To begin with, Koźle was treated to a fifty-pound stone from the Opole bombard, unerringly hitting the roof over the nave of the parish church. That was enough for the town to surrender and it was immediately seized by Bolko Wołoszek. This led to quarrels among the commanders, for it turned out that Korybut also had his eye on Koźle. The conflict was resolved by dividing up the ransom paid by the citizens of the town. As part of the agreement, Wołoszek began a joint operation along with Korybut: they went on a raid to Krapkowice, Otmęt and Obrowiec. The castles and lands there belonged to Duke Bernard, Wołoszek’s uncle. The foray was intended—as the young Hussite duke put it—to frighten the old goose and show him who was actually in charge in the Opole region.

Meanwhile, Pardus and Puchała continued plundering Duke Konrad’s lands, destroying them by fire and sword. But not all of them. Kroměšín’s headquarters outside Koźle had become something like an office before which a queue of petitioners formed every day. Knights, burghers, priests, monks, millers and the wealthier local peasants came to make their payments. Whoever paid saved his property and belongings from fire. Kroměšín haggled like an old money-lender and his coffers overflowed with cash.

Reynevan wasn’t the only one to look on in disgust.

On the Tuesday after Passion Sunday, Poles, consisting of a troop of two hundred volunteer horse from Lesser Poland, joined the plundering raid. They passed through the Cieszyn region on the way, burning, pillaging and plundering. Bolko, the Duke of Cieszyn, until recently having maintained judicious neutrality, had gone senile in his old age and let himself be duped by Sigismund’s favours and declared war on the Hussites. So war was what he and his land got.

The Lesser Poland Poles, mainly poor noblemen who didn’t flaunt coats of arms, were led by a knight dressed in full plate armour with a gaunt face and the unmoving eyes of a killer. After introducing himself to Kroměšín as Rynard Jursza, he handed him a letter. Kroměšín read it and his face brightened up.

“It’s from Sir Piotr Szafraniec,” Puchała told Korybut. “He writes that Lord Siestrzeniec has assembled a regiment of soldiers in Będzin, and that regular Polish units are at the ready. But he doesn’t say when they will be arriving… M’Lord Jursza! Didn’t the Lord Chamberlain of Krakow order you to give a spoken message?”

“No. Nobbut gave the letter.”

The Lesser Poland Poles marched alongside in array. And singing.

If I had wings like

a gosling

I’d fly to Silesia to see my Jasiek…

“What is that idiotic song?” asked Puchała, annoyed. “It’s fucking wistful, like a bride’s unbraiding ceremony. What is it?”