“Particularly since they definitely won’t feed you right away at Sterzendorf,” drawled the character on the right, who was wearing a mail shirt and iron vambraces on his forearms.

“And even if they do,” snorted the one behind him that he couldn’t see, “it surely won’t be anything to your liking.”

“If you release me… I’ll pay you…” Reynevan stammered out. “I’ll pay you more than the Sterczas.”

“You’re insulting professionals,” said the moustachioed man. “I am Kunz Aulock, called Kyrie-eleison. You can hire me, but you can’t bribe me. Get those dumplings down you, double-quick!”

Reynevan ate, but the dumplings had lost their flavour. Kunz Aulock stuck the mace he had been holding into his belt and pulled on his gloves.

“You ought not to have lain with other men’s women,” he said. “Not long ago,” he added, not expecting a response, “I heard a priest drunkenly reading a letter. To the Hebrews, I believe. It went like this: every transgression will receive a just reward. Put simply, it means that if you do something, you must be aware of the consequences of your deeds and be ready to suffer them. You have to be able to accept them with dignity. Why, for example, look to the right. This is Lord Stork of Gorgowice. Having penchants similar to yours, quite recently, he and some comrades committed a misdeed on an Opole townswoman, for which, if they catch him, they’ll rend his flesh with pliers and break him on the wheel. And so? Look and admire how Lord Stork bears his fate with dignity, how clear are his countenance and gaze. Let him be an example.”

“Let me be an example,” croaked Lord Stork, distinguished by a pockmarked face and a rheumy gaze. “And stand up. Time we went.”

Right then, the hearth exploded with a roar and spat fire, sparks and clouds of smoke and soot into the chamber. The cauldron shot up and clattered onto the floor, spilling its boiling contents. Kyrie-eleison leaped forward, but Reynevan propelled the table at him with a powerful shove. The unfinished bowl of dumplings smacked Lord Stork straight in his pimply face as Reynevan kicked the bench backwards and dived towards the door leading to the threshing floor. One of the thugs managed to seize him by the collar, but Reynevan had studied in Prague and had his collar felt in most of the inns of the Old Town and the Lesser Quarter. He twisted, elbowed him hard in the face, wriggled away and made a break for the door. He recalled the warning and nimbly dodged the tied-up straw lying just beyond the threshold.