<br/>Wulf kept his own face impassive as he bowed to his lord and turned to lead him to the izba, but inside he was smiling with approval;  though Nadya had been almost overcome by her experience, Sir Albrecht was as cold as ice.   Good!  He had seen what could happen when the undead could not control themselves when feeding - indeed, all those who served the inner circle were shown a certain cell deep below the castle at Mainz, and the slavering thing within that tore at the walls and was fed on animals pushed into the cell during its hours of torpor.  It was a necessary part of their training, to help them understand how vital was their duty to observe and monitor their masters for the signs.  It was also a part of their duty, if necessary, to put an end to the problem, and Wulf was beginning to like his cool, efficient lord.<br/><br/>Two men were waiting in the izba for the knight and his squire, as ordered.  Kyrill the steward. Rus to his hairy felted boots,  a thick black beard covering the embroidery on his finest kaftan;  and the clerk Jurgen, a quiet lad who with the air of an acolyte of the church.   Jurgen greeted their lord western fashion,  with a deep and courteous bow, but Kyrill made his obeisance after the manner of his own people,  dropping to one knee and pressing the Ritter’s cold hand to his forehead.  Wulf could not tell if it was embarrassing or distasteful to the knight, but he cut it short to be sure.  ‘These are the men, sir.  Kyrill is our steward, and was responsible for the preparation of the special arrangements in the cellar, and for the housing of our men at arms, as well as for the hiring of most of the servants and purchasing the serfs.  He is a discreet man, and wise.  Jurgen is a nephew of our friend Torsten, who has the charge of accounts and all records for us, and is also our interpreter - he speaks several of the languages of these parts, as well as German.’<br/>