Urban Horn said nothing for a long time, watching Jan of Kravaře’s detachment as it rode away. Then he turned around in the saddle. He had already rid himself of his disguise as a poor Czech nobleman and was once more the old Horn: Horn in an elegant cloak of delicate wool, Horn in a lynx calpac with a plume of heron feathers. Horn with his piercing, gimlet eyes.

“You aren’t returning to Silesia,” he said coldly. “You’re coming with me.”

“Weren’t you listening?” Reynevan said in a loud voice. “Didn’t it get through to you? I have to return! The fate of the person I love depends on it!”

“Miss Jutta of Apolda,” Horn confirmed unemotionally. “I know.”

“Oh, you do? Then you know I’ll do anything in order to—”

“I know you will,” Horn interrupted sternly. “The question is how much you’ve achieved so far.”

“What are you…” said Reynevan, feeling himself pale. And then flush. “What are you driving at?”

“Hush, would you,” said Horn, looking at the Poles watching them. He urged his horse on, riding up so close that their stirrups touched. “Making your cause public won’t help it. And you well know what I’m driving at. News spreads fast, rumours even faster. The news is that you were lately forced to betray. But the rumours say you’ve been a traitor for much longer. Since the very beginning.”

“Blow that! You know me, Horn. You—”

“I do,” interrupted Horn once again. “Which is why I don’t lend credence to rumours. And as for news… It will have to be verified. There’s no smoke without fire, so they say. For which reason, I repeat, you are not going back to Silesia. You’ll come with me to Sovinec, and from there I shall immediately send you under escort to Prague. On Neplach’s orders. I have to do it, you must understand.”

“Listen—”

“End of discussion. Let us ride.”

In the afternoon they bade farewell to the Poles and Hlas of Libočany. Kochłowski, Nadobny, Kuropatwa of Łańcuchów and the Taborite captain joined the Olomouc road which would take them to Odry. It emerged from earlier conversations that his old comrade, Dobko Puchała, was stationed in Odry with his Polish regiment. For some time Odry had been the point of conscription for volunteers from Poland and the hub for the trade of arms smuggled from Poland.

The farewell was fond. The Poles hugged and kissed Reynevan, and Kuropatwa invited him warmly to Odry, in order, as he explained it, to fight shoulder to shoulder and engage in joint operations. Reynevan couldn’t have known then how quickly it would come to pass. And with what disastrous results.