“An itinerant poet from Champagne.” Samson shook his head. “Oh, my, Reinmar, Reinmar… And do you know even three words of the tongue of the Franks?”

“I know more than three. Don’t you believe me?”

Par montaignes et par valees

Et par forez longues et lees

Par leus estranges et sauvages

Et passa mainz felonz passages

Et maint peril et maint destroit…

“Quite fluent,” admitted Samson with a sigh. “The accent, I must admit, is also half-decent. And the choice of an excerpt from a romance… Why, most apt and fitting for the circumstances.”

“So fitting,” interjected Scharley, who had just entered the kitchen soundlessly, “it couldn’t be more so! All you need, O itinerant poet from Champagne, is to think up a suitable name. A nom de guerre that is equally fitting and aptly characterises you. I suggest Yvain Le Cretin. When do we set off?”

“I’m setting off. By myself.”

“No.” Samson Honeypot shook his head. “I am. This matter concerns me and only me. I don’t want to put any of you at risk because of me. It’s high time I took my own affairs into my own hands. Assuming that Reinmar’s idea is a good one, it can be slightly modified: in order to deliver to Trosky a ransom demand for the young Keuschburg, they might make use of an itinerant idiot. I think it’s quite a decent cover, and my appearance—”

“Your appearance is indeed breathtaking,” interrupted Scharley, “but it’s not quite enough. The mission needs someone with skill in the fields of fraud, deceit, leading people by the nose and pulling the wool over their eyes. No offence, but there’s only one of us here who deserves to be called a specialist.”

“The idea was mine,” Reynevan calmly replied, “and I won’t give it up. It’s rightfully mine and I’m setting off alone. And I’m certain I’m the most suitable of us for this enterprise.”

“Not at all,” Scharley objected. “You’re the least suitable. It was you and not us whom the augury told to beware of the Old Woman and the Maiden. But you, of course, don’t believe in auguries. When it suits you—”

“I’ve learned that from you.” Reynevan cut him off. “Enough talking, I’m leaving. Alone. You’re staying. For if—”

“Yes. If what?”

“If something goes wrong… If I were to be… I’d like to be able to count on having you both at the ready. And that you’d come to my aid and get me out of trouble.”

Scharley said nothing for a long time.

“I’m tormented by the thought,” he finally said, “that if I were to wallop you on the head, Reinmar of Champagne, then tie you up and lock you in a cellar for a while, you’d thank me for it one day. So I wonder why I don’t do it.”