“We’re getting off the subject,” said Scharley, pulling on his black horse’s bit. “Will you give Reynevan an explanation? Or shall I?”

“You do it. I’d love to hear it.”

“We’ve changed our route unexpectedly,” the penitent began without delay, “in order to deceive spies, the bishop’s thugs and the Inquisition. We are riding along the Racibórz road and they are doubtless looking for us outside Krnov and have doubtless set an ambush for us there. Because they’ve been informed that we’re going that way. You informed them, Reinmar.”

“Indeed,” said Reynevan, taking off a glove and wiping his forehead. “Everything is clear. It turns out the promise on the crucifix wasn’t enough for Prokop. He’s still testing me.”

“By the Devil!” said Bedřich of Strážnice and leaned over in the saddle to spit on the ground. “Can you blame him? Would you have acted any differently in his shoes?”

“But why did he send me to Silesia? To put me to the test? Is that why we’ve ridden all this way, into the middle of enemy territory? For that reason only?”

“Not only,” said Bedřich and straightened up. “By no means not only. But enough of that. Time is short, let’s go.”

“Where to? I’m asking so I can pass it on to the bishop’s thugs.”

“Watch your step, Reynevan. Let’s go.”

They rode, now not hurrying, along a waterlogged road through woodland, with two Moravians at the front, then Bedřich and Reynevan, then Scharley and Samson, and two Moravians at the rear. They rode cautiously, for it was enemy territory, after all, on the lands of the Duchy of Racibórz. The young Duke Mikołaj was a fierce enemy of the Hussites, fiercer even than his recently deceased father, the notorious Herzog, Jan the Iron. Herzog Jan hadn’t even been afraid of falling foul of Poland and its powerful king in order to harry the Hussites. In 1421 he had caused a serious diplomatic incident: he seized and arrested the entire entourage of a Czech mission travelling to Krakow and threw the envoys—beginning with Vilém Kostka of Postupice—into a dungeon, stripped them down to their hose and sold them to Sigismund, who only released them after a stern diplomatic note from Jagiełło and the mediation of Zawisza the Black of Garbów. Their vigilance was thus justified. If caught by the Racibórzians, neither a diplomatic note nor mediation would have helped; they would have been hanged without further ado.

They rode on. Bedřich glared at Reynevan and Reynevan glared back at Bedřich. It didn’t look like the start of a beautiful friendship.