“Almost there. There’s a castle tower up ahead.”

“What castle?”

“A friendly one, I think.”

“How’s Tauler? Where’s Scharley?”

“Scharley’s riding at the head with Čapek and Brázda. Tauler’s unconscious, slung between two horses. And you’d better wake up now, Reinmar. It’s no time to doze.”

“I’m not dozing. I wanted… I wanted to ask you something, friend Samson.”

“Ask away, friend Reinmar.”

“Back in the gambling den, why did you step in? Why did you stand up for that girl? And please don’t serve me empty platitudes. Tell me the real reason.”

“I found myself within a forest dark…” The giant answered with a quotation. “What a prophetic phrase. As though the master Alighieri had sensed I would one day find myself in a world where one can only communicate using lies or deceit and the pure truth is taken as an empty platitude or evidence of mental deficiency. You’d like to hear the real reason, you say. Why right now? You’ve never before asked me to explain my actions.”

“So far I’ve understood them.”

“Indeed? I envy you, for I haven’t always. And still don’t. The incident with Marketa fits that pattern. To some extent, for there are other reasons, indeed. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you them. They are, primo, too personal. Secundo, you wouldn’t understand them.”

“Because they’re unfathomable, naturally. Otherworldly. Not even Dante could help me?”

“Dante can always help.” The giant smiled. “Very well. If you want to know… In the gambling den, during that repulsive show, my spirit was yearning.”

“Hmm… A little more?”

“With pleasure.”

E lo spirito mio, che già cotanto

tempo era stato ch’a la sua presenza

non era di stupor, tremando, affranto,

sanza de li occhi aver più conoscenza,

per occulta virtù che da lei mosse,

d’antico amor sentì la gran potenza.

Neither of them said anything for a long time.

“Amor?” Reynevan finally asked. “Are you certain it’s amor?”

“I’m certain it’s gran potenza.”

They rode on in silence.

“Reinmar?”

“Go on, Samson.”

“It’s high time I was going home. Let’s make an effort, shall we?”

“Very well, friend. We shall. I promise. Is that the bridge? Yes, I think it is.”

Hooves thundered on the timbers and planks as the horsemen rode onto a bridge spanning a deep canyon. The castle—their destination—stood atop a steep precipice that plunged straight down to a river, probably the Jizera. Beyond the bridge there was a solid gate, and beyond the gate an extensive bailey over which the castle’s mighty bergfried towered.

“We’re home!” Jan Čapek of Sány announced loudly from the head, his mount’s horseshoes ringing on the cobbles of the bailey. “In Michalovice. I mean, I’m home!”

Chapter Eight