“I don’t believe so. He still has his legs, I see. And can stand on them. Make more efforts.”

“Yes, sir.”

Prokop jumped into the saddle, reined his horse around and glanced towards the river where the Tábor was crossing. Five hundred cavalrymen under the command of Mikuláš Sokol of Lamberk had already crossed and ridden off to protect the bridgehead. Now the artillery was crossing. Wagons carrying dismantled trebuchets and onagers, and cannons of various kinds and calibres emerged in turn from the waters of the Mulda. The newest, breech-loading foglers on wooden mounts. Light six-pound bombards, slender culverins and cannons. Medium-sized bombards firing missiles the size of a human head. Finally, three fifty-pounders were hauled out of the river. They had been christened “Freedom,” “Equality” and “Brotherhood” by the preachers, but the gunners called them among themselves “Kasper,” “Melchior” and “Balthazar.”

“I see that the credit from the Fuggers was invested wisely,” muttered Scharley, examining the guns with an expert eye. “Now I know why I destroyed those mines at Marienberg and Freital—”

“Keep quiet about that, Prokop’s looking.”

“Reynevan,” said the director operationum Thaboritarum, taking an interest in them again. “I see you are not only a good doctor, but that you also fight bravely. You served well; you deserve a distinction. Tell me how I can reward you. Or at least satisfy you.”

“The usual,” Scharley casually cut in. “Like at the Battle of Kolín two years ago. Give us leave, Hejtman. For our private interests, naturally. We have a private matter—one of vital importance—to deal with. We’ll sort it out and return to take up our duties to God and the fatherland.”

“Your words sound unpatriotic, Brother Scharley,” said Prokop, scowling.

“Patriotism couched in words,” retorted the penitent, “is a refuge for scoundrels and good-for-nothings.”

Prokop the Shaven turned his head away. He looked towards the river where cavalryman Otík of Loza was urging the Taborite wagoners across. Then he turned his horse towards the road.

“Bene,” he said as he rode away. “You have your leave.”

The Tábor went to its battle positions right after the crossing, forming itself into detachments covered on the flanks by shield-bearers. Infantry—flailmen and marksmen—marched from the ford, singing.

Jesus Christ, benevolent priest,

One God, with the Father and the Spirit,

Your benevolence, our reward!

Lord, have mercy!