“How is Holy Father Martin V’s health? Does he betray any symptoms? For I hear they prophesy that his days are numbered.”

“Who prophesies thus?”

“Soothsayers. After leaving Rome, you reportedly travelled to Switzerland? And how is it in Switzerland?”

“It’s lovely. Their cheese is excellent, too.”

“And their infantry,” said the bishop, shooing away the servant with the basin. He gestured to another who was holding a fur-trimmed mantle to come to him. “Their infantry is also good. Perhaps they’ll loan us a thousand pikes when we launch another crusade against Bohemia? Did you talk about that with them? With the Bishop of Basel?”

“I did. They won’t. A crusade—they said—will fail dismally. As usual. It’s a waste of soldiers.”

“Whoresons,” said the bishop, wrapping himself up in the mantle and sitting down. “Stinking cheesemakers. Wine, Grzesiu? Drink, don’t be afraid. It’s not poisoned.”

“I’m not afraid,” said Hejncze, looking at the bishop over his goblet. “I regularly take a magical mithridate.”

“Magic is a sin,” said the bishop, chuckling. “What’s more, poisons exist for which there are no antidotes and which no spells will help. I assure you there are. I’ll tell you more about them another time. But now you speak. What news of Bamberg? My spies inform me that you also visited the Bishop of Bamberg. What of him?”

“I understand Your Eminence is not enquiring about his health?”

“I don’t give a shit about his health. I’m asking whether he will join the crusade. Will he offer soldiers, cannons, guns? And if so, how many?”

“His Excellency Frederick of Aufsess,” said the Inquisitor, his face as grave as pneumonia, “avoided an unambiguous answer. In another words, he was evasive. Oh well, evasion appears to be permanently and inextricably linked to a bishop’s mitre. But the truth peeps out from behind the evasion. It peeps out—to quote the ancients—like an arse from the nettles. It is true that one’s own needs are uppermost. In Franconia and Bavaria, the town mob is fomenting, the peasantry is becoming unruly. Reports emerge from France of the Virgin, Jehanne d’Arc, the holy warrior of God. Rumour has it that when La Pucelle is done with the English she will lead her people’s army against lords and prelates. And Hussites? The Hussites are far from Bamberg, no one in Bamberg fears them, no one believes they will get that far, and even if they do, the city walls are high and formidable. In a word, Bamberg cares nothing for the Hussites. Let those who have reason to, fear them. Those are the words of His Excellency Bishop Frederick.”

“To hell with him, the old ass. What about the Archbishop of Magdeburg? I believe you visited him, too.”