Ofka swallowed again and shook her head, blushing involuntarily. Better not, she thought. Better not to return to old matters, better to erase them, eject them from memory. That afternoon on Radunia. Better that her beloved didn’t know it was owing to white magic, that it was magic that bound them, it was spells that overcame the obstacles and brought them together, today and for ever, because what God joins no one can put asunder.

I wonder, she suddenly thought, if they succeeded, whether the magic had been equally obliging towards them.

Towards Elencza… And towards Electra. Electra, whose face I saw in the crowd a moment ago.

“We barely knew each other,” she explained, trying to appear indifferent. “Her name was Electra.”

“I’m surprised at parents giving their children names like that,” said Parsifal. “Call it superstition, but I’d be afraid that the name might prove to be prophetic and influence my child’s destiny.”

“What do you mean?”

“Electra was the daughter of Agamemnon, King of Mycenae. She adored her father; when he was murdered, she went insane with hatred and the desire for vengeance. She exacted revenge but she herself went mad. I wouldn’t give a daughter of mine that name.”

“Neither would I,” said Ofka, snuggling up to her betrothed. “We shall christen ours Beata.”

The bell of the Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary on Piasek Island tolled the Sext. Reynevan pushed his way through the crowd, nursing and protecting the flacon with the composite poison hidden under his coat. He was determined. He was looking out for an opportunity. As he had for a long time.

The Wallcreeper, guarded by Kuczera of Hunt and his men, walked down the middle of Piasek Bridge, greeting with a raised hand the citizens of Wrocław thronging towards him. His jacket was adorned with a heavy gold chain, a symbol of power. The Wallcreeper had power. Bishop Konrad had ceded to him the secular governorship of the whole of Silesia, appointing him Oberlandeshauptmann, steward, starosta and monocrat of Wrocław, elevating him above the town council and magistrate. Thus had Birkart Grellenort become the most powerful man in Silesia after the bishop. To unqualified approval and overwhelming joy. For a fierce war with the Hussites was being waged, Niemcza and Otmuchów were still in Hussite hands, bands of Hussite marauders and robber knights allied with them were still prowling around Silesia. Folk wanted power to be held in one strong hand, to have a decisive and unbending ruler. A man of the moment was needed, a leader and a defender. Wrocław people had faith in their defender, believed that he would protect them, raise them up from the ruins, bring them wealth and happiness. They trusted and admired him.

“Our saviour!”

“Our refuge!”

“Our benefactor!”