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long arm and pointed down the corridor whence we had come. He looked into the room, as if to check Dee was safe, or perhaps to confirm he was confined, and then shut the door behind me.
    The perfume of seared meat drew me by my nose down worn stairs and along dark hallways, and my belly growled. The vast kitchens were hellishly hot. The tongue-twisting language faded as a dozen or so men and women appeared to notice my shadow in the doorway.
    ‘Good evening,’ I managed, in passable Latin. One of the men spat on the blackened rushes at my feet. I tried again, in German, then in French.
    ‘They don’t understand you.’ A voice, in impeccable Latin, came from a corner I hadn’t noticed. A man that I had mistaken for a heap of rags tottered to his feet, and pulled back a hood. The bald head of an old man was revealed, his beard white where it wasn’t stained by food. ‘And if they did, they wouldn’t speak to you. They are his Carpathians, Transylvanians.’
    ‘Can you tell them I mean them no harm? I simply want wine and food for myself and my master.’
    The man shrugged, limping closer to the light of the fire. ‘They fear you, just the same. They know you are here with the sorcerer.’
    He jabbered something in the language of the Magyars. A woman, no more than a girl, cut off a slab of bread and topped it with a slice of the roast meat in the fireplace. Stepping around me, she handed it to the old man, then ran back. The smell of meat hit me, and my mouth filled with sweet water.
    The man tore the offering in half. ‘Here.’
    I hadn’t eaten since we left Krakow at dawn, and nodded my thanks to the fearful girl. The meat was good venison, but I struggled to swallow the dry bread. The man handed me a horn cup and I drank deep of half-fermented ale.
    ‘My thanks, good sir. You speak Latin like a scholar.’
    ‘Or a priest?’ The man grinned, revealing half a dozen rotten teeth. ‘Are you as wary of ecclesiastics as your master?’
    I took another bite, feeling my stomach cramp around the food and the yeasty brew. ‘In our land, our queen has some tolerance for those who follow Rome.’
    The man settled back on the stool in the corner, chewing the meat with his good teeth. ‘You are fortunate. The king invites the Pope to purify his Catholic court, while his own family and noble allies follow the Protestant heresy. Voivode of Transylvania, king of Lithuania and Poland – hah!’ He spat into the fire. ‘Istvan rules over three barrels of gunpowder, and spends his days putting out sparks.’
    I hesitated to speak anything but glowingly of their king. ‘The people at least live in peace.’
    The man spoke around a mouthful of the meat. ‘At present, they are united against the bastard Turks.’ He washed the mouthful down and belched. ‘Whenever we drive them back, the people turn on each other like hungry dogs.’
    I shrugged. ‘He seems to have the respect of the nobles.’
    ‘Hah!’ The man spat a laugh at me, with the stench from his rotten mouth. ‘Them! They either owe him money, and seek his indulgence against repayment, or he owes them money, in which case they need him to live long enough to pay it back. The court is bankrupt. The soldiers on the Turkish front get paid, everyone else waits.’
    I finished the food, and licked my greasy fingers. ‘My master is invited here to talk of theology and science. Then we are back to Krakow and on to Prague.’
    The man started making a choking noise and for a moment I thought he was ill. Then I realised the coughing was laughter. ‘You are here to help the witch save the lady countess.’
    ‘I assure you, I know of no witches …’
    He stepped forward into the flickering light of the torches and the roasting fire.
    ‘He may try and wrap himself in the blessings of Rome,’ he whispered, ‘but the Báthorys are cursed. Why else would he need a sorcerer’s spells and talismans? You know the Devil’s own magical letters, that is why you were