“Oh!” Biberstein turned his head towards the Green Lady, who appeared preoccupied with contemplating her fingernails. “Did you hear, m’Lady Cup-Bearer? He is ready! On hearing that dictum, should I be beside myself with joy? Knowing the bastard will have a father and Kasia a husband? Has no one explained the situation to him? That all I need do is snap my fingers and a queue of forty suitors will form. And that I, Biberstein, can take my own sweet time choosing a husband for my daughter. Listen, you pup. You don’t fulfil the conditions to be Kasia’s husband. You are an outcast. You are a heretic. And if that wasn’t enough, you’re a pauper. A beggar. Yes, yes, Jan of Ziębice has confiscated the entire patrimony of the Bielawa family. For treason and heresy.

“But above all else,” the Lord of Stolz raised his voice, “an example is needed. Quite a palpable one. One that will be talked about in Silesia. One that will be long remembered. When there is a lack of terror, when crimes go unpunished, society becomes demoralised. Am I right?”

No one challenged the statement. Jan Biberstein went closer and looked Reynevan in the eyes.

“I have thought long and hard… about what I would do to you when I finally caught you. I have studied much, and without affronting antiquity, recent history has proved to be the most instructive when it comes to novel punishments. In 1419, barely eight years ago, when Catholic Czech lords caught Calixtines, they executed them in imaginative ways, trying to outdo each other with their invention. In my estimation, the victor’s laurel must go to Sir Jan Švihovský of Rýzmberk. Lord Švihovský ordered that a Hussite he caught have black powder stuffed into his mouth and down his throat and then be set alight. Eyewitnesses claim that when it exploded, fire and smoke belched out of the heretic’s backside.

“When I heard about that,” Biberstein continued, clearly delighting in Reynevan’s horrified expression, “I received enlightenment. I was certain what to have done to you. I shall go further than Lord Švihovský, however. Having stuffed you full of powder, I shall have a lead ball shoved up your arse and measure how far it flies. A rear-end shot like that ought to satisfy both my paternal feelings and my scientific curiosity. What do you think?

“I must declare to you, not without satisfaction,” he went on, not waiting for an answer, “that I shall beset you terribly after your death, too. I considered it idiotic and a waste of effort, but my chaplain insisted. You are a heretic, so I shan’t bury your remains in holy ground, but rather order them tossed somewhere for the ravens to eat. Since, if I remember rightly: quibus viventibus non communicavimus mortuis communicare non possumus.”