Horn’s unit set off westwards along the rocky Moravice valley. The eight Taborites left with the Poles and in the unit remained seven armed Moravians, burgmen from Sovinec, the castle which turned out to be their destination. The sick man who had been released also rode with them. The identity of the man and the reason Horn took him along remained a mystery. He was still clearly unwell, sweating, coughing and sneezing. He rocked and dozed in the saddle, while the two Moravians Horn had assigned to him prevented him from falling off.

“Horn?”

“Yes,”

“I’m no traitor. You surely don’t believe I am. Or perhaps you do?”

Horn reined in his horse and waited for some soldiers to pass.

“The stories doing the rounds weaken my faith,” he said, eyes boring into Reynevan’s. “So restore it. And convince me.”

“I can guess at the source of these nasty rumours and slander,” Reynevan exploded. “Word has spread that Jan of Ziębice seized me in White Church, imprisoned me and tried to turn me, to lie to Královec, to lead him into a trap and send the Orphans to their doom—”

“You surmise correctly. Word has spread.”

“And what of it? Did I betray them? Was Královec caught in a trap at Wielisław? Did it end in defeat or victory? Who was roundly defeated? Us or them?”

“That’s a point for you. Go on.”

“I’ve always been loyal to the cause of the Chalice. I worked with Neplach. In 1427 I put him onto the trail of the plot of Hynek of Kolštejn and Smiřický. Since then, I’ve had dozens of chances to betray him. I knew a great deal, I had access to secrets, I was party to confidential plans and strategies. I could have turned in Tybald Raabe. I could have sold out the Vogelsang. I could have betrayed the Chalice in 1428, before and during the expedition, in Kłodzko, in Kamieniec and in Frankenstein. I could have turned you in, Horn; I had numerous opportunities to do so. The Bishop of Wrocław would have showered me with gold. So do not make me prove my loyalty, because that’s an affront to me. For there is no halfway house here, no colours or shades. Take it or leave it. You either believe me or you don’t. You either trust me or you don’t.”

Urban Horn jerked the reins, making his snorting horse trot on the spot.