brought gifts! Ha! But there was no desire to wed! Now there will be. For he’s a decent match, my dear wife, quite decent. I’ll soon visit old Lord Pannewitz in Homole and we’ll converse, father to father, about our children’s japes. We shall converse about honour—”
He broke off, glanced at the Green Lady and Reynevan, as though astonished that they were still there. He scowled.
“I should—”
“You shouldn’t do anything,” the Green Lady interrupted sternly. “I shall deal with the matter. I’ll take him with me and leave right away.”
“Won’t you stop the night, m’lady? It’s a long way to Schönau—”
“I’m leaving right away. Farewell, Sir Jan.”
The Green Lady hurried, forcing her entourage to make haste. They headed north, towards the rocks and hills. They rode swiftly, the misty Ślęża massif ahead of them and the blue Rychleby and Jeseníky behind them. Reynevan rode at the end of the procession, not really knowing where to or why. He hadn’t yet recovered his composure. The ride didn’t last long, however. The Green Lady suddenly gave the order to stop, then indicated with a movement of her head for Reynevan to ride behind her.
There was a penitentiary cross standing at the foot of the hill. Crosses like that usually made Reynevan ponder and prompted him to contemplate. Now the cross didn’t evoke anything.
“Dismount.”
He did as he was told. She stood before him, the wind blowing her cape around, making it cling to her.
“We shall part here,” she said. “I’m going to Strzelin and from there home to Schönau. Your company would not be politic. Understand? Cope by yourself.”
He nodded. She moved close to him and looked him in the eyes. Briefly. And then looked away.
“You seduced my daughter, you scoundrel,” she said softly. “And I… I, rather than slapping you across the face and showing you contempt, have to blush, and in my heart be grateful that you… You know what. Ha, you’re also blushing? Good. That’s a comfort, at least. A paltry one, but still.”
She bit her lips.
“I am Agnes of Apolda. The wife of Cup-Bearer Berthold Apolda. The mother of Jutta of Apolda.”
“I presumed so.”
“Better late than never.”
“I wonder when you guessed.”
“Earlier. But never mind. Fortune favours you,” she continued. “You’re a perfect example of fortune’s darling. But stop tempting fate. Flee. Vanish from Silesia, for ever if possible. You’re not safe here. Biberstein wasn’t your only enemy. You have plenty, and sooner or later one of them will catch you and kill you.”
“I have to stay,” he said, biting his lips. “I won’t go until I see—”
“My daughter, yes?” She squinted dangerously. “I forbid you. I’m sorry, but I won’t consent to the liaison. You aren’t a worthy match for Jutta. Jan of Ziębice has indeed confiscated everything you owned. I’m not as calculated as Biberstein and could survive having a pauper for a son-in-law, wealthy only in heart, may love conquer all, but I won’t let my daughter marry a hunted outlaw. You, if you have any decency at all—and I know you do—won’t allow your enemies to follow your trail to her. You won’t expose her to danger and harm. Confirm that.”
“I confirm. But I’d like to—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted at once. “There’s no point. Forget her. And let her forget. It’s already been two years, my boy. I know this will hurt you, but I’ll say it: time has tremendous healing powers. Cupid’s arrow sometimes penetrates deep, but even those wounds heal in time, if you don’t pick at them. She’ll forget. Perhaps she already has. I’m not saying that to hurt you. On the contrary: to allay the pain. You’re fretting with thoughts of responsibility, of duty. Of your debt. You have no debts, Reinmar. You’re free of obligations. Perhaps I’ll be bluntly prosaic—why poeticise it? The fact that you slept together is a meaningless episode.”
Reynevan didn’t answer. She went close to him, very close.
“The encounter with you…” she whispered, gingerly touching his cheek. “The encounter with you was a pleasure. I shall remember it. But I wouldn’t want to meet you again. Or see you. Never and nowhere. Is that clear? Answer me.”
“It is.”
“Just in case fresh ideas occur to you, know this: Jutta isn’t at Schönau. She’s gone away. There’s no sense asking anybody at the castle or in the vicinity, for no one knows her whereabouts. Do you see?”
“I do.”
“Then farewell.”
Chapter Fifteen
In which Reynevan—thanks to a certain anarchist—finally meets his beloved.
The innkeeper’s wife passing by his table glanced at him enquiringly, her eyes indicating the empty mug. Reynevan shook his head. He’d drunk enough. Besides, the beer was nothing special. To be precise, it was lousy. Like the food. The fact that there were plenty of guests despite that could only be down to the lack of competition. Reynevan himself had stopped there, in Ciepłowody, on learning that the next inn was in Przerzeczyn, on the Wrocław road, but it was just over a mile to Przerzeczyn and dusk was falling.