“The Teutonic Knights are agreeing to a truce,” said Rixa Cartafila of Fonseca, a spy in the service of Władysław Jagiełło, King of Poland, tossing her hair onto her neck. “They’re afraid we’ll saddle them with the Hussites again. They are also under pressure from the Prussian estates, which are threatening to withdraw their allegiance. The Chełmno knight, Hans of Baysen, is gaining in importance in the estates. I suggest that Your Right Reverend takes note of that name. The anti-Teutonic Order opposition is growing in strength and Baysen has the chance of becoming an important player. It’d be worth keeping an eye on him.”

“I shall heed your advice,” replied Wojciech Jastrzębiec, Archbishop of Gniezno, Primate of Poland and Lithuania. “I always listen to your advice, daughter. You render us invaluable service. Always remaining in the shadow. Never asking for anything, neither honours nor rewards.”

Rixa smiled. With the corner of her mouth.

“The Right Reverend emboldens me,” she said slowly, “to ask a favour.”

“I pray you, ask away.”

“Here we have the Teutonic Knights riding to Łęczyca to ask for a truce. There is a chance of lasting peace with the Order, with conditions convenient for Poland. There is a chance to recover Nieszawa and deprive Svidrigiello of Teutonic support. Certain Czechs deserve considerable credit for this. For example, Jan Čapek of Sány and the terror that his Orphans aroused in the Margraviate of Brandenburg and the Danzig region. The Pabianice Agreement and alliance between Poland and the Hussites has undermined the morale of the Teutonic Knights, the Right Reverend will certainly admit.”

“Why such a long prelude? Tell me, daughter, what is it all about?”

“I have a request: that we celebrate the alliances, victories and successes with forgiveness. With an amnesty. Just one. An inconspicuous one.”

“Who is it?”

“A prisoner at Lelów.”

Wojciech Jastrzębiec said nothing for a long time. Then suffered a coughing fit. It’s thirty miles from Gniezno to Łęczyca, thought Rixa. He’s too old for journeys like that. In weather like this.

“The prisoner at Lelów,” said the Primate finally, “is a prisoner of state.”

“A political prisoner,” she corrected him, head lowered. “And quite fundamental changes have occurred in politics recently, haven’t they? Today it’s clear to everybody that the attack on the Jasna Góra monastery wasn’t carried out by Czech Hussites faithful to the Chalice—”

“But was an act of common thievery,” Jastrzębiec finished quickly. “A simple plundering attack executed by common bandits.”

“A mainly Polish—”

“A rabble without fatherland or faith,” corrected the Primate with emphasis. “Slow-witted robbers who had no idea what they were raising their hands to strike. Who unthinkingly mutilated a miraculous painting.”