“By promising him the royal crown,” said Prokop, nodding. “And other pies in the sky—actually, a great abundance of pies. Unfortunately, it appears that the magnus dux Lithuaniae believed in them. Witold, up until now famous for his wisdom, good sense and Lithuanian shrewdness, is letting Sigismund wrap him around his little finger. Indeed, it is the truth: Stultum facit Fortuna quem vult perdere. Fortune makes a fool of the man she wishes to destroy.”

“It is too remarkable to my mind,” Bedřich declared, “to the extent that I suspect some kind of game in this. It wouldn’t be the first time for Witold and Jagiełło, as a matter of fact. Not their first deceitful game.”

“True,” said Prokop, pouring water over himself from the pail and shaking himself like a dog. “The problem is that the game is being played on a chessboard where we are also pieces. And if the Polish king were suddenly to step out into open play after hiding behind a rook, he’s liable to start interfering with negotiations. Then we must look several moves ahead, as in a game of chess, and place our pieces on the critical squares. While we are discussing pieces… Reynevan!”

“Yes, Hejtman?”

“You will go to Silesia. On a mission.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because I am ordering you.”

Prokop turned his head away. Bedřich, on the contrary, fixed Reynevan with his eyes. Pardus was rubbing his heel with a rough stone. Puchała was lashing himself on the back with birch twigs.

“Brother Prokop,” said Reynevan in the silence. “You have heard too many rumours and have your suspicions, so you want to put me through a test. You ordered that me and my comrades be followed. And now this mission to Silesia. A secret mission, probably, of the kind only entrusted to the most trusted and reliable men. You consider me such? I can’t think you do. I understand that. I don’t understand the provocation. Neither the purpose nor the point of it.”

Prokop was silent for a long time.

“Pardus!” he finally yelled. “Bedřich! A crucifix! This moment!”

“What?”

“Bring me a fucking crucifix!”

The order was carried out in no time. Prokop held the cross towards Reynevan.

“Place your fingers on it. Look me in the eyes! And repeat after me: I swear on this Holy Cross and our Lord’s Passion that when I was captured by Jan of Ziębice I didn’t betray anyone, nor go over to the side of the Bishop of Wrocław, and now do not serve the bishop in order to persecute my brethren, good Czechs, supporters of the Chalice, in order by betrayal to harm them basely. If I be lying, may I expire, may I be punished and devoured by Hell, but first may the severe hand of revolutionary justice catch up with me, amen.”