She jabbed him in the ear with her elbow, wriggled out of his grasp and kicked him hard in the crotch, and when he curled up, she kicked him again in the side of the head. She punched the servant in the eye and he sat down, holding his face. She bounded across the courtyard, pushed over another servant, snatched the reins from him, jumped into the saddle and, kicking and hitting, forced the horse into a gallop. The horseshoes thudded on the frozen ground. She bent her head towards the mane and flew like an arrow towards the gate.

I’ve escaped, she thought. I’m free.

He caught her just beyond the gate, jerking her from the saddle with a sharp tug. She struggled in vain; his grasp was like iron. By what miracle, she thought, by what miracle is he here?

“This miracle is called translocation,” he hissed, squeezing her arm in his grasp. “The ability to move through space. I’m a sorcerer. That can’t be anything new to you, since your lover is one, too. Don’t struggle.”

“Let go… It hurts—”

“I know. It also hurts where you kicked me. You took me by surprise. You dulled my vigilance by pretending to be a crybaby. It won’t happen again. You won’t do that a second time. Believe me and don’t even try it.”

He pulled her up and shoved her into the servants’ arms. Firmly, but not brutally.

“I saved you from Duke Jan’s grasp,” he said, turning his head away as though wanting to demonstrate his superior indifference. “I snatched you from Ziębice. I’m taking you to a place where for some time you will remain hidden from the world. Don’t ask me by what right.”

“By what right?”

“It’s in your interests to remain hidden for some time. The convent in White Church had acquired notoriety, excessive notoriety. The cult of the Great Mother, the Sisterhood of the Free Spirit, Waldensian rituals, Arabic magic. Believe me, it will be better for you to disappear for a while.”

“Better for whom?”

He didn’t answer. He waved a hand, turned around and walked away.

Weronika wasn’t to be dissuaded. They talked again three days later, on Sunday. When Jutta was sitting on the plank in the necessarium after Mass, Weronika entered, hitched up her habit and sat down unabashed over the hole beside her.

“Don’t be cross,” she said in anticipation. “Are you angry with me that I seek your company? Whose company should I seek? That of those idiotic converses?”

“It’s embarrassing,” said Jutta, not looking at her but at a crack in the wall. “It is truly embarrassing.”