“Too close? What would suit you, then? Drohiczyn, perhaps? Or Vitebsk? For beyond them is only Ultima Thule. But I can’t help you there. Don’t make faces, Reynevan. Listen: ten miles beyond Wieluń, on the River Warta, lies Sieradz, the ancient settlement of the Lechitic tribe of the Sieradzanians, currently the capital of the voivodeship. There you will find a monastery of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre, called the Miechowians in Poland. It so happens that since 1418 I have been on splendid terms with the parish priest there. The superiors of the branch monasteries are called among the Miechowians ‘provosts’ and the monasteries ‘parishes.’ The provost in Sieradz is called Wojciech Dunin. In 1418, his name was Adalbert Dohn and he wasn’t yet a provost. And in short, thanks to me he can still enjoy life. He is thus indebted to me—”

“Tell me straight. It’s about the revolt in Wrocław on the eighteenth of July 1418.”

“I shall tell you straight,” said Scharley, squinting. “Yes. It is. Years have passed but that matter still hangs over me. And will continue to do so, considering that Fuggers and Company know about it.”

“Damn. Was that why you spoke of costs?”

“It was. They have me by the balls and may thus count on my discretion. So be discreet, too, Reinmar.”

“Naturally. Count on me.”

“In a few days,” said Scharley, smiling, “I shall have the black wagon. And the money being carried in it, which I shall divide up judiciously. I shall buy myself peace and the complete absolution of my sins. I shall buy some officials and numerous influential friends. But don’t tell anybody anything, not even Provost Dunin in Wieluń, when you mention me. And when you do mention me, they’ll receive you there and let you take your vows. It’s quiet and peaceful in Sieradz; they have a spital so it’s just perfect for you. My heart will also be lighter, to tell you the truth, calm in the knowledge that you are there. That you are safe and not roaming through the world. Do it for me, friend. Head northwards after you cross the Przemsza. Go to Sieradz.”

“I’ll give it some thought,” said Reynevan. Having already thought it through, having decided and being completely convinced of the correctness of the decision he had taken.

“Thus… And so…” said the penitent, shrugging and clearing his throat. “Dammit, I can’t stand and watch you… So I shall bid you farewell, rein my horse around, jab him with my spur and ride away. Without looking back. And you will do as you wish. When you wish. Farewell. Vale et da pacem, Domine.”

“Farewell,” Reynevan replied a moment later.

Scharley didn’t look back.

Chapter Twenty-One