The roaring, incandescent fury of the raging element was hot on their heels. A wind suddenly stirred and fanned the flames, and in no time the town of Bayreuth became a single huge blaze. The surface of the moat gleamed like a red mirror. The silhouettes of riders flickered against a backdrop of flames.

“Spur the horses!” shouted Tybald Raabe, looking back. “Ride, as fast as you can!”

They fled, forcing the horses into a gruelling gallop. They didn’t look back.

They galloped along the bank of the river glistening in the starlight. They didn’t slow down until the horses began to wheeze and the forest track vanished into the darkness.

Jutta, suddenly feeling cold on the nape of her neck, stood up in the stirrups and listened out.

“We’re being followed,” she said in a trembling voice.

“Impossible…” said Tybald, also looking back. “I can’t hear anything—”

“They’re following us,” Jutta repeated. “We must fly!”

“We’ll ride the life out of the horses—”

“Would you prefer them to beat the life out of us?”

A hazy and cold dawn rose and it turned out that Jutta was right. On a distant hilltop loomed the shapes of riders. A faint cry reached them through the mist.

“Adsuuumuuus!”

“Damn it!” spat Tybald, spurring his horse. “It’s Grellenort! Gallop, girls, gallop!”

The four of them spurred their mounts into a madcap gallop down the hill, among sparse and leafless birch trees. They rode into a ravine, horseshoes ringing on stones. Thin ice on puddles cracked beneath them.

“Gallop! Don’t slow down!”

“Adsuuumuuus!”

Beyond the ravine spread out a ploughed field, the snow lying white in furrows. Beyond the field was a blue-tinged forest. There was no need for commands or encouragement. Heads pressed to manes, they rode at a gallop. Clods of earth shot out from under their hooves.

But the pursuers were already close, their shouts indicating that they were now in eyeshot. Jutta looked back. Over a dozen riders were closing in, stretched out in a line. One of them was leading, at the head. She knew who it was.

They hurtled into the forest, forced their way through the thicket, lashed by snow-covered fir branches. And came out right at a crossroads. One road led into a ravine and the other into a forest.

“We’ll split up!” yelled Jutta. “It’s our only chance! I’ll take the ravine; you go that way!”

“Jutta! Noooo!”

“I can’t,” panted the goliard. “I can’t allow it. I’ll go alone—”

“I’m the best rider here. And without you we won’t get to the Hussites. Ride!”

There was no time either for argument or for tender farewells. Jutta spurred her horse and galloped into the ravine.