Samson sent another signal. This one Reynevan understood.
“Hvězda and Švamberk died from wounds sustained in battle,” Smiřický stated meanwhile. “Talk, accuse me, no one will believe—”
“No one will believe in black magic?” finished Reynevan. “Is that what you mean?”
Smiřický pursed his lips. “What the Devil do you want?” he suddenly exploded. “Revenge? Go on, then—avenge yourself! Kill me! Yes, I betrayed your brother, though he trusted me like Christ trusted Judas. Happy? Of course I’m lying, I never clapped eyes on your brother, I heard about him from… Never mind. But I turned him over to the bishop and he died because of it. I reckoned you a spy of Neplach, an agent provocateur and a possible blackmailer. I had to do something about you. A hired crossbowman, unbelievably, missed. I tried to poison you twice, but poison probably doesn’t work on you. I hired three killers, but I don’t know what happened to them. They vanished. All lucky coincidences, young Lord of Bielawa. Very odd, lucky coincidences. Didn’t somebody refer to black magic just a moment ago?”
Flutek forced the arrested thugs to confess, thought Reynevan. He had certainly heard reports about an assassination attempt being prepared, and the thugs revealed the rest under torture, confirming his suspicions. A trap was set for the conspirators, they didn’t have a chance. By setting murderers on me, Jan Smiřický lost Prague. And Hynek of Kolštejn lost his life.
“Rats leaving a sinking ship,” he said, more to himself than to the knight. “After Tachov, in the face of the growing power of Prokop and Tábor, it was your only chance. The coup, the seizure of power, the release and placement of Korybut on the throne, the negotiations with the papacy and the Landfried. You staked everything on one card. But it didn’t work.”
“Aye, it didn’t,” the knight replied without much emotion, still staring not at Reynevan, but at Samson. “I lost. Whichever way you look at it, it appears I’ll lose my life. Very well, let what will be, be. Kill me, turn me over to Neplach, throw me to the mob, as you wish. I’ve had enough of all this. I shall make but one request, beg for one thing… I have a maiden in Prague. A commoner. Give her my ring and cross. And this pouch. I know, these things are your spoils… But she’s a poor wench—”
“Answer my questions,” Reynevan said, again following Samson’s telepathic instruction, “and you can give her everything yourself. Today.”
Smiřický lowered his eyelids in order to hide the glint in his eye.
“You’re ensnaring me. You won’t forgive me. You won’t renounce your revenge for your brother—”
“You only betrayed him. Others stabbed him with their swords. I want to know their names. Go on, betray them, gain something for something. Give me the opportunity to take my revenge on them and I’ll renounce revenge on you.”
“What guarantee do I have that you won’t deceive me?”
“You have none.”
The knight said nothing for some time, and all that could be heard was him swallowing.
“Ask,” he finally said.
“Hvězda and Švamberk. They were murdered, weren’t they?”
“They were…” stammered Smiřický. “Unless… I don’t know. I have suspicions, but I don’t know. It’s possible.”
“Black magic?”
“Probably.”
“One other person took part in the conversation with the bishop. Tall. Slender. Black, shoulder-length hair. Birdlike face.”
“The bishop’s advisor, assistant and confidant. Don’t stare at me. You must know or have guessed. He does the bishop’s dirty work for him. There’s no doubt he murdered Piotr of Bielawa. And many others. Remember the Ninetieth Psalm—”
“The arrow that flieth by day. Timor nocturnus. The destruction that wasteth at noonday…”
“You said it,” Smiřický replied, grimacing. “You uttered that word. And I think you hit the target. Do you want some good advice, lad? Stay well away from him. From him and from—”
“The black horsemen calling ‘Adsumus.’ Intoxicating themselves like assassins, with mysterious Arabic substances. Using black magic.”
“You said it. Don’t go after them. Believe me and follow my advice. Don’t even try to go near them. And if they try to get near to you, flee. As fast and as far away as you can.”
“His name. The bishop’s confidant.”
“It’s certain that the bishop himself fears him.”
“His name.”
“He knows about you.”
“His name.”
“Birkart of Grellenort.”
Reynevan drew a dagger. The knight’s eyes closed involuntarily, but he opened them immediately and looked boldly at Reynevan.
“That’s all, Sir Jan Smiřický. You’re free. Farewell. And don’t try to threaten me any more.”
“He won’t,” said Samson Honeypot suddenly.
Jan of Smiřice’s eyes opened wide.
“You have no luck with treason and conspiracy, Jan of Smiřice,” continued Samson calmly, taking no pleasure from the impression he was making. “Not at all. They don’t pay. It will be the same in the future. Beware of conspiracy and treachery.
“So many ideas and plans inside you. So much ambition. In truth, you could benefit from someone to stand behind you, to advise you in hushed tones, make suggestions and remind you. Respiciens post te, hominem memento te, cave, ne cadas. Cave, ne cadas, Sir Jan of Smiřice.
“Listen, if you have ears to hear. Nescis, mi fili, diem neque horam. Your ambition, Lord Smiřický, will be your downfall. You don’t know the day or the hour of that downfall.”
When Reynevan left the cellar, Samson had vanished somewhere, but reappeared a moment later. The two of them walked along backstreets towards Swordsmiths Street.
“Do you think that was wise?” began Reynevan. “Your closing speech? What was it? A prophecy?”
“A prophecy?” Samson turned his idiotic face towards Reynevan. “No. I just came out with it. But was it wise? Nothing is wise. At least not here in this world of yours.”
“Aha. Funny I didn’t guess at once. Speaking of which, are you going to Soukenická Street?”
“Of course. Aren’t you?”
“No. There are probably plenty of casualties. Knowing Rokycana, he’ll have ordered them taken to the church. There’ll be heaps of work, every doctor will come in handy. Furthermore, Neplach will be looking for me. I can’t risk him finding me in the House at the Archangel.”
“Of course.”
They entered the Old Town Square. The naked and bestially mutilated body of Hynek of Kolštejn, the Lord of Kamýk, Hejtman of Litoměřice, knight of the Štěpanice line of the Valdštejns, from the family of the great Markvartices was no longer hanging from the pillory. Father Rokycana must have ordered it taken down. Although it pained him, Father Rokycana tolerated killing and officially even approved of it, within certain limits, obviously—only for a good cause, and only when the ends justified the means.