“And if it doesn’t,” Little Prokop finished with a cold smile, “it’ll heed our flails.”
The silence lasted a long time. It was interrupted by Wyszek Raczyński.
“I’m to repeat all that to Szafraniec,” he stated. “Is that what you want?”
“If I didn’t, would I be speaking about it?” Prokop twirled his moustaches.
Jan Rohač of Dube, the famous Hejtman of Čáslav, was waiting for Raczyński outside the granary with a mounted escort.
The Pole swung himself into the saddle of the steed offered to him and took a wolfskin coat from a servant. Then Prokop walked over to him.
“Farewell, Brother Wyszek,” he said, holding his hand out. “May God guide you. And please pass on my good wishes to King Władysław through Szafraniec. May he fare well—”
“In his marriage with Sophia,” said Little Prokop, grinning, but Prokop the Shaven quieted him with a sharp look.
“May he fare well in the chase,” he finished. “I know he’s fond of hunting, but he should be vigilant. He’s seven and seventy—at that age, it’s easy to catch a chill and expire from it.”
Raczyński bowed and clicked his tongue at his horse. They were soon trotting towards the crossing on the Labe, he and Jan Rohač of Dube. Two close friends, comrades, companions, brothers in arms. Rohač and Wyszek, the Pole and Czech, still had before them many battles, skirmishes and clashes, during which they would fight together, side by side, horse beside horse, thigh by thigh, shoulder to shoulder. They would also die together—on the same day, on the same scaffold, first cruelly tortured and then hanged. But at that time no one could have predicted it.
The huge bombard had cooled down by morning, and the eager gunner didn’t fail to fire it right at sunrise. The roar and the trembling of the ground were so intense that Reynevan fell from the narrow pallet he was sleeping on, and fragments of straw and dust fell from the ceiling for some time.
Smaller bombards were fired after the large one, hurling one-hundred-and-fifty-pound balls. The bombards boomed. The ground trembled. After being woken, Reynevan brooded over his dreams, and there was much to brood over: he’d dreamed of Nicolette, Katarzyna of Biberstein, again. In detail.
The cannons roared. The siege went on.
Around noon, Prokop gave the third and most important reason for agreeing to Scharley’s leave. Their spirits sank at once.
“I’ll be needing you in Silesia. Both of you. I want you to return to Silesia. In August, when we repulsed the crusade at Stříbro,” Prokop continued, ignoring their expressions and not waiting for a response, “the Bishop of Wrocław once again stabbed us in the back. The army of the bishop and the Silesian dukes, traditionally supported by Albrecht of Kolditz and Půta of Častolovice, attacked the Náchod region again. Yet again, much Czech blood flowed. Yet again, fire destroyed homes and farms. Yet again, indescribable atrocities were perpetrated on defenceless people.
“For at least a year, a wave of appalling terror has passed through Silesia. Pyres blaze everywhere. The Teutons are cruelly tormenting our Slav brothers. We will not stand idly by. We will march to Silesia and lend a brotherly hand with a peaceful, stabilising mission. But a mission like that has to be prepared.” Prokop still didn’t allow them to get a word in. “And that will be your task. Once you have sorted out your private interests, the ones I’ve generously given you permission for, you will join Brother Neplach on White Mountain. Brother Neplach will prepare you for the task. Which you will accomplish, I have no doubts, with great dedication: for God, religion and the fatherland. As befits Warriors of God… I see you want to say something, Scharley. Speak.”
“We are known in Silesia,” said Scharley after clearing his throat.
“I’m aware of that.”
“Many people know us there. Many think ill of us. Many would like to see us dead.”
“Good. That will ensure you are cautious and sensible.”
“The Inquisition—”
“And that you won’t betray us. End of discussion, Scharley. Enough! You have your orders. You have a task to accomplish. And now go on leave and sort out your private interests. I advise you to sort out all of them, very thoroughly. Your task is, I accept, risky and perilous. It’s right to take care of personal matters before something like that. Pay off one’s debts to friends and loved ones. Become indebted to others—”
He suddenly broke off.
“Reinmar of Bielawa,” he said a moment later, and his expression sent shivers running down Reynevan’s back. “Your private interests don’t by any chance have anything to do with avenging your brother’s death?”
Reynevan shook his head, for his mouth had suddenly gone so dry he couldn’t utter a word.
“Ah,” said Prokop the Shaven, putting his hands together. “Very good. That’s excellent. May it thus remain.” A moment later, he continued, “The Bible says: trust in the Lord. And regarding your brother, you can additionally trust in me, Prokop. I shall take care of it personally. I already have. Your brother, whose memory I respect, was only one of many of our allies killed in Silesia. A murderous hand fell on scores of people who sympathised with us and who helped us. Those crimes will not go unpunished. We shall answer terror with terror, in accordance with God’s order: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a hand for a hand, a leg for a leg, a wound for a wound. Your brother will be avenged, you can be certain of that. But I forbid you from private acts of revenge. I understand your feelings, but you must restrain yourself. Understand that there’s a hierarchy here, a queue for revenge, and you are far from the top of that hierarchy. And do you know who is at the top? I’ll tell you: I am! Prokop, called the Shaven. The Silesian wrongdoers have added me to their list, so do you think I’ll let them get away with it? That I won’t give them an example of terror? I swear by the Father and the Son that they who have spilled blood will pay with their own. As the Bible says: I shall beat them as small as the dust of the earth, I shall stamp them as the mire of the street. I will send a sword after them, till I have consumed them. They who have made a pact with the Devil, who have plotted crimes in secret, dealt murderous blows, now look back anxiously, now feel eyes on their backs. Now those creatures of darkness are afraid of what is lying in wait in the darkness for them. They saw themselves as wolves, spreading terror among defenceless sheep. And now they themselves tremble to hear the howling of wolves on their trail.
“Conclusion: the preparation of our attack on Silesia is at this moment a matter of vital consequence for our entire cause. It is an operation as important even as the current siege of Kolín or the attack on Hungary planned for the end of the year. I repeat: if as a result of your attempts at private revenge the operation ends in fiasco, I shall take appropriate measures. Appropriate and harsh measures. I shall not show mercy. Remember that. Will you?”
“I shall.”
“Splendid. And now… Reinmar, Brother Neplach informs me that you’re an expert at… hmm… unconventional medicine and I have terrible pains in my bones… Can you make magic? Cure it with a spell?”
“Brother Prokop… Magic is forbidden… Witchcraft is a peccatum mortalium… The Fourth Article of Prague—”