“Indeed,” said the bishop, licking his fingers. “Which is why I wouldn’t be overly concerned. And I think that our gracious king is lying to Count Berthold to acquire short-term gains and is leading him by the nose. Never mind. You’ll see, we’ll drink ourselves stupid at Agnieszka and Schlick’s wedding yet.”

“God willing,” said Kantner, sipping from his goblet and clearing his throat. “But that’s not all. The thought occurred to me, mark you, to marry my young Konrad to Barbara, the daughter of Johann, Margrave of Brandenburg. I went with the lad to Spandau at Christmas, let the youngsters get to know each other, so I thought. But young Konrad, mark you, took one look and said ‘no.’ Said he won’t have her because she’s fat. You lummox, I say to him, the little girl is only six years old, she is sure to grow slenderer with age. That is for primo, and for secundo you can never have too much beloved flesh, your bed will be full of bliss, from one side to the other, when it comes to your nuptials. But he said if he had the choice, he’d rather fill it with two or three slim ones. Can you mark the impudent pup? Who does he take after?”

“Us,” guffawed the bishop. “Piast blood, brother, Piast blood. But in truth, I must tell you she isn’t the best party for young Konrad. We don’t see eye-to-eye with the Hohenzollerns. They dream of a union with Poland, are plotting with Jagiełło, plotting with the Hussites—”

“You exaggerate,” said Kantner, grimacing. “You are furious at Fritz Hohenzollern because he married his son off to Jadwiga Jagiellonian. But it is true that the Hohenzollerns’ star is in the ascendancy. One should stay close to people who are on the way up, affiliate with them. And I’ll tell you something else.”

“Say on.”

“The stock of the Jagiellonians is also rising. Prince Władysław is five years old. Little Anna, my youngest, is also five.”

“You’re either jesting,” said the bishop, frowning, “or you’ve lost your mind. With whom would you comingle Piast blood?”