“Your light is come,” said Father Kołatka, spreading his arms out towards his congregation in the nave, “and the Lord’s glory radiates above you. For behold: darkness covers the land and dense gloom enshrouds the people, but the Lord shines over you and His glory appears above you. And the people shall go to His light, and kings to the luminescence of His dawning.”

The sun emerged from behind the clouds, light flooded the land.

“Ite, missa est.”

Chapter Nine

In which, during a secret mission to Silesia, Reynevan is subject to numerous and various tests of his loyalty. He endures it quite patiently, unlike Samson Honeypot, who is offended and gives expression to his feelings.

They dashed through the springtide land, galloping, splashing the water and mud from the softened roads.

Having passed Hradec, they forded the Moravice and reached Opava, the capital of the Duke of the Přemyslid dynasty, Přemek. There they slowed down in order not to arouse suspicion. As they rode away from the city, bade farewell by the tolling of bells for the Angelus, Reynevan realised something was wrong. He realised it partially unprompted and partially provoked by Scharley’s eloquent glances. Every once in a while, he weighed up his unease and assessed it to check he wasn’t mistaken. It turned out he wasn’t. It was as he sensed. Something was out of kilter.

“Something is wrong. It’s not as it ought to be. Bedřich!”

“What?”

“We were meant to be riding for Krnov and Głuchołazy, as Prokop ordered. North-west. But we’re heading north-east. This is the Racibórz road.”

Bedřich of Strážnice reined his horse around and trotted over.

“Regarding the road,” he said coldly, looking Reynevan in the eyes, “you’re absolutely right. Regarding the rest, you are not. Everything is in order and is as it should be.”

“Prokop told us—”

“He told you,” Bedřich interrupted, “but he gave me orders. I’m commanding this mission. Do you have any objections to that?”

“Perhaps he ought to,” said Scharley, riding over on his handsome black horse. “Because I do.”

“And perhaps,” said Samson, riding up to Bedřich’s right on his huge lancer stallion. “And perhaps you could muster a little frankness, Lord Strážnice? A little honesty and trust. Is that so much to ask?”

If Samson’s words dumbfounded Bedřich, it was only for a moment. He tore his eyes away from the giant then looked askance at Scharley. His glance was a signal to his four men, Moravians with fierce jaws and gnarled hands. The look was enough for the Moravians to lower their hands in unison and rest them on the battleaxes hanging from their saddles.

“A little frankness, is it?” he repeated, scowling. “Very well. You first. Starting with you, giant. What are you really?”

“Ego sum, qui sum.”