“Our commandant has changed the route again. He’s been leading us southwards for an hour. Straight to the Moravian Gate. We’ll see Skoczów any moment.”

Reynevan swore extremely obscenely.

“Yes, I admit it,” said Bedřich, not even batting an eyelid at the fierce recriminations. “I misled you purposefully. I never intended to go to Zator.”

“Another test of my loyalty, eh?” snapped Reynevan. “I know it was!”

“If so, why do you ask?”

Thousands of frogs croaked, crawling over each other in a forest pond choked with a thick layer of duckweed.

“I have to admit,” said Scharley, “you know how to get on people’s nerves, Bedřich. You’re extremely talented in that regard. This time, you’ve even managed to enrage a peaceful fellow like me. I would smash your face in just like that if I wasn’t embarrassed to do it in front of foreigners.”

“As for me,” drawled the foreigner Siestrzeniec, “I feel personally offended by your deception. Lucky for you, m’Lord Bedřich, your clergyman’s cassock protects you. Otherwise, I would teach you some manners on the duelling ground. And knock you into the middle of next week.”

“Lord Szafraniec and Lord Oporów are waiting in Zator!” Spytek of Melsztyn interjected heatedly. “We were meant to lead them to Moravia and protect them on the way. Hetman Prokop promised to assist and escort the Polish mission! And we gave our knightly parole—”

“The Chamberlain of Krakow,” said Bedřich, linking his fingers on his chest, “and the Deputy Crown Chancellor are already riding to Odry and will probably get there before us. They are being guided by trusted men and don’t need protection. Now, since Jan of Kravaře went over to the Chalice and allied with the Tábor, the roads there are safe. So enough of this jabbering, gentlemen. To horse and let us ride!”

“Perhaps it is acceptable among you Czechs,” said Mikołaj Kornicz Siestrzeniec, grinding his teeth, “to feed knights lies, to lead them up the garden path and call their speech ‘jabbering.’ In Poland it doesn’t go unpunished. Lucky you are protected by—”

“Protected by what?” roared Bedřich, already in the saddle. “My cassock? Where do you see a cassock? And anyway, fuck that! I tell you to your face: I had my suspicions, I didn’t trust any of you, so I had to put you to the test, all of you. Do you understand, Kornicz? And what of it? Did I offend your delicate Polish honour? Do you want to fight? Do you want satisfaction? Come on, then! Which of you—”