The courtyard, enclosed by buildings, was bathed in the flickering light of burning torches. Peasants and merchants rubbed shoulders with Bernardine and Franciscan friars, Jews and Romani, and there were plenty of knights and esquires in armour with swords invariably at their belts or under their arms.

The knights’ equipage defined their status and wealth. Most were in full plate, and several brazenly flaunted suits of armour made by master armourers in Nuremberg, Augsburg and Innsbruck. Others could only afford incomplete plate armour, or a breastplate, bevor, rerebraces or cuisses worn over a mail shirt.

On the steps of a granary, a group of wandering goliards hopped in time with the clamour of fiddles, flutes and horns, jangling the bells and rattles sewn onto their costumes. Close by on a wooden platform, several knights were dancing, apparently in honour of Saint Vitus given their somewhat uncoordinated jumping and hopping. Their thudding footfalls almost drowned out the music, and the clouds of dust they were kicking up made people sneeze. Wenches and Romani women laughed and squealed more shrilly than the goliards’ pipes.

More masculine pursuits were being enjoyed on a large area of compacted earth in the centre of the courtyard, marked out at the corners by torches. Knights in armour were testing both each other’s skills with weapons and the robustness of their armour. Blades rang, battleaxes and morning stars thudded against shields, accompanied by crude curses and the encouraging cries of spectators. Two knights, one of whom bore the golden carp of the Glaubitzes on his shield, were risking a bout without helmets. The Glaubitz was aiming blows with a sword, and his opponent, fending them off with a buckler, was trying to catch the weapon in the teeth of a swordbreaker.

Reynevan stood up to observe the fight, but Scharley tugged him by the elbow, instructing him to follow the lead of the Raubritters, who were clearly more interested in vittles and beverages than the sparring. They soon found themselves in the very centre of the feasting and merrymaking. Shouting over the hubbub, Rymbaba, Wittram and Tassilo greeted friends, exchanging handshakes and backslaps. Soon, everyone, including Scharley and Reynevan, was sitting shoulder to shoulder at the table, chewing pork and mutton chops and ribs and drinking toasts to good health, happiness and prosperity. Disdaining something as despicably small as a beaker, the sorely thirsty Rymbaba drank mead from a gallon pail, the golden fluid pouring down his moustaches and onto his breastplate.