Rixa dodged the lance by leaning out far from the saddle. The powerful horse struck her steed and knocked it over, sending the girl rolling across the ground to the bank of the mill stream where she hit her head hard on a post. As Reynevan’s horse reared up, the knight discarded the lance, drew a sword and made a powerful reverse swing; had Reynevan not jumped down he would have lost his head. The galloping horse hit him and knocked him over, and he tumbled into the mud, right under other hooves.

The battle cries gained suddenly in intensity as more riders appeared all around and Reynevan realised that other forces had joined the affray. Light cavalry in kettle hats, many with the sign of the Chalice on their breasts. There wasn’t enough time, however, to dwell on the matter, for a battle was raging around him, horses were snorting and neighing, blades flashing and clanging and blood pouring. A horse’s chest knocked him over again; he fell down and looked up to see a spear raised to stab him. At the same moment, the spearman flew from the saddle, struck by a Flemish goedendag.

“Samson!”

“Reynevan?”

Samson reined his horse around, shielding Reynevan from further attack. There was no need, since the attacker cowered in the saddle, stabbed by the bear spears of two horsemen sporting the Chalice. The third slashed him across the nape with a curved falchion for good measure.

“Scharley!”

“Reynevan?”

“Take them alive!” yelled the Hussites’ commander, a young knight wearing a dull brownish-grey cloak over full plate armour. “Take the knights alive! Kill the common soldiers!”

The battle was over. Whoever was meant to be finished off was finished off, whoever was meant to be tied up was tied up. Reynevan, somewhat stunned, hugged Scharley and Samson, observed by the knight in the dull brownish-grey cloak from the height of his saddle. When he raised the visor of his helmet, his face looked familiar to Reynevan.

“Our hejtman,” said Scharley, introducing him. “Brus of Klinštejn of the Ronovci family. The younger brother of—”

He didn’t finish. One of the dead was only feigning and now leaped to his feet and went for Brus, wielding a baselard. He didn’t reach him. Scharley fired a short, odd-looking gun at him from close range, tearing his head to pieces.

“Thank you,” said Brus of Klinštejn of the Ronovci family, the younger brother Brázda of Klinštejn, hejtman with the Orphans. “Thank you, Brother Scharley.”

Reynevan finally remembered Rixa and looked to see her getting up from the ground and shaking sand from her hair.

“Everything in order?”

“Quite in order,” she replied. And suddenly her mouth contorted into a grimace and her eyes opened wide. She was looking at Samson.

“Troop, muster!” commanded Brus of Klinštejn. “We’re leaving!”