“—be punished and condemned. Namely: simony, heresy, taking money for baptisms, confirmations, confessions, communion, holy oil, holy water, masses and prayers for the deceased, for fasts, for ringing bells, for the parish, for buying and selling offices, benefices and prelatures, for promotions, and for indulgences—”

“Well?” Sir Błażej stood with arms akimbo. “Is that not true?”

“Further,” continued the goliard, “the heresies resulting from this and from shameful practices of adultery, begetting of sons and daughters out of wedlock, sodomy and other debauchery, anger, arguments, fights, backbiting, tormenting and robbing of simple folk, collecting fees, duties and donations. Every just son of his mother, the Holy Church, ought to reject that, renounce it, deplore it like the Devil and be disgusted by it—”

Further reading was disrupted by a general uproar and confusion, during which, Reynevan noticed, the goliard noiselessly slipped away with his parchment. The Raubritters yelled, swore, shoved and threatened each other, and blades began to grate in scabbards.

Samson nudged Reynevan.

“I’d say you ought to glance through the window,” he murmured. “And fast.”

Reynevan did. And froze.

Three riders were entering the Kromolin stronghold.

Wittich, Morold and Wolfher Stercza.

Chapter Eighteen

In which modernity boldly encroaches on knightly traditions and customs, and Reynevan, as though wanting to vindicate the title of this book, makes a fool of himself. And is compelled to admit it. In front of the whole world.

Reynevan had reason to feel shame and anger, for he had succumbed to panic. At the sight of the Sterczas entering Kromolin, he was overcome by senseless, idiotic anxiety. His shame was all the greater because he was completely aware of it. Rather than assessing the situation soberly and following a sensible plan, he reacted like a frightened and hunted animal. He jumped through a window in the chamber and bolted between the sheds and shacks, towards the thicket of riverside willows that he hoped would offer him safe, dark sanctuary.

He was saved by luck and the cold that had been troubling Stefan Rotkirch for several days.

The Sterczas had set their snare well. The three brothers entered Kromolin, while the remaining three men—Rotkirch, Dieter Haxt and Eagle Owl of Knobelsdorf—had arrived unseen at the settlement some time earlier and manned the most probable escape routes. Reynevan would have run straight into Rotkirch, who was lurking behind a shed, were it not for the fact that Rotkirch sneezed so loudly his frightened horse kicked the shed with a great thud. Although panic had frozen Reynevan’s brain and turned his legs to jelly, he stopped in time, doubled back, crawled on hands and knees under a fence and hid behind a pile of firewood. He was shaking so much, the entire pile appeared to be rustling as though buffeted by a strong wind.

“Psst! Psst, young m’lord!”