“I ask the Predicant Friars,” continued Otto Beess, “to please continue, in keeping with the directives of the Inter cunctas bull, to monitor all symptoms of heresy and the activities of Taborite emissaries, and to report the smallest, even apparently insignificant details involved with those activities. I am also counting on help from the secular arm, which I ask of you, noble Sir Henryk.”

Henryk of Reideburg bowed his head, but only slightly, then immediately straightened up his mighty frame, resplendent in a chequered paltock. The Starosta of Strzelin didn’t conceal his pride or disdain, made no pretence at being humble or compliant. It was clear that he tolerated the visit of the Church hierarchy because he had to, but couldn’t wait for the canon to finally leave his territory.

Otto Beess was aware of that.

“Also, noble Starosta Henryk,” he added, “please take greater pains than hitherto in solving the murder of Sir Albrecht of Bart committed in Karczyn. The chapter is anxious to identify the perpetrators of that crime. Lord Bart, in spite of a certain peevishness and some controversial views, was a noble gentleman, a vir rarae dexteritatis, a great benefactor of the Henryków and Krzeszów Cistercians. We demand that his murderers be suitably punished—by which I mean the actual murderers. The chapter will not be content with blame being placed on a scapegoat. We do not believe that Lord Bart died at the hands of those heretics burned today.”

“Those Hussites may have had accomplices—” Reideburg said, clearing his throat.

“We do not rule that out,” said the canon, staring fixedly at the knight. “We aren’t ruling anything out. Sir Henryk, impart greater urgency to the investigation. Request, if necessary, the help of the Starosta of Świdnica, Lord Albrecht of Kolditz. Indeed, ask anyone you wish for aid, as long as there are results.”

Henryk Reideburg bowed stiffly. The canon returned the bow, but carelessly.

“Thank you, noble knight,” he said in a voice like a rusty cemetery gate creaking open. “I shan’t keep you any longer. I also thank you, gentle councillors, and you venerable friars. I won’t interfere with your duties, of which, I imagine, you have plenty.”

The starosta, councillors and monks exited, shuffling their poulaines and sandals.

“You, worthy seminarists and deacons, are also aware of your duties, I don’t doubt,” the Canon of Wrocław Cathedral added a moment later, “so please attend to them. Forthwith. Our brother secretary and father confessor will remain. As will…”

Otto Beess raised his head and fixed Reynevan with a piercing gaze.

“As will you, my lad. We have something to discuss. But first of all, I will receive the supplicants. Please call the parish priest from Oława.”

Father Granciszek entered, his face paling and flushing by turns in an extraordinary fashion, and immediately genuflected. The canon didn’t ask him to get up.