“Don’t interfere, please.” Reynevan was focused. “Supirre, spe, vero. Aures quia audiunt. Supirre, spe, vero.”

He began making out every word before the sound of the spell had faded.

“May I croak if I be lying,” said the swarthy one. “I ain’t never seen such a fine body on a woman, never. Tits like Saint Cecilia’s from a church painting, and firm, as though carved from marble. Stuck up even when she was on her back, they did. No wonder Duke Jan lost his head over that Frenchwoman.”

“But he grew wise,” said another with a snort, “and got rid of her, tossed her into a dungeon.”

“May God reward him for that.” The swarthy man chortled. “Or we’d not have had our pleasure with her. And such pleasure, you’ve not known the like… Every night we gathered in the Ziębice gaol… And took turns… She fought back furiously, I tell you, often scratching our faces like a she-cat… But that made the merriment all the greater.”

“Had you no fears? That she’d bewitch you? There was talk of the Burgundian being a witch, in league with the Devil. They say the Abbot of Kamieniec declared—”

“Aye,” admitted the swarthy man, “I won’t lie, I was frit at first. But my urges were stronger, ho-ho. How often do you have the chance to fuck a beauty that Duke Jan of Ziębice used to roll in his satin sheets? Anyhow, the prison guards allayed our fears. For three years they’ve been fucking all the young wenches who get locked up, and most of them have a delation for witchcraft. They fuck’em freely. And no’arm’s came of it. Too much is made of sorcery.”

“What did you say at confession?”

“Confession? Fiddlesticks. I’m telling you, you never saw her, that Adèle. If you’d seen’er, stripped naked, your fear would have vanished at once. Round about the fifth night, we—”

The swarthy man’s company were never to find out what happened on the fifth night. Reynevan acted as though in a trance, almost mechanically. He leaped to his feet, sprang forward and punched the storyteller in the face. His nose crunched; blood gushed. Reynevan rocked at the hips and punched him again. The swarthy man screamed so horrifyingly that the tavern fell silent. People began to dash for the door. The traveller’s companions sprang up but stood petrified. And when the swarthy man tumbled from the bench to the floor, they fled. Bisclavret and Rzehors pushed the students and goliards towards the door, while Scharley restrained the innkeeper, who had come running. A serving wench began to scream in a high-pitched voice.