The conference was begun again and the seemingly intractable dispute between the Bischofsheims and the Sterczas was finally resolved. Parsifal listened with half an ear. He was in another world. Daydreaming.

“We, Henryk Landsberg, Scholaster of Niemodlin Collegiate Church, testify to all believers of Christ who read this document that Burchard Mencelin, steward of the estate in Niwnik belonging to Sir Gunter of Bischofsheim, was killed by Dieter Haxt, the esquire of Sir Wolfher of Stercza. For that crime, Lord Stercza and Dieter Haxt have agreed to pay to the family of the dead man a penitential sum approved by the testifying knights of forty grzywna. Furthermore, the parish of the church in Niwnik will receive the sum of five grzywna. The surgeon who was called to help will receive nothing since his help achieved nothing. A penitentiary cross financed by the above-mentioned Esquire Haxt will be erected at the place of the crime as evidence of the pact; at the top of said cross will be engraved the murder weapon: a battleaxe. In the process, agreement has been reached between the malefactor and murdered man’s family, as with the above-mentioned knights. This came to pass on the sixth of June on the Year of our Lord one thousand four hundred and twenty-nine.

“Parsifal! I’m talking to you! Are you asleep?”

He jerked up his head, wrested from a deep dream. And quailed. His visibly enraged father was walking with two knights, an older and a younger. Parsifal didn’t know the younger one, who had an angular face sporting a white scar. The older was Sir Albrecht of Hackeborn, the Lord of Przewóz, Zuzanna’s father.

I’m doomed, a frightened thought flashed through Parsifal’s mind, I’m done for. They’ll engage me. And then marry me. Farewell, O beautiful Ofka.

“I’m giving you to serve as page to Sir Egbert of Kassel from Kopaniec,” said Sir Tristram Rachenau, talking through his nose as he always did when irked. “Sir Egbert is an experienced man of war, and war with the Hussites may happen any time. Serve him loyally, fight courageously, guard your noble honour and—God willing—you will earn your sash and spurs. Just beware, whippersnapper, not to bring shame on me and the family.”

Parsifal swallowed. It had been promised to him for a long time that he would page in Kłodzko, with Sir Půta of Častolovice, side by side with his comrade, Starling Baruth. He knew his father too well, though, to voice any objections—even by the flicker of an eyelid, let alone a word. He bowed low before the knight with the scar.

“In five days,” said Sir Egbert of Kassel, “you will report in Kopaniec, armed and mounted. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oooh,” said Elencza of Skałka, clapping her hands on seeing him. “Parsifal! On a horse? Armed from head to foot? You’re riding to war, are you?”