“I am in your hands, Lord Biberstein,” said Reynevan, and resignation helped him gather the remains of his courage. “At your mercy. Act with me as you deem fit. If you want to act like a butcher, who will stop you? Or perhaps you’re frightening me with torture in the hope that I’ll begin to beg for mercy? Not a bit of it, Sir Jan. I am a nobleman. And I shall not demean myself before the father of the maiden I love.”

“Nicely put,” the Lord of Stolz said coldly. “Nicely and boldly. You again arouse scholarly curiosity in me: how long will your courage last? Ha, let’s not waste time; the gunpowder and ball are waiting. Do you have any last requests?”

“I should like to see Miss Katarzyna.”

“Ah! And what else? Rut her one last time?”

“And my son. You cannot forbid me that, Sir Jan.”

“I can. And I shall.”

“I love her!”

“I shall soon remedy that.”

“Sir Jan,” spoke the Green Lady, and the timbre of her voice called to mind various things, including honey. “Display magnanimity. Show chivalry, with examples of which recent history also abounds. Even the Czech Catholic lords granted the last requests of the Hussites, I believe, before stuffing them with gunpowder. Grant the request of the young Lord of Bielawa, Sir Jan. The lack of examples of magnanimity, I observe, demoralises society no less than undue leniency. Furthermore, I ask you on his behalf.”

“And that decides it.” Biberstein bent his head. “That decides it, m’lady. It shall be thus. Hey there! Servants!”

The Lord of Stolz issued orders and the servants ran away to execute them. After a painfully lengthy period of waiting, the door creaked. Two women entered the armoury. And one child. A little boy. Reynevan felt a wave of heat run through him and the blood rushing to his cheeks. He also noticed his mouth had dropped open. He clamped it shut, not wanting to look like a dumbstruck moron. He was not certain of the result. He must have looked like one. For that was how he felt.

One of the women was a matron, another a young maid, and the difference in age and the striking similarity left no doubt—it was a mother and daughter. Nor was it difficult to place their origin, particularly for somebody who—like Reynevan—had once heard a lesson about the typical hereditary traits of women and maids of the most notable Silesian families, a lesson given by Lady Formosa of Krossig at the Raubritter Bodak Castle. Both the matron and the maiden were rather short and rather stocky, wide in the hips like women from the Pogorzela family who had married into the Biberstein family long before. Their small, snub and very freckly noses also testified irrefutably to the Pogorzela blood flowing in their veins.