As they approached, flocks of birds of many breeds flew up from the marsh. On seeing this, Duke Konrad Kantner of Oleśnica instantly ordered the procession to stop and asked for his favourite falcons. The duke passionately adored falconry, and the whole world could wait while he watched his favourite Motley rend the plumage from mallards and witness Silver intrepidly battling a heron in the air.

So the duke galloped through the rushes and wetlands like a man possessed, accompanied fearlessly by his eldest daughter Agnieszka, Seneschal Rudiger Haugwitz and several careerist pages.

The rest of his retinue waited at the edge of the forest but did not dismount, since no one knew when the duke would weary of his play. The duke’s foreign guest was yawning discreetly. The chaplain was muttering—probably a prayer; the bailiff was counting—probably money; the minnesinger was composing—probably rhymes;

Agnieszka’s ladies-in-waiting were gossiping—probably about other ladies-in-waiting; and all the while, the young knights were killing time by riding around and exploring the nearby undergrowth.

“Ciołek!”

Henryk Krompusz reined in his horse abruptly and turned, trying to determine which bush had just quietly called him by his nickname.

“Ciołek!”

“Who’s there? Show yourself!”

The bushes rustled.

“By Saint Jadwiga…” Krompusz’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “Reynevan? Is it you?”

“No, it’s Saint Jadwiga,” replied Reynevan in a voice as sour as a gooseberry in May. “Ciołek, I need help… Whose retinue is it? Kantner’s?”

Before Krompusz worked out what was happening, two other Oleśnica knights had joined him.

“Reynevan!” groaned Jaksa of Wiszna. “Christ Almighty, what do you look like!”

I wonder how you’d look, thought Reynevan, if your horse had given up the ghost just outside Bystre. If you’d had to wander all night through the bogs and wildernesses by the River Świerzna, and just before dawn exchange your wet, muddy rags for a smock swiped from the fence of a peasant’s cottage. I wonder how you’d look after something like that, you foppish dandy.

Benno Ebersbach, the third Oleśnica knight to ride up, was probably thinking the same thing.

“Instead of gawping,” he said dryly, “give him some raiment. Off with those rags, Bielawa. Come on, gentlemen, take whatever you have from your saddlebags.”

“Reynevan,” said Krompusz, still unable to believe what he was seeing. “Is it truly you?”

Reynevan didn’t reply. He put on a shirt and jerkin one of them threw him. He was so angry, he was close to tears.

“I’m in need of help,” he repeated. “In great need.”

“We see that,” Ebersbach confirmed with a nod, “and also concur that your need is great. Great indeed. Come on. We must present you to Haugwitz. And the duke.”

“Does he know?”

“Everybody knows. Everybody’s talking about it.”