That wasn’t the end of their troubles, unfortunately. Servants and monks poured in after the pikemen moved on to clear and sweep the dirt floor. Branches of fragrant fir were strewn around and benches hauled in. Tables were constructed from pine trestles and planks, then covered in canvas. Even before kegs and mugs had been brought in, Reynevan knew what was about to happen.

Some time passed before the magnates entered the barn. Their colourful clothes, gleaming armour, jewels, gold chains and buckles were incongruous in the squalid interior.

“A pox on it…” whispered Scharley, his eye also pressed against a crack. “They’ve decided to hold a secret council in this very barn. It isn’t just anyone, either—that’s Konrad, Bishop of Wrocław, in person. And beside him is Ludwik, Duke of Brzeg and Legnica—”

“Quiet!” hissed Samson.

Reynevan had also recognised both Piasts. Konrad—for eight years Bishop of Wrocław—had a surprisingly knightly build, which was remarkable considering his love of drinking, gluttony and lechery. The credit was due no doubt to his robust constitution and healthy Piast blood, since other dignitaries who reached Konrad’s age, even those who boozed less and whored more seldom, by then had bellies down to their knees, bags under their eyes and purple noses—if they still had noses. The forty-year-old Ludwik of Brzeg, however, resembled the King Arthur of miniatures—his long, wavy hair framed, like a halo, a face as sensitive as a poet’s, yet still manly.

“Please sit down, noble lords,” said the bishop, his voice surprisingly resonant, like a young man’s. “Although it’s a barn not a palace, please enjoy our hospitality, and we shall compensate for the simple vittles with Hungarian wine, easily as good as what you would drink at the court of King Sigismund in Buda. Which the royal chancellor, the honourable Master Schlick will confirm—if, naturally, he shares that opinion.”

A very serious and wealthy-looking young man gave a bow. The coat of arms on his doublet showed a silver pile on a red field and three rings of reverse tincture.

“Kaspar Schlick,” whispered Scharley. “Sigismund’s personal secretary, confidant and advisor. A spectacular career for one so young…”

Reynevan pulled a straw from his nose, stifling a sneeze with a superhuman effort. Samson hissed in warning.

“I extend a particularly hearty welcome,” continued Bishop Konrad, “to His Eminence Giordano Orsini, member of the Sacred College of Cardinals, now legate to His Holiness Pope Martin. I also welcome the representative of the State of the Teutonic Order, the noble Gottfried Rodenberg, the Vogt of Lipa. And I welcome our esteemed guests from Poland, Moravia and Bohemia. Welcome and please be seated.”