Gers of Streithagen curled up and sat down hard on the camp bed, which collapsed under his weight. Weronika hit him with the folding chair. Jutta then put her hand inside the armoured gauntlet, clenched her fist and swung. And hit him with all her might, so hard her shoulder crunched.

They exited the canvas tent as if nothing had happened. The halberdiers didn’t even look in their direction, too absorbed by another row on the bridge.

A moment later they were in the saddle. And galloping as fast as they could to the west.

Back the way they had come.

The following day, a blizzard broke out which slowed them down considerably. Reynevan raged helplessly. Rixa was worried, suspecting that the pfleger—humiliated before his subordinates’ eyes—might come after them. Scharley thought it unlikely; the extortion on the bridge was too lucrative to abandon. And even if he did, the blizzard would also slow down any pursuers. So they rode on, gulping wind and snow, or sheltered each time the snowstorm made riding completely impossible.

The weather only improved after a few days. And then the howling wind stopped muffling the thunderous roar of cannons coming from somewhere in the west.

They speeded up, heading towards the intensifying sound of cannon fire and soon saw with their own eyes the cannons firing and what they were firing at.

“The town and castle of Plauen,” said Scharley, pointing.

“What force is besieging it? The Tábor or the Orphans?”

“Let’s find out.”

It turned out it was the Tábor doing the besieging; the field army under Prokop the Shaven and Jakub Kroměšín. It took some time before they got through the burned remains of the cottages outside the castle, constantly being accosted by guards, and reached the hejtmans. Prokop, astonishingly, wasn’t complaining of pain and didn’t order Reynevan to treat him. Neither did he allow Reynevan to get a word in.

“This is Plauen,” he said, pointing to the town smoking after the bombardment. “The seat of Heinrich of Plauen, the leader of the Plzeň landfried. Among the Czechs few names are so detested. It was from here that the sorties to our borderlands set off, when Plauen’s mercenaries committed unspeakable atrocities. It was Heinrich of Plauen who invented the term bellum cottidianum—or daily battle. He also put that term into effect, sending out sorties almost daily, burning, pillaging and hanging. He didn’t expect us to ride up to those walls. Neither did he expect those walls to tumble.”