Reynevan remained in Prague, at the apothecary’s shop at the House at the Archangel; he and the sorcerers there tried to find Jutta using magic, but without success. Then a plague broke out near Psáře and he—a physician by vocation—hurried to help. He didn’t hesitate for a moment. He got through his dejection, didn’t yield to despair. There is much truth in the statement that what doesn’t kill us strengthens us.

And me?

I decided to return here to Rapotín. For how long? For as long as possible.

And then what, you ask? We shall certainly meet again, we three, no doubt soon. Fate has bound us tightly together, for better and worse. And nothing, after all, occurs without reason.

Fate bound me tightly with them, Marketa. Very tightly.

Almost as tightly as with you.

Chapter Fifteen

In which weakness of character forces Reynevan to become a hero. The heroes heroically ford the River Mulda and heroically fight a bloody battle. Their heroism is rewarded. Their weakness, astonishingly, also. Hence the moral, which the author nonetheless will refrain from delivering.

God, Great God, venerunt gentes in hereditatem tuam, the pagans came to Your heritage again! Is it because of our sins or are we poena peccati, that the heretic with his sword and flaming brand keep visiting us?

In Anno MCCCCXXIX, ipso die sancti Johannis baptiste the Hussite brigands despoiled our beloved monastery, our scriptorium and our pride, the library! They destroyed works of the measure of Alain of Lille’s De fide catholica, Ramon Llull’s Libre de meravelles and Simon of Genoa’s Clavis sanationis, treasures such as Horapollon of Egypt’s Hieroglyphica and Pierre of Beauvais’s Bestiaire, treatises and codices of such marvellous work as Expositio totius mundi et gentium, De magia veterum, Liber de mirabilibus naturae arcanis, De amore, Secreta mulierum and many others, perhaps the only copies in the world. All one can do is wring one’s hands!

Not six months passed and another attack came. Once again, the Wycliffites, Thaborienses, Orfani et Pragenses, and led by Procopius Rasus, called, following his command, gubernator Taboriensium communitatis in campis bellancium, the greatest and cruellest of the apostates and heretics, indeed not a man ex muliere natus, but a monstrum detestabile, crudele, horrendum et importunum. Eodem anno circa festum sancte Lucie that Prokop and his entire invincible army, cum curribus, cumpixidibus, cumpeditibus et equitibus marched ad marchionatum Misnense, wreaking murder and conflagration. Until finally, he reached the river called the Mulda. And the winter was mild that year…

The quill pen was dry and scratched annoyingly on the prepared parchment. The old monk chronicler dipped his quill in the inkwell.

The servants illuminated the chamber, lighting candles in all the candlesticks. The Bishop of Wrocław, Konrad, sighed in satisfaction on seeing the expression of admiration on Grzegorz Hejncze’s face. He knew it was difficult to surprise the Inquisitor, let alone impress him.