“It’s close.” Elencza spoke up. “The monastery’s close. I can hear the bell… Morning worship… We’ve arrived…”

The young woman’s voice and words gave them strength and euphoria overcame their tiredness and feverishness. They quickly covered the remaining distance to the monastery. Emerging from the sticky, shaggy greyness of the dawn, the world became completely unreal, illusory, mysterious, as though everything was happening in a dream. The nightjars flitting around in the air seemed dreamlike, the monastery seemed dreamlike, the monastery wicket gate with its grating hinges seemed dreamlike. The nun in a grey habit of thick Frisian wool who guarded the gate seemed dreamlike as she emerged from the fog. Her cry as though from the beyond… And the bell. The morning worship… Thoughts drifted through Reynevan’s head. Laudes matutine… But what about the singing? Why aren’t the nuns singing? Oh, it’s White Church after all. The Poor Clares don’t sing the hours, but say them… “Jutta… Jutta? Jutta!”

“Reynevan!”

“Jutta…”

“How are you? What’s the matter? Are you hurt? Mother of God! Get him out of the saddle… Reynevan!”

“Jutta… I…”

“Help me… Lift him up… Oh! What is it?”

“My shoulder… Jutta… Enough… I can stand… It’s just my legs that are weak… Take care of Samson…”

“We’ll take them both to the infirmary. Right away, at once. Sisters, help me—”

“Wait.”

Elencza of Stietencron didn’t dismount but remained in the saddle with her head turned away. She only looked at him when he called her name.

“You said you had somewhere to go. But perhaps you’ll stay?”

“No. I’ll be going.”

“Where to? If I wanted to find you—”

“I doubt you would.”

“But I might.”

“Skałka near Wrocław…” she said reluctantly and seemingly with effort. “The estate and stud of Lady Dzierżka of Wirsing.”

“Dzierżka?” He couldn’t control his amazement. “You’re staying with Dzierżka?”

“Farewell, Reinmar of Bielawa.” She reined her horse around. “Take care of yourself. And I—”

“I shall try to forget,” she said softly. When she was far enough away from the convent gate for him not to hear her.

Chapter Twenty-Three

In which time—spent pleasantly and blissfully—passes fleetingly for Reynevan during the summer of Anno Domini 1428. And one would just love to finish the story with the standard ending: “They lived happily ever after.” But what one would love and what actually happens are two quite different things.