The Czech fell silent at a bad moment for Reynevan. Wanting at any cost to see his face, Reynevan was standing on tiptoes and shifting around on the bench. A rotten leg broke with a crack and Reynevan fell, knocking over some tools resting against the wall of the cottage with a clatter that was probably audible in Wrocław.

He sprang up immediately and bolted. He heard guards shouting not only behind him but also in front of him, exactly where he wanted to flee. He cut between two buildings, not noticing that the Wallcreeper had rushed out of the cottage.

“Spy! Sppyyyy! Follow him! Take him alive! Aliiive!”

A servant barred his way and Reynevan knocked him over. The next one seized him by the arm and he punched him in the face. With curses and shouts raining down on him, he cleared a fence, waded through sunflowers, nettles and burdock; the forest and safety were in his grasp, but his pursuers were close on his heels and more soldiers emerged from behind a hayrick. One was about to grab him when Scharley appeared out of nowhere and struck him in the side of the head with a large clay pot. Samson, armed with a plank torn from the fence, charged at the others. Holding the twelve-foot plank horizontally in front of him, the giant knocked three of them over with one blow, and gave the next two such a thwack they toppled over like logs and disappeared into the burdock. Samson shook the plank and roared like a lion, calling to mind his famous biblical namesake menacing the Philistines. The soldiers stopped for a moment, but only for a moment as reinforcements came running from the grange. Samson hurled the plank at the soldiers and beat a hasty retreat after Scharley and Reynevan.

They jumped into the saddle, urging their horses to a gallop with kicks and yells. They hurtled through a beech wood in a cloud of leaves and thrashing branches, then splashed through a puddle on the track and into a forest of tall trees.

“Don’t stop!” yelled Scharley, risking a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t stop! They’re after us!”

Reynevan looked back and saw the shapes of horsemen. He pressed himself to his horse’s mane so as not to be swept from the saddle by the branches lashing him. Riding out of the thicket into thinner woodland, they urged their horses to a gallop. Scharley’s chestnut was racing like a hurricane, pulling ahead. Reynevan urged his mount to go faster. It was very risky on the uneven ground, but the thought of being left behind didn’t appeal to him.

When he looked back again, his heart froze and sank to the bottom of his stomach when he saw his pursuers—the silhouettes of horsemen with cloaks flowing out behind them like phantoms’ wings. He heard a cry.

“Adsumus! Adsumuuuus!”