“They ought to receive a divine punishment for desecrating something sacred,” the agent interjected emphatically. “Most of them are said to have died. And died before a year passed after the attack on the monastery. Which is right and proper. They should all die. The ones in prison, too. By the hand of God.”

Jastrzębiec brought his palms together as though in prayer and lowered his eyes to hide the flash in them.

“Thus the punishing right hand of God will reach the prisoner in Lelów?” he said, “Will the prisoner at Lelów also die? And will no one know where he will be buried? Will everybody forget about him?”

“Everybody.”

“And what about the Bishop of Krakow?”

“The Bishop of Krakow,” said Rixa softly, “is no longer interested in the Częstochowa affair. He has no interest in digging up corpses and awakening sleeping dogs. He knows it would be better if everybody forgot about Jasna Góra and the marred painting. Which, in any case, so I hear, is being restored in Krakow and will soon be hanging on the wall in the Pauline Order chapel, as before. As though nothing happened.”

“May it be so,” said Jastrzębiec. “May it be so, daughter. Though I admit I’d prefer you to be asking for something else. But you have rendered great services to the Kingdom of Poland. And you continue to do so, working with devotion and sacrifice. There are very few like you, particularly now.”

Now, he thought, since one of my best men met his death in Silesia. Łukasz Bożyczko, a good and well-concealed agent, a loyal servant of the Kingdom of Poland. He died, though the cut by iron he suffered was trifling. An irreparable loss. Where to find replacements?

“So do what needs to be done,” said the Primate, finally raising his head. “With my blessings. But consider whether the venture will incur expenditures. Whoever needs paying off at Lelów will have to be. I prefer not to involve in this the royal treasury, nor to deplete the Church’s humble coffers yet more.”

“In matters of finance,” said Rixa, smiling, “please rely on me absolutely. I know how to deal with such things. It’s in my blood, one might say. As it has been for generations.”

“Yes, yes,” said the old man, nodding. “Yes, yes. And since we’re on the subject. Daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t misunderstand me.” The Primate of Poland and Lithuania looked at her, and his gaze was frank. “Don’t perceive intolerance or prejudice in what I say. What I say, I say out of kindness, affection and concern.”

“I know. I know, Reverend.”

“Wouldn’t you convert to Catholicism?”

Rixa said nothing for a while.

“Thank you,” she finally answered, “but no thank you. Please don’t perceive prejudice in that, either.”

“I wish you a career. Promotion. As a Jewess you have meagre chances—”