“Here we part,” the boy repeated. “Like you, it’s not to my liking to look back at hundsfelds. Like you, I find the thought of baseness and mean-spiritedness revolting. I’m returning to Adèle—never mind what that Hans said, my place is beside her. I won’t flee like a coward, like a petty thief. I shall face what I have to face, like you did at the Battle of Německý Brod. Farewell, noble Sir Zawisza.”

“Farewell, Reinmar of Bielawa. Watch your back. Adieu.”

“You, too. Who knows, perhaps we shall meet again.”

Zawisza the Black of Garbów looked long at him.

“I doubt that,” he finally said.

Chapter Five

In which Reynevan experiences what a wolf feels like being hunted in a forest. Then meets Fair Nicolette. And then sails off downstream.

A stone penitentiary cross stood at the crossroads, beyond the forest. One of Silesia’s numerous reminders of crimes past and very belated remorse.

The arms of the cross were clover-shaped and on the base was carved a battleaxe. That was the weapon the penitent had used to send his neighbours to the next world.

Reynevan examined the cross carefully and uttered a foul oath.

It was the very same cross beside which he had said farewell to Zawisza a good three hours earlier.

To blame was the fog, creeping since dawn like smoke over the fields and forests; to blame was the drizzle slanting small drops into his eyes. And when it stopped, the fog became thicker. To blame was also Reynevan himself, his fatigue and his lack of sleep, his distraction caused by obsessive thoughts about Adèle of Stercza and his plans to free her. And besides, who knew? Perhaps to blame were the sprites, imps, will-o’-the-wisps and other spirits that lived in great numbers in the Silesian forests, the decidedly less benevolent friends and relatives of Hans Mein Igel who were fond of leading people astray.

Searching for the culprit made no sense and Reynevan knew it. One had to assess the situation judiciously and act accordingly. He dismounted, leaned against the penitential cross and began to think hard.

Instead of being about halfway to Bierutów, he had returned to his starting place, not more than a mile from the town of Brzeg.

Or perhaps, he thought, perhaps destiny guided me? Gave me a sign? I could ride to Brzeg and ask for help from my brethren at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit. Or maybe I should stick with the original plan and ride straight towards Bierutów, to Ligota, and to Adèle.