“Not for long,” observed one of the mercenaries.
“Aye. We’d barely breathed a sigh of relief on hearing that Prokop had turned back towards Strzelin, had barely celebrated an anxious Easter before the bells rang out the warning again. The Hussites are returning! In even greater numbers. Having joined forces with those hellish Orphans, they are burning Rychbach, burning Sobótka, the roads are crawling with refugees. And on the Friday before Misericordia Sunday, once again we see smoke from the walls, this time to the west: Kąty is afire. Word gets out that there’s a large camp near Środa and Prokop is preparing to attack. The bells toll again, the women and children flee into the churches—”
“But you saw it out again that time,” said Dzierżka. “There was no attack, as we all know. The Czechs departed two days later, on Misericordia Sunday.”
“They set off for Strzegom,” confirmed another soldier. “Everybody thought they’d attack Świdnica, but they didn’t. They clearly feared the fortress—”
“It wasn’t that,” said the knight. “Świdnica made a secret pact with the Hussites a year ago. That’s why it survived.”
“And m’Lord Starosta of Kolditz was safe and sound behind Świdnica’s walls,” sneered the miller from Marcinkowice. “What cares he if the land is burning and awash with blood? He won’t be harmed—he made a pact. Ugh!”
There was silence for some time. The innkeeper from Górka interrupted it.
“The Hussites headed west from Strzegom,” he said. “They left Jawor undamaged but sacked Świerzawa and put it to the torch. They utterly plundered and burned down Dobków, the manor of the Lubiąż monks, then went on, towards Złotoryja. And today I met a friend on the highway. He said that Złotoryja is burned down for the second time—it’s an unlucky town. And Prokop and the Orphans are said to be marching on Lwówek—”
“Things have changed,” interjected the Sobótka barber-surgeon. “I also asked the refugees. The Hussites reached Lwówek a week since, on Thursday, but didn’t cross the Bóbr. While the Lusatian knighthood, well-armed gentlemen who were meant to come to Silesia with relief, took fright and fled in cowardly fashion to the left bank, to cower there like mice. The Lusatians won’t come to our aid. We’re alone, children. Woe is Silesia!”
“Accursed Silesia!”
An ox lowed; a dog barked. Another child started crying. Elencza turned her head but couldn’t go. She was carrying a little boy and comforting him, and a slightly older little girl was clinging to her skirts. Elencza sighed and sniffed. Dzierżka scrutinised her from under her eyelashes. She’d never given birth, never had her own children, but she never regretted it, it had never been a problem. Not until today, she thought in sudden terror, a cold hand seizing her chest and tightening her throat.
“Our only hope is that the plundering raid goes on and on,” said the Wrocław burgher. “The Hussites must be exhausted, burdened down by all the spoils—”
“Only defeats are exhausting,” said the knight. “Only those who flee grow weary, their meagre bundles burdening them. Victory gives strength, spoils are as light as a feather! They that conquer are content! Their horses eat wheat from our granaries while ours rummage among ashes. But it is true, they have been fighting for some time. It’s not far to the Karkonosze passes and Bohemia from the River Bóbr. God willing, they’ll go home.”
“But for how long?” The miller from Marcinkowice grew annoyed. “After all, they know we’re weak and no match for them on the battlefield. They know that we’ve lost heart and have no one to lead us into battle! That the Silesian knights take to their heels at the very sight of the Hussites, flee like hares! Why, even the dukes flee! What did Ludwik of Brzeg do? He ought to have defended the town and his defenceless subjects. When he ground them down with taxes, they said: ‘Never mind, we’ll pay our hard-earned coin, but our good lord will defend us when the moment comes.’ But what did the good lord do? Fled like a coward, leaving Brzeg at the mercy of the invaders. The Hussites utterly plundered the town, burned down the parish church and turned the Collegiate Church of Saint Hedwig into a stable, the blasphemers!”
“And why doesn’t a lightning bolt strike them down, why doesn’t God’s wrath fall on them?” The barber-surgeon from Sobótka shook his head. “It is difficult not to doubt… Erm… I meant to say: God tries us sorely—”
“Gentlemen, you ought to accustom yourself to being tried,” said the Jew unexpectedly. “Oi, I tell you it’s only difficult at the start. One finally gets used to it.”
There was silence for some time. The knight broke it.
“Going back to Duke Ludwik,” he said, “in truth, he didn’t act chivalrously, leaving Brzeg at the mercy of the Hussites, nor as befits a knight or a duke. But—”
“But it wasn’t just him, you meant to say?” the miller interrupted with an angry grimace. “You are right! For others also turned tail on the enemy, staining their honour. Where are you, Duke Henryk the Pious, who chose death rather than flee from the field?”
“I meant to say,” the knight stammered a little, “that the Hussites achieved much by treachery. By treachery and propaganda. Spreading false news and panic—”
“But where does treachery come from?” the Minorite monk suddenly asked. “Why does that seed sprout so easily and bloom so luxuriantly, why such a harvest? Magnates and knights surrender fortresses and castles without a fight, go over to the enemy’s side. The peasantry is drawn to the Hussites, serve them as guides, identify and turn priests over to their deaths. What’s more, they attack monasteries and pillage churches themselves. There are plenty of apostates among the clergy, too. But there’s no duke prepared—like Henryk the Pious—to fight and die pro defensione christiane fidei. It’s puzzling to me. How does it come about?”
One of the peasants, a powerful fellow with a shock of hair, spoke up in a deep voice, “Perhaps because we didn’t have to fight the Saracens, the Turks or the Tartars, who invaded Silesia in our great-grandfathers’ time. I’ve heard they were black-faced, red-eyed, fire-breathing, bore devilish marks, used witchcraft and choked our soldiers with hellish fumes. You knew at once what power drove them on. But now? Monstrances swaying over the Czech army, the Host and pious words painted on their bucklers. They sing to God as they march, pray on their knees and receive Holy Communion before the battle. Call themselves ‘Warriors of God.’ So perhaps…”
“Perhaps God is on their side?” The monk finished his sentence with a wry smile.
Only a year ago, thought Dzierżka in the heavy silence that fell, only a year ago no one would even have dared to think something like that, let alone say it. The world is changing, changing utterly. Why is it, though, that the world must always change in massacres and conflagrations? In trying to renew itself, must it always bathe in blood, like Poppaea in milk?
“I’m beginning,” announced Scharley from the steps of the altar, “I’m beginning to support the teachings of Huss, Wycliffe, Payne and the rest of the Hussite ideologists more actively. It is indeed time to begin changing churches… Well, perhaps not at once into stables, like the Brzeg Collegiate Church, but into lodging houses. Just look how cosy it is here. We’re out of the wind and rain, there are hardly any fleas… Yes, Reinmar. As far as the churches are concerned, I’m going over to your religion, beginning a noviciate. You may treat me as a candidate for membership.”