“Leave bulls for conciliar quarrels,” the swarthy man interrupted. “They sound risible in a tavern. But I was right in Constance, whatever you say. King Sigismund had given his royal word and guaranteed Huss safety. He broke his word and his oath, thus besmirching royal and knightly honour. I could not gaze on that unmoved, and did not wish to.”

“A knightly oath,” growled Jan Nejedlý, “should be given in the service of God, whoever made the vow, whether squire or king. Do you call keeping one’s word and promise to a heretic divine service? Do you call that honour? I call it a sin.”

“If I give my knightly word, I give it before God. Which is why I keep my word even to Turks.”

“One may keep it to Turks,” said Jan Nejedlý, “but not heretics.”

“Verily,” said Maciej Korzbok, the Poznań curate, very gravely. “The Moor or the Turk is a heathen from ignorance and savageness. He can be converted. A dissenter or schismatic turns away from faith and the Church, derides them, blasphemes against them, which is why he is a hundredfold viler to God. And however heresy is fought is right. Why, no one of right mind who goes to kill a wolf or a rabid dog talks of honour or the knightly parole! All things are permitted against a heretic.”

“In Krakow,” Kantner’s guest turned his weather-beaten face towards him, “Canon Jan Elgot cares not for the sanctity of confession when trying to ensnare a heretic. Bishop Andrzej Łaskarz, whom you serve, orders the same from priests of the Poznań Diocese. All things are permitted indeed.”

“You do not hide your sympathies, sir,” Nejedlý said sourly, “so neither shall I. Huss was a heretic and had to burn at the stake. The Holy Roman Emperor Sigismund, King of Hungary and Bohemia, acted correctly by not keeping his word to a Czech heretic.”

“Which is why the Czechs love him so much now,” retorted the swarthy man. “For that reason, he fled Vyšehrad with the Czech crown under one arm. And he now rules Bohemia, but from Buda, because he won’t be allowed back into Hradčany in a hurry.”

“You dare to sneer at King Sigismund,” observed Melchior Barfuss, “and yet you serve him.”

“One doesn’t rule out the other.”

“Or perhaps for another reason?” the Czech retorted scathingly. “For you, sir, fought with the Poles on King Jogaila’s side at Tannenberg against the Knights Hospitaller of the Virgin Mary. Jogaila—a neophyte king who openly abets Czech heresy and bends a willing ear towards schismatics and Wycliffites, while Polish knights slaughter Catholics and plunder monasteries in Bohemia. Jogaila pretends all this occurs without his will and consent, yet he does not ride against the heretics himself. Were he to ally with King Sigismund in a crusade, they would be done with the Hussites in a trice! Why, then, does Jogaila not do that?”