“Zbigniew Oleśnicki, Bishop of Krakow,” he said, in a calm voice, “is the most ardent candor fidei catholicae and most staunch persequens of apostasy and of heresy. There is nothing more important to the Bishop of Krakow than negotium fidei, the fight for the faith. The bishop holds the view that the fight against heresy is equally as important—if not more so—as the fight against the pagans for the Holy Sepulchrum. The bishop understands what Crux cismarina—a crusade on this side of the sea—is. Particularly that we share the same side. The bishop asked me to say: we are on the same side of the sea. Krakow or Wrocław, we are on the same side, on the same shore. And with this wave of heresy swelling before us, the shore is liable to be flooded.”

“It is not news to me,” replied Konrad, Bishop of Wrocław, nodding, “that Zbigniew Oleśnicki sees and understands the menace of heresy. It is not news to me nor by any means strange. Zbigniew is gearing up to be a cardinal; and how may a future cardinal turn a blind eye to heresy? How may he be tolerant of heretics? How cannot one understand that what is happening in Bohemia is a thousandfold more important to us than the crusader states, Jerusalem, the Sacred Grave and other fripperies? For the truth is that the Hussite plague is not overseas, but here, in our own yard, so to speak. The truth is that naught but a Crux cismarina can save us. Thus I ask: where are the Polish forces marching on Bohemia with a crusade? Why can they still not be seen? Is it so difficult for the Bishop of Krakow to bend the impudent necks of the Szafraniec family and other Hussite accomplices? So difficult finally to bend the neck of the decrepit Jagiełło?”

“Are they your words, Your Excellency?” said Andrzej of Bnin, raising an eyebrow. “Because it’s as though I were hearing King Sigismund. He pipes a similar tune. Why don’t the Poles ride on Bohemia, where is Polish faith, where are the Polish regiments, blah, blah, blah. Where are the Polish regiments, you ask? They protect the borders of Greater Poland, Kuyavia, the Dobrzyn Lands from the Teutonic Knights, who are itching for the Polish army to set off for Bohemia in order to descend on Poland with fire and sword. With the blessings of your Emperor Sigismund. Zbigniew Oleśnicki, the Bishop of Krakow, future cardinal, is a good Catholic and foe of heresy. But above all he is a Pole.”

“My forefather,” said Konrad, pouting his lips, “was Piast the Wheelwright, my foremother was Rzepicha. Bolesław the Brave was my kinsman. As were Bolesław the Wry-Mouthed, Mieszko Tanglefoot, Henryk the Bearded. But when the time came to think about the future, my forefathers knew what to choose. They chose the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation. They chose Europe. They chose progress and betterment. Zbigniew Oleśnicki thinks himself a Pole but serves Jagiełło. Who is a neophyte, a clandestine pagan, whose father made human sacrifices to Lithuanian devils. As a Pole, old Zbigniew ought to understand that Poland’s future is not Lithuania, not Ruthenia, not the uncivilised East, but Europe. The Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation. Pass my words on to Zbigniew, Lord Bnin.”