Reynevan knew almost all of them. Jan Kuropatwa of Łańcuchów, with the Szreniawa coat of arms, and Jakub Nadobny of Rogów, with the Działosza coat of arms, with whom he had quite recently shared a cell, waved greetings, as did Jerzy Skirmunt, with the Odrowąż coat of arms, whom Reynevan knew from his Prague days. Błażej Poraj Jakubowski, sitting beside Skirmunt, knew Reynevan, but didn’t hurry to reveal the fact. Reynevan didn’t know the others, who were eating kasha from bowls and apparently utterly absorbed in that activity.

However, he did know the ringleader of the entire comitiva, a grey-haired man with a craggy, pockmarked face. He remembered Fedor of Ostrog, Starosta of Lutsk, Ruthenian prince, from the time of the previous year’s plundering raid on Silesia. The latter wasn’t taking his small black eyes—whose piercing malevolence not even the semi-darkness of the chamber could conceal or temper—off Reynevan.

“The two eating kasha,” said Wejdnar, continuing to introduce the guests, “are Sir Jan Tłuczymost of the Bończa coat of arms. And Daniło Drozd of the boyars, from the east of Poland. “Sit you down, Reynevan.”

“I’ll stand,” said Reynevan in an official tone. “For I don’t have much time, either. Duke Sigismund Korybut, whom you serve, asked me to make contact with you. You should know, gentlemen, that I rendered the duke certain services and in return he promised me auxilium with certain issues that are impeding me. Do I take you to be that auxilium, gentlemen? Will you be helping me?”

A long, sullen silence fell.

“Nu, well I never,” said Fedor of Ostrog finally. “Why, if we haven’t got this upstart German, the Devil take his mother. Listen you… Nu, I’ve forgotten his name.”

“Reynevan,” said Kuropatwa.

“Listen you, Reynevan, to hell with your xylium or consilium, leave them to pediments and other fucking sodomites. We are ordinary men and such French fashions disgust us. If you don’t want to sit, stand, I don’t give a damn either way. But tell us what they told you to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“Herrgott! Korybut told us you knew when and by which road a transport of money, serious money, is coming to Odry. From Poland or from Silesia. The prince told us you would reveal which route they would take.”

“Duke Sigismund Korybut,” Reynevan replied slowly, “didn’t say a word about a transport of money. And even if he had, I would certainly not share that information with you, gentlemen. It seems to me there has been a misunderstanding. I repeat, the duke promised me your service—”

“Service?” interrupted Fedor. “We are to serve you? Fuck you! I am a prince, the Lord of Ostrog, dammit! Baszom az anyat! I fuck your mother! Korybut won’t order me about! Who does he think he is? Korybut, a duke in name only, a client of the Czechs!”