“Kunz, let me kick him in the teeth,” suggested one of the band. “He almost poked my eye out in that inn near Brzeg, so I’ll kick his teeth out now.”

“Drop it, Sybek,” snarled Kyrie-eleison. “Control yourself. I’d rather you went and checked what that knight had in his saddlebags and purse. And you, Bielawa, what are you gawping at?”

“You killed my brother, Aulock.”

“Eh?”

“You killed my brother. In Balbinów. You’ll swing for it.”

“Nonsense,” said Kyrie-eleison coldly. “You must have landed on your head when you fell from that horse.”

“You killed my brother!”

“It’s still nonsense, no matter how many times you repeat it.”

“You lie!”

Aulock stood over him and his visage expressed a dilemma: to kick or not to kick. He chose not to and turned away contemptuously. He took a few steps and stood over the horse killed by the gunshot.

“The Devil take me,” he said, nodding. “Truly a nasty, deadly weapon, that handgonne of yours, Stork. Look at the hole it made in the mare. Large enough for a fist. It’s verily a weapon of the future. It’s progress!”

“Fuck progress,” Stork of Gorgowice replied sourly. “I was aiming at the rider with that sodding pipe, not the horse. And not this rider—that one.”

“Never mind where you aimed, at least you hit a target. Hey, Walter, what are you doing there?”

“I’m finishing off the ones that are still breathing!” Walter of Barby shouted back. “We’ve no need for witnesses, have we?”

“Make haste! Stork, Sybek, be quick, get Bielawa on a horse—the knight’s castellan. And tie him up securely because he’s a handful. Remember?”

Stork and Sybek remembered only too well, because before putting Reynevan in the saddle, they treated him to a series of shoves and vulgar insults. They tied his bound hands to the pommel and his calves to the stirrup leathers. As soon as Walter of Barby had finished off the wounded, the bodies of the Ziębice men were dragged into the bushes and the horses chased away. On Kyrie-eleison’s command, they all galloped off. They rode hard, clearly wishing to put as much distance as they could between them and the scene of the raid and any potential pursuers. Reynevan bounced around in the saddle. Every breath he took pained him; his ribs hurt like hell. It can’t go on like this, he thought preposterously, I can’t keep getting beaten like this.

Kyrie-eleison urged his comrades with shouts and they galloped on. Never leaving the highway, they clearly preferred speed over stealth; they couldn’t even trot through the dense woodland, much less gallop.

They arrived at a crossroads. And rode straight into a trap.