The view from the walls of Głogówek Castle gave a compelling picture of the destruction and calamities that Glogovia Minor—until recently the pearl of Silesian architecture—had experienced as a result of the previous year’s plundering raid. Located on the far side of the River Ozobłoga, the riverside buildings had simply vanished and there were almost no traces of them on the black crust of scorched earth. The castle suburb of Przedmieście Zamkowe, once crowded and vibrant, had met a similar fate. Life was slowly returning, although clear traces were also visible of the fires that had raged there a year before, on the Friday before Laetare Sunday Anno Domini 1428, when after first sacking the monastery of the Pauline Order in Mochów, Tábor troops—in the shape of the Czechs of Jan Zmrzlík of Svojšín and Dobko Puchała’s Poles—attacked Głogówek.

It wasn’t just the suburbs that had suffered then, Reynevan recalled. The gates were destroyed and the walls breached. Zmrzlík and Puchała had forced their way into the town, slaughtering and burning. Głogówek still hadn’t recovered. The houses in the town square were black with soot, and the southern part of the town, in the vicinity of the Collegiate Church of Saint Bartholomew, even though it was being rebuilt, was not much more than a ruin. The Collegiate Church itself had also taken quite a pounding and the Franciscan monastery had suffered serious damage.

“A heart-rending sight, isn’t it, Reynevan?” said Duke Bolko Wołoszek, resting his elbow on the wall. “But of course, you know the town was actually lucky. When in March I was parleying with you Hussites, Prokop put a stop to the burning and ordered the release of the captured townspeople. Once released, they began the rebuilding, thanks only to which the name of Głogówek hasn’t vanished from the map of Silesia. But some time will pass before Prudnik, Biała and Czyżowice return to the map.

“I shall not permit further towns to share the fate of Prudnik and Biała,” continued the duke. “Głogówek survived thanks to the alliance with you Hussites. Which I struck on your advice, Reinmar, comrade and companion from Prague University. I remember that. For which reason I insisted you be brought into Prokop’s mission. We shall talk about that, but in the chambers, over wine. Great quantities of wine. The sight of those burned-down houses regularly arouses in me an overwhelming desire to drink myself stupid.”

“I heard,” said Wołoszek, rocking Hungarian wine in a goblet, “that you were excommunicated in Wrocław. Welcome to the fraternity! Now, not only are we comrades, alumni from Prague Charles University, but we are both anathema. I was banished for my alliance with you, naturally. And for splitting the skull of a priest with a little club. But I care nothing for the anathema. They can excommunicate me until Judgement Day, I don’t give a hoot. In any case, comrade, the Friars Minor will bury me with pomp in the crypt of the reconstructed Głogówek convent, singing over my coffin, praying, lighting candles and burning incense. There will be full pomp and opulence. Fuck me, I wonder if the bishop will be similarly feted when he kicks the bucket, which—God willing—will happen very soon. Are you surprised I know so much about my own funeral? I have, Brother, a soothsayer, a sortarius and a sorcerer in my service. He is somewhat more of a farmyard sorcerer; he catches chickens and ducks, eviscerates them and reads the future from their guts. But his predictions come true, it must be admitted.”