‘If only,’ he added knowingly and with emphasis, ‘to ensure that no disgrace or dishonour befalls our comrade, Dandelion. I meant Julian, by thunder.’

‘ ‘Pon my word!’ the baron suddenly laughed. ‘No disgrace nor dishonour will befall Viscount Julian, I’m prepared to give my word on it! For I omitted to tell you, viscount, that Duke Raymund died of apoplexy two years past.’

‘Ha, ha!’ Dandelion shouted, beaming all over. ‘The duke kicked the bucket! These truly are marvellous and joyous tidings! I mean, I meant to say, sorrow and grief, a great loss… May the earth lie lightly on him… If that is the case, let’s ride with all haste to Beauclair, noble knights! Geralt, Milva and Angoulême, I’ll see you in the castle!’

They forded the stream and spurred the horses into the forest, among spreading oaks and stirrup-high ferns. Milva found the trail of the fleeing gang without difficulty. They rode as quickly as they could, for Geralt feared for the druids. He was afraid the survivors of the gang, feeling safe, would want to seek vengeance on the druids for the massacre sustained from the knights errant of Toussaint.

‘Well, Dandelion’s come up trumps,’ Angoulême suddenly said. ‘When Nightingale’s men surrounded us in that cottage, he told me what he feared in Toussaint.’

‘I’d guessed,’ Witcher replied. ‘I just didn’t know he’d aimed so high. The duchess, ho!’

‘It was a good few years ago. And Duke Raymund, the one who croaked, had apparently sworn he’d tear out the poet’s heart, have it roasted and make his inconstant duchess eat it for supper. Dandelion’s lucky he didn’t fall into the duke’s clutches while he was still alive. We’re also lucky…’

‘That remains to be seen.’

‘Dandelion claims that Duchess Henarietta is madly in love with him.’

‘Dandelion always claims that.’

‘Shut your traps!’ Milva snapped, reining in her horse and reaching for her bow.

A brigand rushed blindly towards them, without a hat, weaving from oak to oak. He was running, falling over, getting up and running again. And screaming. Shrilly, dreadfully, awfully.

‘What the…?’ Angoulême asked in astonishment.

Milva tautened her bow in silence. She didn’t shoot, but waited until the brigand approached and rushed straight for them, as though he couldn’t see them. He ran between the horses of the Witcher and Angoulême. They saw his face, as white as a sheet and contorted in horror. They saw his bulging eyes.

‘What the…?’ Angoulême repeated.

Milva recovered from her astonishment, turned in the saddle and sent an arrow into the fleeing man’s back. The brigand roared and tumbled into the ferns.

The earth shook, making acorns fall from a nearby oak.

‘I wonder,’ said Angoulême, ‘what he was fleeing from…’

The earth shook again. The bushes rustled and broken branches cracked.