“The Hussites,” Jan of Ziębice reined in his steed, “must march through the Ścinawka valley and onwards along the Nowa Ruda road. So be convincing, Bielawa. Be convincing. May you be aided by the thought that if you succeed, if the Hussites march where I want them to go, the maiden will be saved. If you fail or betray me, you will cause her ruin, offer her up to dishonour and torture. So do your best.”

Reynevan didn’t reply. The duke straightened up in the saddle.

“May you be aided in the enterprise also by the thought that by sending the heretics to their ruin you will save your immortal soul. If, thanks to you, we slaughter them, the good Lord will without doubt reward your act.”

Reynevan didn’t answer that time, either. He just stared. The duke didn’t take his eyes off him.

“Oh, what a look, what a look.” He grimaced. “Quite like that of Gelfrad Stercza, with whom you must have had so much in common. You won’t try to threaten me like Stercza did on the scaffold, will you? You won’t say: Hodie mihi, cras tibi, what happens to me today, will happen to you tomorrow? You won’t say that?”

“I shall not.”

“That’s wise. For I would punish you for every syllable you utter. Or rather punish your maiden—one stroke of the red-hot iron for every syllable. Don’t forget that, Bielawa. Don’t forget it for a moment.”

“I will not.”

“Now ride!”

Beggars, lepers and tramps were squatting in the Town Gate. Duke Jan, greatly pleased with himself, ordered Marshal Borschnitz to toss them a handful of coins. The beggars scrabbled over the pennies as the entourage rode on, the clatter of horseshoes echoing loudly beneath the vault of the gate.

“Your Grace?”

“Yes?”

“If Bielawa…” asked Hyncze Borschnitz, coughing into his fist. “If Bielawa carries out… If he does what you’ve ordered him… Will you set the maiden free? And spare him, too?”

Jan of Ziębice laughed dryly. In principle, that laugh ought to have sufficed Borschnitz as an answer. The duke, however, decided to enlarge on it.

“God is merciful and forgiving,” he began, “but occasionally, He goes so far in His mercy that He doesn’t know what He’s doing. Konrad, Bishop of Wrocław, told me that once, and the bishop isn’t just any village priest, so he knows a thing or two. Thus, before God forgives a sinner, said the bishop, one must make sure that here in this vale of tears the sinner suffers adequately for his sins and crimes. So said the bishop and I think he was right. Thus, Reinmar of Bielawa and his whore will suffer. Adequately. And when, after their torment, they stand before God, let God forgive them if that be His will. Understood, Marshal?”

“Indeed, Your Grace.”