He only made it to Dijon, where by chance he met a sixteen-year-old Burgundian, the gorgeous Adele of Beauvoisin. But Gelfrad wasn’t fated to reach Saint-Gilles, either. But on the way, he decided that Compostela was definitely too far, and that a pilgrimage to Saint-Gilles would absolutely suffice. Reynevan owed the happiness intoxicating him to the Lord’s saints – indirectly, of course – as follows:įeeling remorse for some sins or other – known only to himself and his confessor – the Silesian knight Gelfrad of Stercza had set off on a penitential pilgrimage to the grave of Saint James. Reynevan, understanding what was required of him, made love to her powerfully and passionately, whispering assurances of devotion into her ear. Ita oculi nostri ad Dominum Deum nostrum,Īdele seized Reynevan by the back of the neck and pulled him onto her. Sicut oculi ancillae in manibus dominae sua Reynevan hadn’t understood, however, that Adele was teaching him, certain that all that counted was his inborn talent. The truth was that his eleven trysts with Adele of Stercza had taught Reynevan more about the ars amandi than his three-year studies in Prague. Reynevan – like every testosterone-fuelled young man – regarded himself as a great seducer and erotic connoisseur to whom the female race was an open book. Far from impressive, his erotic experiences were actually quite meagre in terms of both quantity and quality, but they still made him swell with pride and conceit. He had known very few Czech women, even fewer Silesians and Germans, one Polish woman, one Romani, and had once been spurned by a Hungarian woman. Reynevan, incidentally, was twenty-three and quite lacking in worldly experience. ‘Ah, aaah, mon amour,’ moaned Adele of Stercza, thrusting her entire Burgundian landscape against Reynevan’s hand. The countryside of Burgundy must be beautiful. Ah, what a joy it is to learn about the world.
But Burgundians, oh, they cast off everything at once, their hot blood apparently unable to bear any cloth on their skin during the throes of passion. Polish and Czech women gladly lift theirs themselves, above their breasts, but not for all the world would they remove them completely. Silesian and German women, for example, when they get down to it, never allow their shifts to be lifted higher than their navels.
How fascinating it is to learn about the world and its peoples. She, too, was aware of the passing of time, but evidently had no intention of wasting it on philosophical deliberations.Īdele was utterly, completely, totally naked.Įvery country has its customs,thought Reynevan. One wishes they would last for ever, but they fade like a fleeting dream. It beggars belief how swiftly moments of happiness pass. They’re already singing the hymn, thought Reynevan, lazily embracing Adele, a native of distant Burgundy and the wife of the knight Gelfrad of Stercza. It was Wednesday, market day, which always attracted large numbers of merchants and customers. Outside, Priory Street echoed with shouts, the rattle of wagons, the dull thud of empty barrels and the melodious clanking of tin and copper pots.
The monks began the Deus in adjutoriumwhile Reinmar of Bielawa – known to his friends as ‘Reynevan’ – kissed the sweat-covered collarbone of Adele of Stercza, freed himself from her embrace and lay down beside her, panting, on bedclothes hot from lovemaking. Those towers, however, weren’t visible from the window of the chamber in the garret of a wooden building affixed like a swallow’s nest to the complex of the Augustinian hospice and priory.
The bells had also quite recently tolled in the towers of the Churches of the Blessed Virgin Mary and Corpus Christi. Swifts winged around the church spire, frightened by the recent tolling of the bells, the ozone-rich air still shuddering from the sound. And beyond that, the round tower of the ducal castle. Further off, the slender spire of the Church of Saint John the Evangelist, its shiny red tiles glistening in the sun. Through the small chamber’s window, against a background of the recently stormy sky, could be seen three towers. In which the reader makes the acquaintance of Reinmar of Bielawa, called Reynevan, and of his better features, including his knowledge of the ars amandi, the arcana of horse-riding, and the Old Testament, though not necessarily in that order.
The first in an epic new trilogy set during the vibrantly depicted Hussite Wars by Andrzej Sapkowski, author of the bestselling Witcher series that has become an international phenomenon and inspired a bestselling videogame and Netflix show.