“With the heretics,” said Langenreuth, nodding, “like dogs outside the walls of that New Jerusalem. A splendid vision, indeed. How regrettable that life teaches one to be a realist. Not to dream, but to look ahead, and look ahead on the basis of reality. Thus do I predict that Witold’s coronation will not come about. Poland will not agree to it and neither will the Pope. Sigismund will wave it away and begin another intrigue somewhere else. Jagiełło will not partake in an anti-Hussite crusade, will not give over supporting the Czechs. And the Teutonic Knights will sit tight, for they know that otherwise one morning they may see Hussite wagons outside Malbork, Chojnice, Tczew and Danzig.”

“Where did you see such a course of events?” sneered Konrad. “In the stars?”

“No,” said Oswald of Langenreuth coldly. “In the eyes of the Bishop of Krakow, Zbigniew Oleśnicki. But let’s drop it, that will suffice about Poland, Lithuania and the whole uncivilised East. Let us talk about our western problems. About the approaching Vatican Council. About matters of Catholic faith… Herrgott! What has happened to your bird? Has it lost its mind? It almost broke the window! Why don’t you close the cage?”

“It’s a free bird,” replied Bishop Konrad gravely. “It does as it pleases. Some subjects bore it. Then it flies away.”

The dun horse’s shoes rang on the stones of the courtyard, the resonant echo swirling around between the walls of the bishop’s residence. Douce of Pack, bent over in the saddle, pulled the reins to one side and turned her steed around, making it take small, dainty steps. As she did so, she couldn’t take her fascinated eyes off the Wallcreeper, who was hurrying towards the gate. The Wallcreeper noticed her but didn’t return the look. He was angry.

“He’s angry,” said Ulryk of Pack, Lord of Klępino, nodding. “He is as angry as hell. Fierce, it’s clear.”

“Fierce,” confirmed Kuczera of Hunt. “How fierce he is.”

“You told him everything,” said Hayn of Czirne, commander of the Wrocław mercenaries, grimly. “He barely asked and you told him everything at once. About tracking that Bielawa, about the denunciations… You told him all about the investigation. But I understood you don’t like him.”

“For that is the truth,” said Kuczera, spitting on the stone threshold and rubbing the spit under his boot. “I don’t like the whoreson. But the bishop ordered me. And I don’t want Grellenort as an enemy. Neither would you, believe me.”

“I do,” said Ulryk Pack, shuddering slightly. “Upon my word, I do.”