He didn’t spare his mount. He thundered along a valley at full speed, in a drawn-out ventre à terre so fast that pebbles struck by horseshoes sprayed out to the side. The horse was flecked with foam and had begun to wheeze, but Reynevan didn’t slow down. He was under no illusions. He knew the Orphans would give chase.

They did. It wasn’t long before he heard shouts far behind him. Not wanting them to follow him by sight in an open valley, he turned among the wickers and osiers and galloped on, splashing mud, not sparing his mount his spurs.

He rushed out onto the highway and stood up in the stirrups. He hadn’t managed to confuse his pursuers, since yells and whoops were coming through the bushes. Reynevan bent forwards in the saddle and galloped. The horse wheezed, shedding flakes of foam.

He galloped past cottages and shepherds’ huts, recognising the place and knowing he was close to Hanušovice. But also that his pursuers were close. A thunderous yell from many throats told him that the Orphans could now see him. A moment later he saw them. At least twenty horsemen. He jabbed his spurs into the horse and the animal, though it appeared impossible, found fresh energy. He rode onto a small bridge over a stream with a dull thud.

Two horsemen were riding like the wind from the village. One, of immense size, was whirling a heavy Flemish goedendag as though it were a hazel switch. The other, on a beautiful black horse, was armed with a curved falchion.

After passing Reynevan, Samson and Scharley were on the Orphans in an instant. With two sweeping blows, Scharley knocked two of the riders to the ground, and the third, slashed across the face, swayed in the saddle. Samson struck men and horses by turns with his goedendag, sowing terrible confusion. Reynevan reined his horse around, clenching his teeth. He had scores to settle. For the beating, for the spitting, for the barrel of cabbage. As he passed the man swaying limply in the saddle, he snatched his sword and rode into the melee, smiting left and right. He heard biblical quotations being shouted and guided by them located the pursuers’ leader, the goateed priest. Reynevan forced his way towards him, fending off blows from the others.

“Hell spawn!” yelled the priest, seeing him, spurring on his horse and flying forward, brandishing his sword. “Philistine! The Lord will render you into my hands!”