The convent was changing her. A year before, Jutta would never have imagined listening undaunted to vivid tales describing the intimate details of somebody else’s love life. Neither had she ever, ever, thought that she would share with anybody the intimate details of her own relationship with Reynevan. But now she knew that she would. She wanted to.

The convent was changing her.

“And when it was over, imagine, Jutta, the ass asked me: ‘How was it for you?’”

“What are you whispering about?” asked Sister Richenza with interest. “You two, noble misses? Eh?”

“Sex,” Weronika replied insolently. “So what? May we not? Is it prohibited?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Oh, it’s not?”

“It isn’t,” said the nun, shrugging. “Saint Augustine teaches: Amore et act. Love and do as you please.”

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, really. Whisper on.”

News from the world struggled to penetrate the convent walls, but from time to time it managed. Soon after Saint Michael’s Day came the news of the Hussites’ invasion of Upper Lusatia, about the ten thousand Czechs under the command of the terrible Prokop, the sound of whose name struck terror into hearts. People talked about the attack on the Celestine convent in Oybin, about the storming of Bautzen and Zgorzelec, which were repulsed at the cost of many casualties, about the sieges of Žitava and Chotěbuz. Voices trembling in terror spoke of the slaughter of people during the capture of Gubín, about the bloody massacre in Kamenec. Rumours multiplied the burned-down towns and villages into hundreds and spoke of thousands of victims. Weronika listened in suspense, then with a gesture summoned Jutta to the necessarium, where for a long time they had gone to confer.

“Perhaps that’s our chance,” she explained, sitting down over a hole in the plank. “The Czechs might enter Thuringia from Saxony. Confusion will break out; refugees will appear on the roads. It’s always possible to join a group of travellers. We wouldn’t be alone. With a little luck we’d be able to reach them.”

“Reach whom?”

“The Hussites, naturally. You said your beloved is a notable figure among them. It’s your chance, Jutta. Our chance.”

“Firstly, we know only rumours,” Jutta observed soberly. “There was panic in June, too, people talked of thousands of Hussites making for Žitava and Zgorzelec. But it ended in insignificant skirmishes on the Silesian-Lusatian borderlands. It might be the same this time.”

“And secondly?”

“I saw the results of Hussite plundering raids in Silesia. When they march, the Hussites kill and burn everything in their path. If we happen upon a bloodthirsty mob, we’re finished; the name ‘Reynevan’ won’t save us. Some of the higher-ranking officers might know him, but the common soldiers won’t have heard of him.”