“The Black Riders,” he finally said, “have introduced themselves to the Tábor, too. Beyond Žitava, four days ago, they caught and massacred our hlidka, ten men; only one managed to flee. Then we found a few of them they had caught alive. They were hanging by their legs from trees. Somebody had been trying extremely hard to persuade them to testify. And then used them as targets for javelin-throwing practice.

“And you, m’lady,” he said, addressing Rixa, “are the one who rescued our Reinmar in Wrocław in the winter. And you continue, I see, to support him with help, advice, strength of spirit and your endearing personality. Of your own will? Or perhaps on somebody’s orders, if I may ask?”

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” said Rixa, looking him in the eyes. “I won’t ask you about anything and I expect the same.”

“I understand,” said Scharley, shrugging. “But since this is an army unit, I must think something up for the purposes of our leader, Brus of the Ronovci. For should he decide to ply you with questions, m’lady—”

“I’ll cope. You may call me Rixa.”

Scharley spurred his horse and trotted to the head.

“How are things in Rapotín, Samson? Marketa…”

“Everything is in the best order,” said the giant, grinning. “The very best. Better than I could have expected. And probably much better than I deserve. She didn’t want to let me go with Scharley. She wouldn’t listen to any arguments…”

“Did you have any?”

“Several. And one of them was you. Rixa, do you really have to bore your eyes into me? You’ve already proved your ability to see hidden things. But no matter how hard you stare you won’t see a dybbuk.”

“What will I see, then? I can see supernatural things. And you’re supernatural.”

“One of my friends,” said Samson, still smiling, “is wont to say there’s no such thing as supernatural beings or phenomena. Some occurrences simply go beyond what we know about nature.”

“That was Saint Augustine. You knew him personally, I presume. And it doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“Rixa, you’re making quite extraordinary progress.”

“Don’t tease me. Dybbuk.”

Scharley trotted over and cast a severe glance over them.

“What philosophical disputes are you engaged in here? Samson? The Czechs are starting to look back. Keep your bloody identity hidden.”

“I beg your pardon, I forgot myself. Will this do? I’ve lately been practising. Look.”

Samson crossed his eyes horribly. He smiled foolishly, whimpered idiotically and drooled from the corners of his mouth. And as a climax blew a bubble from his nose. When it popped, he blew another.

“Ha!” called Rixa in genuine delight. “Very good! And I can create illusory symptoms of the plague. I spit blood and blow out snot.”

“Damn you both!” said Scharley, turning around in disgust. “Come on, Reinmar. Let’s leave them to their games.”