“Your Grace… I… I’m no assassin. It’s true that I sneaked up, but I… I wished to—”

“Oh!” Duke Jan made a very ducal and very European gesture with his slender hand. “I understand. You crept in here with a dagger to present me with a petition?”

“Yes! I mean no… Your Grace! I am not guilty of anything! On the contrary, injustice has befallen me! I’m a victim, the victim of a conspiracy—”

“Oh, naturally,” pouted Jan of Ziębice. “A conspiracy. I knew it.”

“Yes!” yelled Reynevan. “Exactly! The Sterczas killed my brother! They murdered him!”

“You lie, varlet,” snapped Tristram of Rachenau. “Don’t accuse my kinsmen, I warn you.”

“The Sterczas killed Peterlin!” said Reynevan, struggling. “If not with their own hands, then using hired thugs—Kunz Aulock, Stork of Gorgowice and Walter of Barby—scoundrels who are also after me! Your Grace, Duke Jan, Peterlin was your vassal—I demand justice!”

“It is I who demands!” yelled Rachenau. “I—by the right of blood! That son of a dog killed Nicolaus of Stercza in Oleśnica!”

“Justice!” called one of the Baruths, probably Henryk, because the Baruths seldom christened their children otherwise. “Duke Jan! A penalty for that murder!”

“That is a lie and a calumny!” yelled Reynevan. “The Sterczas are guilty of murder! They accuse me to justify their actions. And from vengeance, for the love that binds me to Adèle!”

Duke Jan’s face changed and Reynevan realised what a terrible blunder he had made. He looked at his lover’s impassive face and slowly, very slowly began to understand.

“Adèle,” Jan of Ziębice spoke in total silence. “What is he talking about?”

“He’s lying, Jasiek,” the Burgundian said, smiling. “There’s nothing between us and there never has been. It’s true that he tried to force his affections on me, but he left chastened, having gained nothing. Not even helped by the black magic he tried to beguile me with.”

“That’s not true.” Reynevan had difficulty speaking with a lump in his throat. “None of that is true. Adèle! Tell him… Tell him that you and I—”

Adèle tossed her head in a gesture he knew. She tossed it like that when she made love with him in her favourite position, sitting astride him. Her eyes flashed. He also knew that flash.

“Nothing of this kind would ever occur in Europe,” she said loudly, looking around. “For a virtuous lady’s honour to be insulted, and at a joust where that lady was only yesterday hailed La Royne de la Beaulté et des Amours in the presence of the knights of the tournament. And were something like that to occur in Europe, such a mesdisant, such a mal-faiteur would not remain unpunished for an instant.”