“Have it your way. I am speaking for myself. And for the rest of the convent, including the Reverend Mother Plauen. No, I have no intention of waiting until one of the girls beats us to it and jumps into bed with him. The lustful theologian will help us to escape, Jutta. We only need to go to him in the guest house and win him round. I have two straws here. Go on, draw one. The short straw goes and persuades him.”

“What are you…” said Jutta, recoiling as though she hadn’t been offered two straws but two vipers. “You can’t—”

“The short straw goes,” Weronika repeated firmly, “and wins Cusa around. It won’t be difficult. I think decent, solid fellatio should do it. With breasts, which mandragorae dederunt odorem. But if it turns out not to be enough, it will be necessary to move to a full programme of commixtio of the sexes. Nakedness before nakedness et cetera. Come on, we’re wasting time. The short straw runs into the hortus conclusus and the long straw will be packing our things in the meanwhile.”

“No,” said Jutta, bridling. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I can’t… I love Reynevan—”

“And that’s why you want to escape. Why you must escape.”

She’s right, thought Jutta, she is absolutely right. I’ve been captive for more than a year, it’s a year since the attack on White Church. I’ve been in the Dominican convent in Cronschwitz for seven months, it’s only a question of time before some strange men come to carry me off and take me to another, more remote, convent. They’ll separate me from Weronika and I can’t escape alone. She’s right. It’s now or never.

“Give me a straw, Weronika.”

“I understand. Which one did you draw? The long one! So it’s the short one for me, my patron saint heard my silent prayers. Pack our bags, Jutta. And I’ll hurry to the guest house. And the theologian Mikołaj, who is waiting there suavissimus and full of allure.”

Jutta, packed and dressed for the road, was waiting in the bakery. It was a new moon and the December night was as dark as the very bottom of Gehenna.

Weronika returned well after midnight. Flushed, sweaty and out of breath. She was wearing a fur-trimmed cloak and carrying a bundle. She did it, thought Jutta, she really did it.

They wasted no time. They ran across the courtyard very fast to the guest house and entered the darkness of the hall. Nicholas of Cusa was waiting for them, a finger on his lips indicating that they should keep quiet. He led them to the stable, where servants were saddling two horses by the faint light of a torch. Jutta put on a sheepskin she was given, pulled on the hood and leaped into the saddle.