Master Zbrosław said nothing for a long time and tapped his fingers. He finally raised his eyes.

“The one from Oława?”

“No. The one from Oleśnica.”

They smiled at one another, glad to have successfully exchanged password and countersign.

“They say you are an expert in dream books, Master Zbrosław. And apparently able to read dreams.”

“God talks to us through our dreams. Dreams give us signs, strengthen us, heal and nourish our souls.”

“If we can understand their significance. The venerable Rabbi Hisda would say that an unexplained dream is like a letter received but unread. And I had a dream.”

“Go on.”

“In my dream the town of Żagań was in great danger.”

“Interesting that it was Żagań,” said Master Zbrosław, fixing Rixa with his Slavic eyes, “when there are many other towns. Located closer to other… dangers. Closer to Žitava, which is said at this moment to be feverishly preparing its defence following news of a possible attack.”

“Those towns can worry about themselves,” said Rixa, without lowering her gaze. “They didn’t appear in my dream. In my dream, Duke Jan of Żagań had a marvellous vision. The Angel of the Lord descended from the heavens and inspired him to save his land. Seek, O Duke, said the angel, help from the pious Kingdom of Poland, from the Polish nation beloved of the Mother of God. Look for help from the godly King of Poland, Władysław. Rather than plot with Emperor Sigismund, said the angel…”

“He spoke thus? With those words?”

“Those very ones,” she said in a voice as cold as Saint Kinga in bed. “Instead of plotting with Emperor Sigismund, turn your gaze, O Duke, towards Poland. Sigismund is distant, but Poland close at hand. The times are full of misery and Poland doesn’t abandon its friends in need…”

“Well, I never,” said Master Zbrosław with a sigh. “A Polonophile angel, which signifies great perturbation in a dream… A dream indeed worthy of the interpreting, whatever strangeness is in it. The letter has been received… That venerable rabbi, what was his name? I fear making a slip of the tongue…”

“Hisda.”

“The letter has been received, as Rabbi Hisda teaches, so it must be read. But there are two letters here, so to speak. We are dealing with a dream within a dream. You, madam, dreamed of the Duke of Żagań’s dream. I wonder if the Duke of Żagań himself dreamed it—”

“He did not,” said Rixa, and her tone left no doubt that it was an absolute certainty. “And here lies the problem. We must urgently inform him of the dream. I suggest we ask the local Franciscans for help with this,” she added with emphasis, “that they may pass on the news to their confraters in Głogów, the ones at the Church of Saint Stanisław. Requesting that they inform the friars from Żagań.”

Master Zbrosław tilted his head.