“Night’s falling,” he finally said, “and the night will bring a solution. La notte, as they say in Italy, porta la consiglia. On condition, I shall add, that we spend the night in a warm, dry, safe place. To horse, lads, and follow me.”

“Where to?” Reynevan asked.

“You’ll see.”

It was almost dark when some fences and buildings loomed up in front of them. Dogs began to bark as they approached.

“What is it?” asked Samson apprehensively. “Could it be—”

“It is Dębowiec,” interrupted Scharley. “A grange belonging to the Cistercian monastery in Kamieniec. When I was locked away with the penitents, they sometimes made me work here as part of my punishment, which is why I know that it’s a warm, dry place, perfect for a good night’s sleep. And in the morning, we’ll rustle up some grub.”

“I understand that the Cistercians know you, so when you ask them to put us up—”

“It’s not as simple as that,” the penitent interrupted again. “Tether the horses. We’ll leave them here, in the forest. And you two follow me. On tiptoe.”

The Cistercian dogs had calmed down and were barking more quietly and unconvincingly when Scharley nimbly broke a plank in the wall of the barn. A moment later, they were in the dark, dry, warm interior, which smelled pleasantly of straw and hay. And soon, after climbing a ladder to the hayloft, they were burrowing into the hay.

“Let’s get to sleep,” muttered Scharley, rustling. “Pity to do it on an empty stomach, but I suggest we don’t think about food until morning, then we can steal some provisions, if only a few. Reinmar—can you control your primitive urges… Reinmar?”

Reynevan was asleep.

Chapter Twenty-Two

In which it turns out that our heroes made a poor choice of where to sleep. It also confirms—although the details of the matter won’t be revealed until much later—the famous truth that in historical times, even the tiniest incident may have historically significant consequences.

Reynevan, in spite of his fatigue, slept badly and restlessly. Before falling asleep, he thrashed around in the prickly, thistly hay and wriggled between Scharley and Samson, earning himself a few curses and shoves. Then he moaned in his sleep, seeing Peterlin pierced by many swords with blood flowing from his mouth. He sighed on seeing a naked Adèle of Stercza sitting astride Duke Jan of Ziębice, and moaned on seeing the duke stroking and squeezing her rhythmically bouncing breasts. Then, to his horror and despair, Adèle’s place on the duke was taken by Fair Nicolette—Katarzyna of Biberstein—who rode the tireless Piast with no less energy and enthusiasm than Adèle. And with no less satisfaction at the climax.