The messenger, it could be seen—and smelled—hadn’t spared himself or his horse. A layer of caked-on mud covered him up to his waist and the stench of horse’s sweat was pungent even at a few paces from the man.
“Speak!”
“The Czechs approach…” panted the messenger, gasping for breath. “A great force… Burning everything… Osoblaha in ashes… Prudnik captured—”
“Whaaat?”
“Prudnik taken… A dreadful slaughter in the town… Czyżowice afire… Biała burning… Seized… The Hussites—”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Hussites… at Głogówek…”
“And where are the bishop’s men? Where is Jan of Ziębice, where Dukes Ruprecht and Ludwik? Where Sir Půta?”
“At Nysa. They order… They order Your Lordship the Duke to join them at all speed—”
“Join them?” Wołoszek burst out, clenching a mace stuck into his belt. “They retreat, leaving my towns and land to be destroyed, and I am to join them? My Głogówek imperilled, and I am to march to Nysa? The Bishop orders it? Konrad of Oleśnica, that thief, old soak and whoremonger, dares to order me? And why do you stare? I need fucking advice! Advice! What to do?”
“Attack!” roared the Knight Hospitaller. “Gott mit uns! ”
“Perhaps it’s false news?” The Silesian with the Nieczuja coat of arms blinked.
“March to Nysa and join forces with Bishop Konrad,” the Falkenhayn said firmly. “We’ll form a great host and defeat the heretics in a general battle. Avenge the towns that lie burned—”
The duke looked at him and ground his teeth. “Don’t advise me how to avenge, but rather how to save ourselves!”
“Parley?” stammered the Ogończyk. “Pay off the town?”
“I have no money.” Wołoszek ground his teeth again. “My Prudnik… Sweet Jesus! My Głogówek!”
“We must put our faith in God,” said the priest. “It will be as God decrees… Here is the Bible… I shall open it haphazardly and what I read will come to pass—”
“And on the strength of the curse,” recited Urban Horn, ahead of the clergyman, “all were devoted to be destroyed: men and women, young and old, with the edge of the sword—”
Bolko Wołoszek glared at him and Horn fell silent. But Reynevan immediately spoke up.
“And Joshua burned Ai,” he continued, “and made it a heap for ever, even a desolation unto this day. Think it over, Bolko. Make a decision. Before it’s too late. It’s a revolution, Bolko,” he went on, seeing that the young Piast wasn’t in a hurry to interrupt him. “The world takes a new form, moves in a new direction. The chariot of history moves apace, no power is capable of stopping it. You can either climb aboard or be crushed by it. Choose.”
“You can be among the victors or among the vanquished, Duke,” said Horn. “Woe always betides the vanquished, as the classicists tell us. While the victors… To the victors the spoils. For the world also takes on a new form on maps.”
“Eh?”
“Sapienti sat dictum est. Border posts, Your Lordship, are shifted to the advantage of the victors. And they who support them.”
“Do I understand that to be a proposal?” A flash appeared in the young duke’s eye. “An offer?”
“Sapienti sat.”
“Ha.” The flash was still there. “And I shall benefit, you say. And how, exactly?”
Horn smiled imperiously and glanced at his bonds. At a gesture from Wołoszek, they were immediately cut. Seeing that, the Falkenhayn growled again and the Knight Hospitaller slapped his sword hilt. And the priest jumped up.
“My lord!” he yelled. “Don’t listen to devilish prodding! These Hussite vipers are dripping venom into your ears! Remember the faith of your forebears! Remember—”
“Shut your trap, damned priest.”
The priest jumped even higher. “Is this your true nature?” he yelled even louder, waving his arms in front of the duke’s nose. “They recognise you! O apostate! O turncoat! You fraternise with heretics! Knights—have at him, whoever believes in God! I curse you! May you be accursed at home and abroad, may you be accursed at your slumbers, rising, walking—”
Bolko Wołoszek struck him in the temple with a powerful reverse blow. The six-flanged iron head of the mace crushed the bone with an audible crunch. The priest slumped, jerking and trembling. The duke turned around, his furiously contorted mouth about to issue an order. His look was enough and the Poles anticipated their master’s intentions. With a powerful blow of a battleaxe, Krzych of Kościelec smashed the skull of the Knight Hospitaller who was pointing a sword at him, the Prawdzic stabbed the Falkenhayn in the throat with a misericorde, while the Silesian Nieczuja plunged a blade into his back. Bodies were falling onto the dirt floor; blood was forming puddles.
The servants and pages looked on open-mouthed.
“There.” The Ogończyk grinned. “What a happy day. It’s been ages since I last killed a Teutonic Knight.”
“To our soldiers!” cried the duke. “To our folk! Calm them! Particularly the Germans! If anyone offers resistance, take him down! And prepare to move out!”
“To Nysa?”
“No. To Krapkowice and Opole. That’s an order!”
“Yes, sire!”
Bolko Wołoszek turned around and fixed his blazing eyes on Reynevan and Horn. He was breathing rapidly, loudly and irregularly. His hands were shaking.
“Sapienti sat,” he uttered hoarsely. “Did you hear what I ordered? I’m withdrawing my men to avoid contact with your troops. I’m not going to Nysa; I won’t support the bishop. Prokop should treat it as an act of alliance. You, in return, will spare my lands. Głogówek… But that’s not all. Not all, by God’s wounds! Tell Prokop…” The young duke raised his head proudly. “Tell him an alliance with me will warrant substantial changes to maps. To be specific…”
“Specifically,” Horn repeated, “Wołoszek demanded a permanent fiefdom of Hukvaldy, Příbor, Ostrava and Frenštát. I promised them to him as we had agreed. But that wasn’t enough for him—he also demanded Namysłów, Kluczbork, Gryżów, Rybnik, Pszczyna and Bytom. I promised them to him, Brother Prokop, also pledging them in your name. Was I too hasty?”
Prokop the Shaven didn’t answer at once. He was eating while standing with his back to a combat wagon, scooping up dumplings with a lindenwood spoon and raising them to his mouth. Milk was drying on his moustache.
Behind the wagon and Prokop, a great fire raged and roared, the town of Głuchołazy aflame. The wooden parish church blazed like a torch. As fire consumed the roof and thatch, smoke billowed in black clouds up into the sky. The screams of people being killed didn’t let up for a moment.
“No, Brother, you weren’t.” Prokop the Shaven licked the spoon. “You acted correctly, promising them in my name. We’ll give him everything we’ve pledged. Bolko deserves to be compensated for the damage, for it somehow occurred that Zmrzlík and Puchała, when putting Biała and Prudnik to the torch, also burned down his beloved Głogówek in their haste. We shall compensate him for that offence. In truth, most of the towns he is demanding still have to be captured. We shall see in the capturing what kind of ally Duke Bolko is and reward him aptly for his service to the cause.”