Her bright, blue-grey eyes held his gaze. Her facial features reminded him of somebody, but he could not think who.

“You claim to be thinking about it.” She tilted her head. “And what, I wonder, dominates in your thoughts? What is there more of? Jutta and what is best for her? Or perhaps war? The fight for a good cause? The desire to change the world? And if, let’s suppose, a conflict arose, if your ideals opposed each other… what would you choose? And what would you give up?”

He said nothing.

“It is generally known,” she continued, “that where the good of great and weighty matters is concerned, individuals mean nothing. They are sacrificed. Jutta is an individual. What will happen to her? Will you toss her away like a stone onto the ramparts?”

“I don’t know.” He swallowed with effort. “I cannot pretend in front of you, Honourable Lady, and do not wish to. I sincerely do not know.”

She looked him long in the eyes.

“I know you don’t know,” she said finally. “I wasn’t expecting an answer. I just wanted you to give it some thought.”

Soon after Saint Peter and Paul’s, when all the meadows were blue with cornflowers, a long period of nasty, rainy weather arrived. The secluded spot where Reynevan and Jutta usually made love became a muddy pond. The abbess looked on for some time as the pair wandered around the arcades of the garth, as they gazed into each other’s eyes—only to finally part and go their separate ways.

One evening, having rearranged the sleeping quarters in the abbey, she summoned them both and led them to a cell, tidied and decked with blossom.

“Here you will live,” she declared dryly. “And sleep. Both of you. From now on. From this night.”

“We thank you, Mother,” they said in unison.

“Don’t thank me. And don’t waste time. Hora ruit, redimite tempus.”

Summer had come. The hot summer of 1428.

Every now and then, the unflagging gardener unflaggingly brought new rumours. Jan Kolda’s surrender and the loss of Sobótka Castle, he said, stamping on some naked baby mice he had unearthed from their nests, infuriated the Hussites. Midway through July, on the Thursday after Saint Margaret’s Day, the Orphans, in revenge, attacked and captured Jelenia Góra, razing the town to the ground in a swift foray.