The brothers reluctantly obeyed him. They and Tłuczymost leaped onto the altar, seized the monstrance and the crucifix, gathered up candlesticks and pulled off an embroidered altar cloth. Ostrog, soaked in blood, rushed out of the chapel, lugging an icon wrapped in a cloak. Nadobny ran out after him, carrying silver votive offerings in both arms and a candlestick under one arm.

“And now to the strongroom!” shouted the prince. “Follow me!”

They ran through the vestry to the rooms adjoining the chapter house. The door to the armarium, which a terrified monk showed them, gave way under blows from battleaxes. The Kondzioł brothers forced their way inside and soon after began to toss out loot. Chasubles embroidered with gold thread, silver bust reliquaries, chalices and patens, ciboria, incense boats, aquamanilia and even aspergilla. Kuropatwa and Reynevan hurriedly shoved everything into sacks.

The wagon was already standing in the courtyard. Achacy Pełka and Skirmunt—clearly horrified at the events—were harnessing to it two horses they had led out of the stable and were tying some free horses to the wooden sides. The Kondzioł brothers and Kuropatwa were tossing sacks of loot onto the wagon. Tłuczymost and Nadobny came running out of the church, the latter with an ornate homiliary under one arm.

An old Pauline monk was sitting outside the vestibule, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Mikoszka Kondzioł noticed him and drew a dagger.

“Leave him,” said Reynevan. And the tone of his voice was enough to make the Pole desist.

Fedor Ostrog, already mounted, swung and tossed a brand onto the roof of a shed. Tłuczymost threw another onto the roof of the stable. Skirmunt and Pełka hopped onto the wagon; one seized the reins and the other cracked a whip above the horses’ rumps.

“Yah! Yah!”

They fled down the Wieluń road towards Kłobuck. As fast as they could. The horses harnessed to the wagon, however, could not and did not want to run very fast. Neither shouts nor whips helped.

“Head over there!” said Fedor of Ostrog, indicating to the drivers a roadside glade near a fresh clearing. “Over there!”

“Do you mean we’re dividing up the spoils here?” said Jan Tłuczymost, looking back restlessly, “and then every man for himself?”

“Only if you want to hang alone,” sneered Fedor. “No, lads, we’re heading together to Wieluń. Each man will receive his share there and then we ride on to Kuyavia and from there to the Margraviate or Prussia.”

“And rightly so,” said Kuropatwa, nodding. “We’ve robbed Jasna Góra, they won’t forgive us for that. We need to get as far away from Poland as we can.”

“And as quickly as we can,” added Nadobny. “So let’s ditch this fucking wagon. We didn’t rob so much from the monastery that it won’t fit in the saddlebags and onto the loose horses. Well, Fedor?”