The Fuggers clerk was dragged from his horse. Two men attacked Reynevan, one snatching the battleaxe from him. The other, a youngster with wide-open eyes, tried to dislodge him from the saddle with the pommel of his sword. Reynevan wrested the weapon from him, seized it with both hands, by the blade and the cross guard, and struck him under the spaulder, feeling the blade penetrating the rings of the mail shirt. The youngster screamed and hunched up. Reynevan spurred his horse, but it was too late. He was surrounded on all sides. They caught him. One of the Teutonic Knights, ignoring the order to take the prisoners alive, aimed a stab at his throat. But he didn’t complete the blow. He was too slow.

Yelling resounded and the ground trembled under hooves as riders galloped at speed into the clearing. It was the Fire Starters, black with soot, led by Scharley with falchion raised.

The battle was over in no time. Before you could say Christe redemptor omnium, the last of the Teutonic Knights was churning up the sand with his spurs in his death throes. The others, wounded, begged not to be killed.

“I throw myself on your mercy,” said the knight in the enamelled armour, arrogantly, when he was brought before Scharley. “I am Magnus of Meurs, a guest of the Order of the Virgin Mary. I’ll pay a ransom—”

Scharley made a short gesture. One of the Fire Starters took a swing and whacked the knight with the butt of his battleaxe. His head split like a pumpkin into three pieces, each one flying in a different direction. Correctly treating that as encouragement, the Fire Starters began to slaughter the remaining captives.

Reynevan knelt beside the youngster, the one he had stabbed. He stemmed the bleeding using Alkmena’s spell, which was immediately effective. The blade had miraculously missed the vital elements of the circulatory system and both the arteria axillaris and the arteria brachialis were intact. Reynevan concentrated and sealed up the axillary vein. The youngster groaned, pale as a sheet.

“Move aside, m’lord,” said one of the Fire Starters, standing over them. “I don’t want to cut you by mistake when I finish him off.”

“Begone.”

“Not a single witness should remain,” said the Fuggers clerk. “Not one. Don’t be foolish, Reinmar. Rein in your charitable inclinations, this isn’t the time or the place for them.”

Reynevan sprang up and punched him in the face. The clerk fell over on his back like a log, groping around with his arms and staring vacantly.

“May that improve your taste of adventure,” said Reynevan, trembling with fury. “And may your blood flow more swiftly. Now begone. I’m treating him and you’re in my light.”