Along the highway galloped more riders, bowmen and armoured troops, knights who only the day before had been boasting about their readiness to attack. And now they were fleeing in panic.

“Save yourselves, one and all!” yelled Tristram of Rachenau, speeding alongside. “Ambrož is coming! Ambrooož!”

“Christ, have mercy on us!” mumbled Father Miegerlin, running beside the bishop’s horse. “Save us, O Christ!”

A wagon full of spoils with a broken wheel was blocking the highway. It was pushed off and tipped over, and chests, trunks, barrels and other objects plundered from the villages being burned were scattered in the mud. When another wagon got stuck, and behind it another, the waggoners jumped off and fled on foot. The road was already strewn with spoils discarded by the foot soldiers. A moment later, the bishop saw discarded pavises, halberds, battleaxes, crossbows and even firearms among the bundles of loot. The unburdened pikemen ran so hard they were catching up with the horsemen and armoured men. Men who were falling behind wailed and yelled in panic. Cows lowed. Sheep bleated.

“Quicker, quicker, Reverend…” Lorenz of Rohrau urged him on, his voice shaking. “We must save ourselves… We must save ourselves… We must reach Homole… And the border…”

In the centre of the highway, partly trampled into the ground, stained with cow shit, covered with bagels and pieces of broken pots, lay a standard with a large red cross. The sign of the crusade.

Konrad, Bishop of Wrocław, bit his lip. And spurred his horse. To the east. Towards Homole and the Levín Pass. Save yourself while you can. As quick as you are able. Quickly. Because…

“Ambrož is coming! Ambrooož!”

“Ambrož,” Scharley said, nodding, “was the Hradec parish priest at the Church of the Holy Spirit. I’ve heard about him. He was at Žižka’s side up until his death. He’s a dangerous radical, a charismatic people’s champion, a real rabble-rouser. Moderate Calixtines are scared stiff of him, because Ambrož regards moderation as a betrayal of the ideals of Huss and the Chalice. One nod from him and a thousand Taborite flails fall in behind him.”

“It’s true,” Horn confirmed. “Ambrož was already raging during the bishop’s previous plundering raid in 1421. At that time, as you remember, it ended in a truce negotiated by Hynek Krušyna and Čeněk of Wartenberg with Bishop Konrad. The bloodthirsty priest called the two men traitors and procrastinators and the mob attacked them with flails. They barely escaped. Ever since, Ambrož has talked only about revenge… Reinmar? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You look absent,” said Scharley. “You’re not ill, are you? Never mind. Let us return to the bishop’s plundering raid, my dear Mommolem. What does it have to do with us?”

“The bishop caught plenty of Hussites,” explained Horn. “They say he was catching people according to a list. Did I not say he had good spies?”