Barely had they lost sight of the town’s tower than the apparently gloomy and sickeningly officious Hackeborn cheered up and became animated and forthcoming, without any encouragement. Like every second German, he bore the given name Heinrich and was, it turned out, a relative of the powerful Hackeborns of Przewóz. He had arrived all of two years before from Thuringia, where his family’s position in the service of the landgraves was deteriorating, and as a consequence they were becoming ever poorer. In Silesia, where the surname Hackeborn still meant something, Sir Heinrich was hoping for adventures and a career in the service of Jan of Ziębice. The former was meant to be provided by the great anti-Hussite crusade which was expected any day, and the latter by a favourable marriage. Heinrich Hackeborn confessed to Reynevan that he was in love with the gorgeous and spirited Jutta of Apolda, the daughter of Cup-Bearer Berthold Apolda, Lord of Schönau. Jutta, unfortunately, not only didn’t return his affection, but took the liberty of mocking his advances. But never mind, the main thing was to persevere.

Although he didn’t care a jot about Hackeborn’s romantic adventures, Reynevan pretended to listen and nodded politely. There was no point being rude to his own escort, after all. When, after some time, the knight had exhausted the range of subjects bothering him and fell silent, Reynevan tried to doze, but with no luck. Either the image of Peterlin lying on the bier or Adèle with her calves on Duke Jan’s shoulders kept appearing in front of his eyes.

They were in Służejów Forest, which was colourful and fragrant after the morning rain, when Sir Heinrich interrupted the silence. Without being asked, he revealed to Reynevan their destination—Stolz Castle, the seat of the powerful Lord Jan Biberstein. Reynevan’s interest and anxiety grew in equal measure. He intended to question the garrulous knight but wasn’t quick enough, for he smoothly changed the subject and launched into digressions about Adèle of Stercza and the problems the romance with her had caused Reynevan.

“Although everybody thinks that fucking her was your downfall,” continued Hackeborn, assuming an all-knowing expression, “it’s actually the other way around. Some people worked out that shafting the Frenchwoman actually saved your life.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Duke Jan,” explained the knight, “would have turned you over to the Sterczas without any qualms. Rachenau and Baruth were both exhorting him to. But what would that have meant? That Adèle was lying by denying it. That you did, in fact, bed her. Do you see? The duke didn’t hand you over to be investigated regarding those murders you allegedly committed for the same reason—because he knew you’d sing about Adèle under torture. Understand?”

“A little.”