“True,” confirmed Markwart of Stolberg a moment later. “The men who fought at Prague in 1420 described the Meissen knights of Henryk Isenburg attacking Vítkov Hill—and how they fled, leaving a mountain of corpses behind them.”

“They say that Hussite priests fought beside the soldiers, howling like wolves, striking fear,” added Wencel of Hartha, nodding. “Even womenfolk fought there, wielding flails, as though seized by insanity… And those who fell alive into Hussite hands—”

“Nonsense!” said Pater Hiacynt, waving his hand dismissively. “True, Žižka was at Vítkov, and the devilish force he sold himself to. But Žižka is dead. He’s been frying in Hell for a year now.”

“Žižka wasn’t at Vyšehrad on All Saints’ Day,” said Tassilo of Tresckow, “and although we had a fourfold advantage, we still took a severe beating from the Hussites. They smote us and routed us so badly, it shames me to recall how we fled—in panic, blindly, as far away as possible, until our horses began to wheeze. And five hundred men lay dead on the battlefield, the most eminent of Czech and Moravian nobility.”

Stolberg said, “I didn’t know you were at the Battle of Vyšehrad, Sir Tassilo.”

“I was. For I went like a fool with the Silesian army, with Kantner of Oleśnica and Rumpold of Głogów. Yes, yes, gentlemen, Žižka’s gone to Hell, but there are other mighty warriors in Bohemia. We saw that on All Saints’ Day, and you’ll have to face them if you join a crusade to Bohemia.”

“Blow that.” Hugo of Kottwitz broke the silence. “Empty threats! They beat you because you didn’t know how to fight. I also fought the Hussites at Petrovice in 1421, under the command of Lord Půta of Častolovice, and we gave them a thrashing they won’t forget in a hurry! And we took plenty of spoils—I got the Bavarian suit of armour I’m wearing now from there—”

“Enough talk.” Stolberg cut him off. “Let us decide. Are we going to Bohemia or not?”

“I am!” Ekkehard of Sulz announced thunderously and proudly. “We must root out the evil of heresy, simple as that. Burn out the leprosy before it eats everything away.”

“I’m going, too,” said Wencel of Hartha. “I am in need of spoils—I plan to wed.”

“By the teeth of Saint Apolonia!” Kuno of Wittram leaped up. “Some spoils could come in handy!”

“Spoils are one thing,” Woldan of Osiny mumbled, a little hesitantly, “but I heard that whoever takes the cross will have his sins forgiven. And one has sinned greatly… Oh, indeed!”

“I’m not going,” said Bożywoj of Lossow bluntly. “I won’t go looking for trouble in foreign parts.”

“Me neither,” said Notker of Weyrach calmly, “because if Sulz is going, it means the matter is dubious.”