“An uncertain and evil time has dawned,” said Konrad of Oleśnica, interrupting the silence. “And the worst is yet to come. A few heretical raids sufficed to shock Silesia. People have begun to vacillate, ready to forget the Ten Commandments, forget their values, honour, responsibilities and vows in these evil times. Weak people forget about alliances and the weakest of them begin to seek salvation in pacts with the enemy. They forget what the law, what social order and what amor patriae are. They lose heart. Forget about God. What they owe to God. Why, never mind God, they dare to forget what they owe me.”

After a moment of silence, he continued, “One must bring people like that back to the straight and narrow. Give them a lesson in patriotism. And if that proves too little, one must—”

“Eliminate them from this vale of tears,” finished the Wallcreeper, “shifting the blame onto demons or Hussite terrorists. It will be done, Bishop. Just say the word.”

“That’s the way I like you, Birkart,” said the bishop, sighing. “Just like that.”

“I know.”

They both said nothing.

“Terrorism is a useful thing,” said the bishop, sighing a second time. “It can solve so much! How would we cope without it? Who would we blame for everything, on what would we put the blame? Vero, if terrorism didn’t exist, it would be necessary to invent it.”

“Well, well,” said the Wallcreeper, smiling. “We think alike, even down to using the same words. And yet you constantly disown me, Papa.”

When they sat together at one table, gorging themselves on pike in saffron-yellow jelly, no one, absolutely no one, would have taken them for brothers. But in spite of their physical differences, they were. The older, Konrad, Bishop of Wrocław, had the appearance of a true Piast; of a mighty, ruddy-faced, hearty sybarite. The long beard and slightly sunken cheeks of Konrad Kantner, the Duke of Oleśnica, brought an eremite more to mind.

“I have nothing but vexation from the children I sired,” said Konrad Kantner, reaching for another chunk of pike from the dish. “Nothing but vexation.”

“I know,” said the bishop. He coughed, hawked at length and spat out a fishbone. “I know how it is, brother. I know that distress.”

“My Agnieszka is turning fifteen,” continued Kantner, pretending not to have heard. “As you know, I’d decided to give her to Kasper Schlick. I believe the pup will go far; he has a mind fit for a chancellor. He’s a good match. Emperor Sigismund promised me the matrimonium, everything was arranged. And now I hear that Schlick is being sought by the daughter of Count Berthold of Henneberg. That sodding liar. He’s never said an honest word in his life!”