“Horn,” he finally said, without taking his eyes off Reynevan. “Is this that spy of yours?”

“Indeed.”

“Bold he is. And worth so much to you that he gets away with such boldness?”

“Aye.”

“Must I take your word for it?” snorted Jan of Kravaře.

“If you prefer,” said Reynevan not lowering his gaze, either, “you may judge on the basis of facts.”

“What facts?” said the Lord of Jičín, pouting in mockery. “I’m dying of curiosity.”

“Anno Domini 1425, the thirteenth of September, Silesia, the Cistercian grange in Dębowiec. The council in the barn. Opposite you, Sir Jan, sat Gottfried Rodenberg, Teutonic Knight, Vogt of Lípa. On your left sat Sir Půta of Častolovice, Starosta of Kłodzko. On your right, a knight bearing on his doublet red stag’s antlers, similar to the coat of arms of the Bibersteins, but with different tinctures.”

“Sir Tas of Prusinovice.” Jan of Kravaře nodded. “Your memory serves you well. Why, then, do I not remember you?”

“I was not with you there. I was above you. In the hayloft. Which is why I saw and heard everything. Every word that was uttered.”

The magnate remained silent, twisting his black moustache.

“You are right,” he said finally. “Indeed, you can be judged on the basis of facts. I judge you and find you decent. You are a resourceful rascal. The Tábor must benefit from your roguery. But my benefit, Master Spy, isn’t a trifle to me, either. There would have been a profit for the Silesians you ask me for. If I release them, there will be none. And the absence of profit is a loss. Who will compensate me?”

“God,” Urban Horn interrupted carelessly. “And the one temporarily deputising for him, Prokop, rightly called the Great, director operationum Thaboritarum. You will not make a loss, Sir Jan. You have my guarantee.”

“Your guarantee is a precious thing,” said Jan of Kravaře, smiling, “and grows in value. And what is more, I like the look of this Reynevan. He watched us and eavesdropped on us from the hayloft back then, dammit, so close he could have spat on Bishop Konrad’s tonsure! And pissed down Legate Orsini’s collar! A bold one, though a spy. Dammit, I can afford to be generous! I release those two, Lord Helm. The rest under guard! And prepare to move out, we’ll soon be setting off for Jičín.”

The prisoners were led away. Gebhard Ungerath yelled and cursed and Gilbert wept copious tears, heedless of the shame. Paszko Rymbaba looked back.

“Reinmar!” he called woefully. “What about me? Save me, too!”

“No, Paszko.”

“But why?”

“Orders.”

Reynevan turned towards the two men released owing to his intercession: Eberwin of Kranz and the cherubic young knight. Kranz looked at him grimly.