The oldest pilgrim snorted. “Perhaps the scales will also fall from the Czechs’ eyes, and they will disavow heresy. Perhaps hunger will help them with that! For the whole of Europe has joined the embargo and prohibited all trade and commerce with the Hussites. And they need arms and powder, salt and food! If it doesn’t arrive, they will be weaponless and starving. When their bellies start rumbling, they’ll surrender, you’ll see.”

“War,” repeated the first Franciscan with emphasis, “is evil. We’ve established that. And do you think that blockade accords with Christ’s teachings? On the Mount, did Jesus entreat people to starve their neighbours? Passing over our religious differences, the Czechs are Christians, too. This embargo isn’t right.”

“True, Brother,” interrupted Tybald Raabe, who was sprawled beneath the oak tree. “It is not. Also true is that at times, such blockades can cut both ways. Let’s hope this one doesn’t cost Silesia as much as it does the Czechs.”

“It will be as God decrees,” said the first Franciscan.

For a long while, no one said anything.

The weather began to turn. Clouds, blown by the wind, darkened dangerously and the first drops of rain soon began to fall on hoods, mantles, horses’ rumps and the black canvas covering the wagon. Reynevan moved closer to Tybald Raabe and they rode on, stirrup to stirrup.

“That was an interesting conversation,” he said quietly. “I’m surprised you didn’t summarise it all by reading the Four Articles of Prague, like you did in Kromolin. Is the tax collector aware of your opinions, I wonder?”

“He will be,” the goliard replied quietly, “when the time comes. For as Ecclesiastes says, there is a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to receive, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. There is a time for everything.”

“This time, I agree with you completely.”

At the crossroads, among a bright birch wood, stood a stone penitential cross, one of Silesia’s numerous reminders of crimes past and belated contrition. Directly opposite was a sandy highway, and dark forest tracks led in the other directions. The wind jerked the treetops and tossed dry leaves around. A fine rain was driving into their faces.

“There is a time for everything,” said Reynevan to Tybald Raabe, “as Ecclesiastes reminds us. Now the time has come for me to say goodbye. I’m going back to Ziębice. Say nothing.”

The tax collector was watching them. As were the Friars Minor, the pilgrims, the soldiers, Hartwig of Stietencron and his daughter.

“I cannot abandon friends who may be in trouble,” continued Reynevan. “It isn’t right. Friendship is a great and wonderful thing.”

“Did I say anything?” asked the goliard.

“I’m going.”