The Raubritter looked back, as though checking to see that his foot soldiers had their weapons to hand and the bowmen their crossbows at the ready. Once certain, he rested his left hand on his sword hilt and his right on his hip. He stood with legs apart and raised his head.

“I’ll be brief, for I do not have time to talk long,” he thundered. “Somebody attacked and robbed some Walloons, colliers from the mine in Golden Hill. I have decreed that the Walloons from Golden Hill are under my care and protection. So hear this and heed it: if any of you villains had a hand in it, you should own up now, because if you don’t and I catch you later, I’ll flay you alive, knight or not.”

It was as though a black cloud had covered Markwart of Stolberg’s face. The Kromolin Raubritters murmured. Fryczko of Nostitz and Vitelozzo Gaetani didn’t move, just sat on their horses like two iron statues. But the crossbowmen in the entourage bent their bows, ready for action.

“Suspicion for this misdeed,” continued Hayn of Czirne, “falls to a large degree on Kunz Aulock and Stork of Gorgowice, so hear this, too, and heed it: if you conceal those thieving bastards in Kromolin, you’ll be sorry. It is well known,” Czirne went on, ignoring the growing murmur among the knights, “that those whoresons Aulock and Stork are in the pay of the Sterczas, the brothers Wolfher and Morold, knaves and blackguards both. Our paths have crossed in the past, but now they have overstepped the mark. If the matter with the Walloons turns out to be true, I’ll disembowel the Sterczas. And while I’m at it, anyone who thinks to hide them.

“And one more thing, last but by no means any less grave, so listen carefully. Lately, mercatores keep being found cold and stiff, the victims of some evil design. The matter is strange and I think not to go into it, but I shall tell you this: the Fuggers’ Augsburg Company is paying me for protection. So if anything happens to one of the Fuggers’ mercators and it turns out one of you is responsible, then may God have mercy on his soul. Understand? Understand, you dogs?”

Among the growing furious rumbling, Hayn of Czirne suddenly drew his sword, whirling it around with a whistle.

“And if anyone opposes what I just said, or thinks that I lie, if it might not be to someone’s liking, then step forward!” he roared. “We shall settle the matter with iron forthwith. Come on! I’m waiting. Dammit, I haven’t killed anyone since Easter.”

“Your behaviour is unseemly, Lord Hayn,” Markwart of Stolberg said calmly.

“What I said does not apply to you, honourable Lord Markwart, or you, noble Lord Traugott, nor any of the senior knights. But I know my rights. I can challenge anyone from the crowd.”