“Fie!” The duke waved a hand and vigorously tossed his liripipe over his shoulder. “To hell with him. I have more important affairs here. Come on, sirs, the mêlée is about to begin. I won’t spoil the tournament; I won’t miss the mêlée. Come with me, Adèle. Before the fight begins, the knights must see the Queen of Beauty and Love on the grandstand.”

The Burgundian took hold of his proffered arm and picked up her train. Reynevan, who was being bound, fixed his gaze on her, hoping she would look back, give him a sign or signal with eye or hand. To say it was only a trick, a game, a ruse; that actually everything was still as it had been, that nothing had changed between them. He kept waiting until the last moment.

But to no avail.

Fanfares sounded, the crowd raised a thunderous ovation, the herald shouted his laissez les aller and aux honneurs. The mêlée began.

“Let’s go,” instructed the esquire to whom the Marshal of the Court Borschnitz had given command of the escort. “Don’t try to resist, lad.”

“I’m not going to. What’s the tower like here?”

“Is it your first time? Ha, I see it is. Pretty decent. For a tower.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Reynevan tried not to look around, so as not betray Scharley and Samson, who he was certain were hidden in the crowd observing him. In any case, Scharley was too wily an old fox to let himself be noticed.

But someone else had noticed Reynevan.

She had changed her hairstyle. Previously, near Brzeg, she had worn her hair in a thick plait. Now her straw-coloured locks were divided down the centre of her head into two plaits, coiled over her ears, topped with a gold headband. She was wearing a blue sleeveless dress and under it a white batiste chemise.

“M’lady,” said the esquire, clearing his throat and scratching his head beneath his hat. “It is not allowed… It will get me into trouble…”

“I only want to exchange a few words with him,” she said, biting her lip comically and stamping her foot a little childishly. “A few words, nothing more. Don’t tell anyone about it and you’ll have no trouble. Now turn around. And don’t eavesdrop.”

When the esquire had complied, she narrowed her blue eyes and asked, “Why are you in fetters and under guard this time, Aucassin? Beware! If you answer that it’s because of love, I shall be very cross.”

“And yet,” he sighed, “that’s the truth. Generally speaking.”

“And more precisely?”

“Because of love and stupidity.”

“Oh! You’re becoming more believable. But explain, please.”

“Were it not for my stupidity, I’d be in Hungary now.”