Scharley freed himself from Wittram’s grasp with a sinuous movement and elbowed Tresckow in the throat. Tassilo wheezed and released Reynevan, who punched Rymbaba with clinical precision in his bruised side, right where it hurt. Paszko howled and doubled up. Scharley jumped at Buko and kicked him hard in the shin. Buko fell to his knees. Reynevan didn’t see what happened next as Tassilo of Tresckow punched him powerfully in the nape of the neck and threw him onto the table. But he guessed, hearing the sound of a blow, the crunch of a nose breaking and a furious roar.

“Don’t ever call me a bastard again, Krossig,” rang the penitent’s clear voice.

As Tresckow grappled with Scharley, Reynevan tried to come to his aid but was unable to—Rymbaba, face twisted in pain, had grabbed him from behind and bent him over. As Weyrach and Kuno of Wittram fell on Samson, the giant seized a bench, pushed it into Weyrach’s chest, shoved Kuno, then knocked them both over and pinned them down. Seeing Reynevan struggling and kicking in Rymbaba’s bear hug, Samson dashed over and slapped Rymbaba in the ear with his open palm. Paszko scuttled sideways the length of the hall and slammed head first into the fireplace. Reynevan seized a tin vat from the table and clanged it down on Notker of Weyrach, who was trying to stand up.

“The girl, Reynevan!” yelled Scharley. “Run!”

Buko of Krossig sprang up from the floor, roaring, with blood streaming from his smashed nose. He tore a bear spear from the wall, wound up and threw it at Scharley. The penitent nimbly dodged and the spear merely grazed his arm. And skewered Woldan of Osiny, who had just woken up and was rising from the table, completely disorientated. Woldan flew backwards, slammed against the Flemish tapestry and slid down it, his head lolling on the shaft protruding from his chest.

Buko bellowed even louder and lunged at Scharley with his bare hands, fingers splayed like a sparrowhawk’s talons. Scharley warded him off with one outstretched hand and punched him in his broken nose with the other. Buko howled and fell to his knees.

Tresckow pounced on Scharley, Kuno of Wittram on Tresckow, Samson on Wittram, followed by Weyrach, Buko—streaming blood—and finally Hubert. They all struggled on the floor like a tableau of Laocoön and his sons. Reynevan saw none of that. He was racing up the steep steps of the tower.

He came upon her outside a low door, in a place lit by a torch in an iron basket. She didn’t look at all surprised. It was as though she’d been waiting for him.

“Nicolette…”

“Aucassin.”

“I am come—”

He didn’t manage to say why he was come for a powerful blow knocked him to the ground. He lifted himself up onto his elbows, was hit again and fell.