The stooped figure covers the glowing “eye”. Cracking of a wick, flashes rush about the walls.

Light! Alive, ochre coloured.

“I’m grateful. Lukerda, please sit down. It’ll be better here, on the barrel. One moment, I’ll just brush off the dust. There are no stools here, as you may understand. Not to mention chairs and armchairs.”

“What about carpets?” Jendrich makes a grimace. It’s still a question what irritates him more: the pain in his leg or the old man’s primness. “Here it stands in the corner, rolled up. A good carpet, from Shemachan. Bring it here, it’s just for me to lie down. What am I – to lie on the floor?..”

“Where has daddy got a Shemachan carpet from? And... all this?!”

Lukerda was looking around, surprised. Tight logs of carpets, packs of textile, skillfully wrought coffers and carved chests, barrels, bulging sacks. Here and there from the heaps and piles stick out hilts of swords, the shaft of a pole-axe, the polished stock of an arbalest, the crest of a helm...

While making himself comfortable, the chieftain grinned with fake gaiety: “Where from? There from! Doing valiant business – from faraway countries brought, from bad folks taken...”

“Young man, would you be so kind as to name things with their own names? You ought to be ashamed misleading the naïve maiden. Smuggling and robbery, that is how it’s called.”

“Giacomo, stop it! Shame on you! Jendrich, he... he’s a real hero! He attacked today the vanguard of the margrave Siegfried! Like Roland the Furious on the Moors!”

“Yes, of course,” Giacomo smiles bitterly with the edge of his lips, sitting down on the nearest chest. “Roncevaux Pass, the faithful Durendal... Troubadours are standing in line to praise him in their songs. So how do you do, sir hero, terror of the usurpers? The foe is beaten hollow and has fled with shame? Or maybe you and your worthiest knights of luck have just decided to rob somebody’s train? Only that the guard proved to be too tough for our Rolands? And now the margrave’s soldiers vent their anger on peaceful villagers – the heroes have gone, after all! The heroes are sitting in a hideout, saving their strength for new feats!”

Jendrich Dry Storm kept gloomily silent. The old dependant had put his finger on it. That was exactly how it had happened. They crossed the border easily, because after the free city of Holne had been occupied there was no border any more. Close to the evening they discovered the train. The wagons with provision and fodder lagged behind the main troops that had already reached the frontier of the Opolie principality, and seemed to be easy prey. However, they couldn’t make it without noise. The hefty fellows in the train fought off with halberds, furious with despair: jingle, clank, cries... Two of their gang were badly wounded, and brave Zbyshek remained in the field – they hadn’t even time to carry out his body. When it was all over and they only needed to get away the wagons with the goods, out of the forest there rushed out a cavalry squadron. There was five times more of the margrave’s riders than the chaps in the gang, so they couldn’t even think about the loot any more – they would’ve been lucky enough to get away themselves.

They were running away all night. At dawn, near Pshesek, the riders caught them. They were lucky that their pursuers had stretched out after the night. If they struck with all their forth – the robbers would be rotting in the hot sun. After the first skirmish, leaving one third of their gang as prey for ravens, the survivors scattered: into the ravines, to the river Veselka, to the Kichora road. Two were unlucky – they were caught and cut down. As for Jendrich himself, his horse was killed with an arrow. He hadn’t the time to jump off it, and the body of the fallen mare pressed his leg. Thanks to his friends – ran over to him, helped him out. And so now he, Jendrich Dry Storm, had to sit in a cellar with women! With that acrimonious old sponger! With that milksop boy who had probably wet his trousers from fear! This pup even threatened to sell out everyone... Who needs him, I ask you? Or maybe somebody does? All right, we are to sit here for a long time, we’ll shake the truth out of him. There’s time for that.

“What, you hawk – broke his leg in a haycock! Lost your tongue? When it comes to robbing and rolling with other people’s wives in the hay – you are a hero! And when it comes to answer for what you did – stuck your tongue in your behind? Jacom’s saying right...”

“Skwozhina! I’ll show you!..” Jendrich eyed the insolent woman from head to toe. This bitch doesn’t care a damn about who is in front of her: a street drunkard, a city merchant, an honest chieftain – be it the prince Razimir himself! If he’s not to her taste – she’ll fling mud on him without batting an eyelid. To get involved with the fool? It would cost dear. Still he couldn’t remain silent. “With you I haven’t roll in the hay, that’s for sure. Probably that’s why you’re angry. Who would have eyes for such muck? Except for our daring cavalier, maybe. Eh, Giacomo? Is it from you that Skwozhina developed a daughter?”

“I would kindly ask you, sir robber, to restrain from statements of such sort. At least in the presence of the young maiden here. Do you hear me?”

The eagle-like profile of Giacomo Seingalt was radiating cold that usually preceded a challenge to a duel. Lukerda, scared, moved away from her teacher – it was for the first time that she saw him like this. It seemed that the flame of the candle, reflected in the black, deeply sunken eyes of the old man, became in a sudden sharp, frightening.

Not a flame – but a blade, crawling out of its sheath like a snake.

“Of course, highway robbers have no notion of good manners, but I have hoped... In vain, as I see. This concerns you too, Skwozhina! If Jas finds out, he’ll thrash you with a stick. For you not to speak too freely.” The dependant’s face softened, the cold melted. “And on the whole, let’s stop quarreling. If I have insulted someone unwittingly, I make my apologies. It’s because of the nervousness.”

“All right, old man. It’s everyone’s fault. We’ve dished the dirt here – enough.”

The youth who had settled right on the floor nodded, jerking his cheek in a funny manner. As if he was waiting for a slap. But then again, what had he to be afraid of? He hadn’t hurt anyone, sat there quiet as a mouse. Five year old Karolinka, the daughter of glib Skwozhina, didn’t pay attention to the squabble at all: the girl got to the chest where there were kept multicoloured strings of beads, shining buttons and other baubles. Now the child was fingering these treasures, enchanted, forgetting everything. As for Skwozhina herself, she kept gloomily silent. She didn’t know how to apologize, but at least the fact that she had stopped swearing and talking bawdily was a good omen. No one could demand more.

Skwozhina’s father gave up his ghost when his daughter was scarcely sixteen. Just as Lukerda is now. Her own brother Stanek, a niggard and a rascal, soon drove his stupid and unsightly sister out of home, giving her nothing of their father’s inheritance. “You won’t get married all the same – what the hell do you need a dowry for?” As a farewell gift Skwozhina presented her brother with a billet that turned to be close at hand – presented strongly, from all her heart; and he returned the favour, too: Stanek’s fist was a real one, that of a man. After roaming for some time, the orphan girl settled down in Jas’ tavern – washing floors, bringing water. Bring-take, you fool! Her temper, quarrelsome and difficult to get on with since childhood, became a dozen times worse over the years. A girl of many values she was: a pockmarked face, the build of a horse, the temper of a bitch. Only health God had given her: in sharp frost she would run to the well dressed only in a shabby jacket, would carry bags weighing a hundred pounds, would chop firewood – God yield to anyone! People remembered how a cooper Zych when in his cups had pinched her at the haunch – after that he would hold at his back till winter and would walk lopsided.