“The Hospitallers of Saint John of Jerusalem,” he said in a nasal voice, “may not stand idly by in the face of a threat to the faith and the Church. We took vows and will remain true to them. We, the knights of the Brandenburg Bailiwick, pride ourselves on our loyalty to vows and monastic principles.”

“Yes, indeed,” proudly added Nikolaus of Thierbach, Commander of Swobnica.

“So help us, God,” added Henning of Alzey, the brother of the Dytmar who fell at the Battle of Nysa, sticking his jaw out.

“Then let us drink!” urged Konrad. “To the confusion of the Hussites!”

“Down with them!” snarled Henning of Alzey.

The bishop knew that his other brother, Dytryk, had fallen at the Battle of Drahim. Fighting the Poles.

“During their stay in Wrocław, your knights will be quartered at Ołbin with the local Premonstratensians, Master Baltazar,” said the bishop, addressing Schlieben. “And I shall cover all the expenses from my own casket. Where do you make for after Wrocław?”

“Legnica. To Duke Ludwik.”

“Ah, naturally,” said Konrad, squinting slightly. “Why, Ludwik of Brzeg is the margrave’s brother-in-law. Ha, I sincerely nurture the hope that now, having under his command the celebrated weapons of the Knights Hospitaller of the Margraviate, Duke Ludwik will display greater warcraft than he has to date. For he has not in the battles with the Hussites up until now. He has only become known for his manoeuvres. And what is a manoeuvre if not a rapid retreat? But enough, enough of unpleasant matters. Your good health!”

Wiping his mouth as his glance swept over his collocutors, the bishop said, “I shall share with you some news that has lately reached us from France, along with the first-rate Burgundy we are drinking. Why, a peasant girl from Champagne, a common maid called Jehanne, a mystic and perhaps also a soothsayer, has appeared at the court of King Charles VII in Chinon. She has utterly possessed and bewitched the king. The voices of saints from Heaven, she said, have proclaimed her the saviour of France and the divine scourge of the English invaders. And do you know what? She has roused the indolent king and the entire knighthood, and even the common people. Having proclaimed her La Pucelle—the Virgin—they are all flocking to Orléans and her standard and the English besieging the town are trembling in their breeches with fear.”

“Such a thing does not behove a maiden,” said Baltazar of Schlieben, frowning. “Some new French fashions. We, too, saw a similar maid, in male attire, riding a horse and holding a javelin in the yard at your court on Ostrów Tumski, Bishop. But a maid ought not to dress as a man. It is an act against God. It is blasphemous.”