“So far I’ve understood them.”
“Indeed? I envy you, for I haven’t always. And still don’t. The incident with Marketa fits that pattern. To some extent, for there are other reasons, indeed. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you them. They are, primo, too personal. Secundo, you wouldn’t understand them.”
“Because they’re unfathomable, naturally. Otherworldly. Not even Dante could help me?”
“Dante can always help.” The giant smiled. “Very well. If you want to know… In the gambling den, during that repulsive show, my spirit was yearning.”
“Hmm… A little more?”
“With pleasure.”
E lo spirito mio, che già cotanto
tempo era stato ch’a la sua presenza
non era di stupor, tremando, affranto,
sanza de li occhi aver più conoscenza,
per occulta virtù che da lei mosse,
d’antico amor sentì la gran potenza.
Neither of them said anything for a long time.
“Amor?” Reynevan finally asked. “Are you certain it’s amor?”
“I’m certain it’s gran potenza.”
They rode on in silence.
“Reinmar?”
“Go on, Samson.”
“It’s high time I was going home. Let’s make an effort, shall we?”
“Very well, friend. We shall. I promise. Is that the bridge? Yes, I think it is.”
Hooves thundered on the timbers and planks as the horsemen rode onto a bridge spanning a deep canyon. The castle—their destination—stood atop a steep precipice that plunged straight down to a river, probably the Jizera. Beyond the bridge there was a solid gate, and beyond the gate an extensive bailey over which the castle’s mighty bergfried towered.
“We’re home!” Jan Čapek of Sány announced loudly from the head, his mount’s horseshoes ringing on the cobbles of the bailey. “In Michalovice. I mean, I’m home!”
Chapter Eight
In which the reader, although they make the acquaintance of several historical figures and persons important to the story, in principle doesn’t find out much apart from that you know a good bird by its song. But, all in all, the most important thing they learn in this chapter is which crowned heads and prominent notables fucked a wench in 1353 who is now an old woman.
Reynevan and Scharley were invited to supper. Berengar Tauler, in spite of the medical attention, was still lying unconscious. Amadej Baťa offered to watch over him. Samson—as usual—was quartered in the stable. As usual, he was playing dice with the stablemen, who were keen to fleece the simpleton. It probably needn’t be stated who finally lost their shirt to whom.
Supper was served in the main chamber of the upper castle, decorated with a wooden figure of the Archangel Michael, a tapestry with a unicorn and a large red coat of arms depicting a silver lion rampant hanging just below the ceiling. In the corner, a fire roared in a hearth and beside it on a stool sat a hunched old woman, absorbed with a spinning wheel, a distaff and a merrily hopping spindle.
All the Hussite hejtmans—both local and neighbouring ones visiting the castle by chance—were dining. In addition to Jan Čapek of Sány and Brázda of Klinštejn, sitting at the table was a tall, swarthy man with a hooked nose and evil, piercing eyes, his neck encumbered by a heavy gold chain, a decoration more usually worn by town councillors than soldiers. Reynevan knew him and had seen him among the Orphans in Hradec Králové. But only now were they introduced to each other: it was Jan Kolúch of Véska.
On Kolúch’s left sat Štěpán Tlach, the hejtman of an outpost in nearby Český Dub, a not old, yet very grey-haired man with a red, plebeian face and the gnarled hands of a carpenter, wearing a padded and richly embroidered knightly doublet in which he clearly felt uncomfortable. Seated beside Tlach was a scrawny, fair-haired man with a scar on his cheek. The scar looked menacing, but it was a souvenir of a simple, amateurishly incised boil. The scar’s owner introduced himself as Vojta Jelínek.
As was customary among the Orphans, there was a priest at the hejtmans’ table—so between Čapek and Brázda sat a short, stout, bearded man dressed in black, presented as Brother Buzek, servant of God. The servant of God had evidently begun dining earlier, for he was already more than tipsy.
No delicacies were served. The large dishes of mutton and beef chops and ribs were served only with large quantities of roast turnip and a basket of bread. Several kegs of Hungarian wine were brought to the table, all with the lion of the Markvartic family branded onto them. The sight of them reminded Reynevan of Prague, as did the coat of arms hanging from the ceiling. The sixth of September. And Hynek of Kolštejn falling onto the cobblestones from the window of the House at the Elephant.
Before they began dining in earnest, there were, it turned out, several official matters to be dealt with. Four Hussites shoved a prisoner into the room—the esquire captured beside the river. The one whose horse Reynevan had shot from under him with a crossbow.
The youngster’s hair and clothes were dishevelled and a large bruise on his cheekbone was swelling and assuming a beautiful colour. Jan Čapek of Sány glared at the escort but said nothing. He only gave a sign for the captive to be unhanded. The esquire pushed away the hands gripping him, stood erect and looked at the Hussite commanders proudly, but Reynevan could see his knees were trembling somewhat.
There was silence for a while, only disturbed by the soft whirring of the spinning wheel of the old woman in the corner.
“Sir Nikel of Keuschburg,” said Jan Čapek. “Welcome, we’re glad to have you. You shall remain under our roof until a packhorse shows up here with a ransom. You know that in any case, m’lord—you know wartime customs.”
“I serve Sir Friedrich of Dohna!” said the esquire, raising his head. “Sir Friedrich will pay my ransom.”
“Are you certain?” said Jan Kolúch of Véska, pointing a bone stripped of meat at him. “For, you see, rumour has is that you are fond of Barbara, Sir Friedrich’s daughter, that you are courting her. And who knows if Lord Dohna approves of your advances? Perhaps he’s rubbing his hands together, glad to be rid of you? Pray, my son, for it to be otherwise.”
The esquire first paled and then flushed red.
“I have other kin!” he declared. “I’m a Keuschburg!”
“Then pray that miserliness hasn’t got the better of them, for you won’t eat at our table for nothing. At least not for long.”
“Not for long,” confirmed Jan Čapek. “Or perhaps long enough for you to see your error? Perhaps you’ll spurn the Roman farce and turn towards the true faith? Don’t make a face! It’s happened to better men than you. Sir Bohuslav of Švamberk, may God rest his soul, changed his life almost from one day to the next, being promoted from a captive to the Tábor’s chief hejtman. When brother Žižka took him prisoner and threw him into a dungeon in Příběnice, Sir Bohuslav saw his mistake and received the Chalice. We have a priest here, as you see. And so? Shall I ask for the Chalice?”
The squire spat on the floor. “Shove your Chalice, heretic,” he answered back proudly. “You know where.”