The girls drew close and hugged one another in fear. The taller one pulled her cotehardie all the way down to her ankles, noticing that Notker of Weyrach was staring lustfully at her shapely calves. The shorter one was snivelling.

Buko gnashed his teeth and gripped his knife hilt so tightly, his knuckles were white. His expression was furious, and he was certainly in two minds. Huon of Sagar noticed immediately.

“Time to face the truth,” he snorted. “You’ve botched it, Buko. You all botched it. It’s clearly not your day. Thus I advise you to head home. Quickly. Before another opportunity to make fools of yourselves arises.”

Buko swore, this time echoed by Weyrach, and Rymbaba, and Wittram, and even Woldan of Osiny through his dressing.

“What about the wenches?” Buko spoke as though only then noticing them. “Do we slay them?”

“Or lay them?” Weyrach smiled lecherously. “Master Huon is right to a degree that this day has indeed turned out lousy, so perhaps we could at least finish it on a pleasant note? We’ll take the wenches, find a soft hayrick and take turns. What say you?”

Rymbaba and Wittram chuckled, but rather hesitantly. Woldan of Osiny groaned through the blood-soaked linen. Huon of Sagar shook his head.

Buko took a step towards the girls, who cowered and hugged each other more tightly. The younger of them sobbed.

Reynevan seized Samson, who was already gearing up to intervene, by the sleeve.

“Don’t you dare,” he said.

“What?”

“Don’t you dare touch her. Because the results might be disastrous for you. She’s a noblewoman and not just any noblewoman at that—she’s Katarzyna of Biberstein, the daughter of Jan of Biberstein, the Lord of Stolz.”

“Are you certain, Hagenau?” asked Buko of Krossig, interrupting the long and pregnant silence that followed his announcement. “Perhaps you are mistaken?”

“He is not.” Tassilo of Tresckow lifted up and displayed a pouch with an embroidered coat of arms showing a red deer’s antler on a field of gold he had taken from the strongbox.

“Indeed,” admitted Buko. “The Bibersteins’ arms. Which one is she?”

“The taller, older one.”

“Ha!” The Raubritter clutched his sides. “Then we shall finish the day on a pleasant note indeed and make up for our losses. Hubert, tie her up and put her in front of you on your horse.”

“I predicted it,” Huon of Sagar said, spreading his arms. “This day has given you a fresh chance to make fools of yourselves. Not for the first time do I wonder, Buko, whether you inherited your stupidity or acquired it.”