“They’ve even brought a fucking Teutonic Knight here,” muttered Scharley, trying to enlarge the hole in the floor with a knife. “The Vogt of Lipa. Where is that? Must be Prussia. And who are those others? I see Sir Půta of Častolovice… That broad-shouldered man with a black lion on a golden field is Albrecht of Kolditz, the Starosta of Świdnica… And the man with the Odrzywąs in his coat of arms must be one of the lords of Kravaře—”

“Be quiet,” hissed Samson. “And stop whittling, or they’ll discover us from splinters falling into their cups…”

Down below, cups were indeed being raised and toasts drunk. Chancellor Schlick praised the wine, but it wasn’t clear if it was only out of diplomatic courtesy. The men sitting at the tables appeared to know one another, with a few exceptions.

“Who is your young companion, Monsignore Orsini?” Bishop Konrad asked, taking an interest.

“He’s my secretary,” replied the papal legate, a small, grey-haired old man with a kindly smile. “His name is Nicholas of Cusa. I predict a great career for him in the service of our Church. Vero, he has rendered me a great service in my mission, for no one can invalidate heretical theories—especially Lollard and Hussite ones—like him. His Eminence the Bishop of Krakow can confirm.”

“The Bishop of Krakow…” hissed Scharley. “Bugger… That’s…”

“Zbigniew Oleśnicki,” confirmed Samson in a whisper. “In collusion with Konrad in Silesia. Dammit, we’re in the shit. Be as quiet as mice, because if they discover us, we’re done for.”

“If so,” continued Bishop Konrad below them, “perhaps the Reverend Nicholaus of Cusa will begin? For that is precisely the purpose of our gathering: to put an end to the Hussite plague. While we eat and drink, let the young priest debunk the teachings of Huss. If you please, Reverend Cusa.”

The servants carried in a roast ox on a wooden board and placed it on the table. Daggers and knives flashed and began carving. Meanwhile, the young Nicholaus of Cusa stood up and addressed the gathering. And although his eyes shone at the sight of the roast, the young priest’s voice didn’t tremble.

“A spark is a small thing,” he gushed, “but when it touches something dry, it can destroy walls, cities and great forests. Thus, bad teachings begin with one man and barely two or three listeners at first; but slowly the cancer spreads through the body, and as they say, one bad apple spoils the whole barrel. We should extinguish the spark as soon as it appears, and cut out the rotten flesh, and drive the lousy sheep from the flock, so that we will not perish…”