“I am a priest,” replied Bożyczko. “It doesn’t behove me to interfere in secular matters, nemo militans Deo implicat se negotii secularibus. And now, m’lord, permit me to leave. I must hasten to Wrocław. And perhaps you are also returning there? We could ride together, it would be more pleasant, according to the proverb: comes facundus in via—”

“Facundia is not favouring me of late, I’d be a poor travelling companion,” interrupted the Wallcreeper, bluntly. “Furthermore, I have a few matters to deal with here.”

“I imagine you do,” said Bożyczko, taking a quick glance at the unit of Black Riders formed up behind them. “Then I bid you farewell, Lord Grellenort. May God give you… what you deserve.”

“Thank you for the blessing, O servant of God,” said the Wallcreeper, reaching into a saddlebag and taking a canteen from it. “I also wish you luck… congruous to your piety. Drink with me in that intention.”

Grellenort drank first. Bożyczko watched him intently. Then took the canteen and sipped from it.

“Fare you well, m’Lord Grellenort.”

“And you, m’Lord Bożyczko.”

Douce of Pack trotted over and stopped beside the Wallcreeper with her javelin resting across the saddle. The two of them watched the deacon on the dun nag disappear behind the treeless ridge of the hill.

“Now all we need do is wait,” said the Wallcreeper, interrupting the silence. “Sooner or later he’ll cut himself with iron. It doubtless surprises you,” he went on, undismayed by the girl’s silence, “that I devoted the last dose of Perferro to that damned priest. Minus the sip I had to take to avert suspicion. Why did I do it? Call it a foreboding.”

Douce didn’t reply. As a matter of fact, the Wallcreeper wasn’t certain if she understood. It didn’t bother him.

“Call it a foreboding,” he repeated, reining his horse around and indicating to the Riders to march out. “Intuition. A sixth sense. Say what you like, but I have my suspicions about that Bożyczko. I suspect he’s not who he pretends to be.”

Chapter Sixteen

In which the reader finally learns what happened through the entire previous year to Guinevere, Lancelot’s beloved, who was abducted by the evil Maleagant. By which we mean Jutta, Reynevan’s beloved.