“You demanded I confirm my identity,” he went on, still careless, “so you don’t know me. I’ve never clapped eyes on you before. Thus you are acting, obviously, on behalf of somebody and on somebody’s orders. Whose? Who has reason to judge my past misdeeds? Let me guess. I know the men who are after me.”

“You are awfully verbose.”

“Jan of Biberstein and the Inquisition? Out of the question. It’s unlikely to be Lord Bergow and the Lusatians. Who does that leave? Konrad, Bishop of Wrocław? The Sterczas? Duke Jan of Ziębice? Buko of Krossig? Adèle Stercza, perhaps?”

The black knight sat down opposite. Fire lit up his face and flickers of flame were reflected in his armour.

“Interesting names. Interesting persons. Particularly the last one, Adèle of Stercza. Would it surprise you if I were acting on her behalf? On her orders?”

“And are you?”

“Take a guess.”

They both said nothing. The wind blew and whistled, smothering and fanning the fire by turns.

“There is no shortage of pretty maids in Silesia,” the knight said. “Nor is there a lack of comely, free-spirited women. And lately, the population of beautiful, willing and relatively unexploited widows has been quickly growing in strength. And you, Bielawa, took the very worst virago, Adèle of Stercza, from that horn of plenty. What exactly drew you to her? What did you see in her that the others didn’t have?”

“You are awfully verbose.”

“Did it arouse you that she was married? That her husband was far away, in foreign lands? That he wasn’t satisfying his wife as he ought? That she would only know true pleasure with you? What did she say to you? What did she whisper into your ear? Did the two of you mock the cuckolded husband during your amorous frolics in her chamber? I think—”

“I don’t care what you think.” Reynevan cut him off sharply. “You speak of things about which you had, have and will have no idea. Thus, let it lie.”

“Aha! It hurts when I touch that place, does it? It was amusing to mock the cuckold, but the amusement ended when you became a cuckold oneself. That harlot led you a merry dance… Half of Silesia roared with laughter to hear how you went to the tournament in Ziębice and professed your love for the slut in front of Duke Jan. Oh, how the beautiful Adèle blemished your knightly honour… And exposed you to ridicule! You must indeed hate her, I think. But I shall console you… Delight your soul—”