“I don’t want to spoil the amusement,” said Samson, emerging from the fog with three horses, including Reynevan’s wheezing and foaming bay, “but could we get out of here? And at a gallop, perhaps?”

The milky curtain fell apart as the mist rose, dispelled in the blaze of the sun shining through the clouds. The world, hitherto plunged in a chiaroscuro of long shadows, suddenly brightened up, glistening and blazing with colour like one of Giotto’s frescos.

The red tiles of the towers of nearby Frankenstein glistened.

“And now,” said Samson, after feasting his eyes, “to Ziębice.”

“To Ziębice,” Reynevan said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s head for Ziębice. My friends… How can I repay you?”

“We’ll think about it,” promised Scharley. “But for the moment… Get off your horse.”

Reynevan did as he was told. He knew what to expect. He wasn’t wrong.

“Reinmar of Bielawa,” said Scharley in a dignified and solemn voice. “Repeat after me: I’m an ass!”

“I’m an ass—”

“Louder!”

God’s creatures inhabiting the area that were just waking up—from harvest mice and fire-bellied toads to yellowhammers and pied flycatchers, crossbills and salamanders—heard Reynevan shout at the top of his voice: “I am an ass!”

“I’m an ass,” Reynevan repeated after Scharley. “An utter pillock, a fool, a moron, an idiot and a clown worthy of being locked up in the Narrenturm! Whatever I think up turns out to be the height of idiocy. Whatever I do exceeds those heights. I solemnly vow to improve. It is my good fortune—fortune which is utterly undeserved—to have friends who don’t leave me in the lurch. I have friends I can always rely upon. Because friendship…”

The sun rose higher and flooded the fields in a golden blaze.

“Friendship is a great and beautiful thing!”

Chapter Nineteen

In which our heroes happen upon a very European tournament in Ziębice. For Reynevan, however, contact with Europe turns out to be very disagreeable. Painful, even.

They were already near enough to Ziębice to admire—in all their glory—the imposing walls and towers looming up from behind a wooded hill. Farmers were labouring in the fields and meadows, the pastures were dotted with sheep and the meadows around the ponds were white with geese. The hallmarks of prosperity were visible everywhere.

“A pleasant land,” said Samson. “A hardworking, affluent region.”

“And a law-abiding one,” said Scharley, pointing at gibbets groaning under the weight of hanged men. Alongside, to the delight of crows, a dozen corpses were rotting on stakes and bones shone white on breaking wheels. “It’s clear that the law means law here and justice means justice.”

“Where do you see justice?”

“Over there,” Scharley replied, indicating the display of corpses.

“Ah, yes.”