Halada jumped onto a wagon, sweeping a Knight Hospitaller from the saddle with a blow of a bardiche, then bent over double, stabbed by a thrust. Reynevan seized him and pulled him down. Two heavily armed men hovered over them, raising their swords. His life was saved again by Samson and his pavise. One of the knights, a Zedlitz, judging from the buckle on his shield, tumbled over with his horse, legs had been slashed. Scharley smote another, sitting on an armoured grey, with the bardiche dropped by Halada. His helmet split open and the knight bent forward, spattering his criniere with blood. At the same moment, somebody rode into Scharley and knocked him down with his horse. Reynevan stabbed the horseman hard with his pike, the point jamming in his plate armour. Reynevan released the shaft, turned around and cowered. There were knights everywhere, all around him a chaos of ghastly pointed hounskulls, a kaleidoscope of crosses and coats of arms on shields, a hurricane of flashing swords, a maelstrom of horses’ teeth, chests and hooves. The Narrenturm, he thought feverishly, it’s still the Narrenturm, madness, lunacy and insanity.

He slipped in the blood and fell over. Onto Scharley. Scharley was holding a crossbow. He looked at Reynevan and winked. And fired upwards. Straight into the belly of a horse towering over them. The horse squealed and kicked Reynevan in the side of the head. It’s over, he thought.

“God heeeelp us!” he heard mutedly, paralysed by pain and weakness. “Reeeeinforcements! Reeeeinforcements!”

“Rescue, Reinmar!” screamed Scharley, tugging him. “Rescue! We’re saved!”

Reynevan got up onto his hands and knees. The world continued to dance and float in front of his eyes, but the fact they were still alive couldn’t be ignored. He blinked.

From the battlefield came a yelling and a clanging, where the Knights Hospitaller and Haugwitz knights had joined battle with the reinforcements, soldiers in full plate armour. The battle was short-lived—the highway to the west was already thundering with Brázda’s galloping cavalry, yelling at the top of their voices, followed by Hussite infantry with upraised flails yelling even louder. On seeing them, the Knights Hospitaller and the Haugwitz forces fled, taking flight towards the trees individually and in small groups. The reinforcements were hot on their heels, slashing and hacking mercilessly, so loudly it echoed through the hills.

Reynevan sat down. Felt his head and sides. He was covered in blood, but not, it appeared, his own. Nearby, Samson, head bloodied, was resting against a wagon, still holding the pavise. Thick drops of blood were dripping from his ear onto his shoulder. Several Hussites were dragging themselves up from the ground. One was weeping. Another vomiting. One, pulling a strap with his teeth, was trying to staunch the blood gushing from the stump of a hacked-off arm.

“We’re alive,” repeated Scharley. “We’re alive! Hi, Halada, do you—”

He broke off. Halada couldn’t hear anything any more.