“Scharley?”

“Yes?”

“That short gun you fired near the mill. What strange weapon was it?”

“This?” the penitent said, taking a weapon from a case by his saddle and showing it to him. “This, my friend, is a Prague gun, commonly called a ‘treacherous hand cannon.’ It’s the height of fashion in Prague now, everybody’s got one. As you can see, it’s short enough to hide under your cloak and use suddenly, treacherously, which explains the name. Look, the slow match is stuck into a brass matchlock and it can smoulder there the whole time. I can pull the trigger with one hand, see, I bring the slow match to the touch hole and boom! Not bad, eh? You cannot stop progress, laddie.”

“It can’t be denied. Hear anything?”

“No.”

“Exactly. They haven’t fired any bombards for some time.”

They rode out of the forests onto a hill from where they were able to admire the panorama. A picturesque bend in the Bóbr. And the town on the right bank.

“Before us is Bolesławiec, the Upper Gate,” said Brus of Klinštejn, pointing. “It would appear we’ve arrived at just the right time. The town has surrendered.”

The Upper Gate turned out to have been destroyed and the remains of the hasp and staple hanging from the hinges were charred, the wall and gatehouse black from soot and cracked by fire. The Taborites had clearly employed their usual, tried and tested means of breaking down the gate by burning it through. They had piled logs up at the foot of the gate, tossed several barrels of pitch and tar on top, set them alight and waited for the outcome. Which was usually surrender. As it was this time.

“We’re entering. Rixa, what about you?”

“I’ll wait here.”

“For whom? For what?”

She didn’t answer but turned away. Scharley snorted, then tossed Reynevan an ambiguous look. Seeing that Reynevan wasn’t reacting, he spurred his horse and rode after the unit.

It was peaceful in the town, although the narrow streets leading to the town square were thronged with heavily armed Hussites. The Tábor were standing in close formation in the town square, around the town hall. The townspeople herded against the walls of houses looked at the aggressors in tremulous silence.

“Either Bolesławiec has come to an agreement or is about to,” said Scharley, assessing the situation. “As usual, they will set a ransom and contributions in the form of billets and supplies for the army. They will reach agreement. Otherwise, everything here would have been afire.”