Nestling in a picturesque valley among picturesque hills, the town of Bayreuth looked like a picturesque haven of peace. And indeed it was. The gates were manned but open, and the flocks of fugitives were neither stopped nor searched to any extent. First of all, the girls headed without any difficulty to the town hall and then to the parish church of Saint Mary Magdalene.

“Even if we don’t find a Hussite emissary in Bayreuth, let’s stay here,” said Weronika, sighing as she cleared a path for herself and Jutta through the throng. “Look how many people are seeking shelter. Trudging along hard roads has been a torment, I’ve had enough. I’m hungry, frozen, filthy and short of sleep. And above all I want to go home.”

“Me, too. Don’t moan.”

“I’m telling you, let’s stay here. Even if we don’t find him.”

“I think we just have. I think your patron saint has really inspired you. Look.”

A man in a jerkin, a skirt with a serrated edge and a goliard’s hood from which strands of grizzled hair stuck out was standing on one of the wagons blocking the square. The wagon was surrounded by quite a large crowd, mainly the poor: servi, beggars, cripples, prostitutes, vagrants and other local pauperes, including vagrants, pilgrims, vagabonds. Generally speaking, a noisy, mouthy and repugnant rabble.

The goliard in the hood was speaking, attracting the crowd’s attention with his raised voice and gesticulations.

“Many vile and outrageous lies are being told about God-fearing Czechs. That they murder and rob. That is a lie! They only fight to defend themselves and kill in battle those who are invading their lands, bent on destruction. When that happens, they defend themselves, their faith, their homes, their wives and children. And whoever dares to attack them incurs harm. But they keenly desire for a cessation to wars and killing, an end to bloodshed, for divine and sacred reconciliation to come about.

“Know you that the Czechs call on dukes, masters and all imperial cities and towns to gather for peace negotiations, to put an end to the disgraceful shedding of blood. But your dukes, masters and prelates don’t want to set aside their pride and arrogance! For it is not their blood, but yours that’s being shed!”

“He is right!” cried a voice from the crowd. “He speaks the truth! Down with the lords! Down with the clergy!”

“Where is your king? Where your dukes? They have fled, leaving you to your fate! Do you wish to fight for such men? Lay down your lives for their wealth and privilege? O good people, citizens of Bayreuth! Give up your town! The Czechs are not your enemies—”

“You lie, godless heretic!” shouted a monk in an Augustinian habit from the crowd. “You’re a despicable liar!”