Brázda of Klinštejn rode over to the wagon, accompanied by the reinforcements. Although yelling and enlivened from the battle, they fell silent as the bloody mud began to squelch beneath their horses’ hooves. Brázda took in the massacre and glanced at Halada’s glazed eyes, but said nothing.

The commander of the reinforcements observed Reynevan, squinting. He was evidently trying to recall where he’d seen him before. Reynevan recognised him at once and not just by the rose in his coat of arms—it was the Raubritter from Kromolin, the protector of Tybald Raabe, a Pole, Błażej Poraj Jakubowski.

The Czech who had been weeping lowered his head on his chest and died. In silence.

“I am astounded,” Jakubowski said finally. “Look at these three. Hardly scratched. You’re bloody lucky! Or some demon is watching over you!”

He didn’t recognise them. It was actually no small wonder.

Although barely able to remain upright, Reynevan immediately set about tending to the wounded. Meanwhile, the Hussite infantry were finishing off and stripping the armour from the Knights Hospitaller and the Haugwitz lancers. As the dead were pulled from their armour, fist fights broke out over the spoils.

One of the knights lying beneath a wagon, seemingly as dead as the others, suddenly moved, his armour grating as he groaned from deep within his helmet. Reynevan approached, knelt down and lifted up the visor. They looked each other in the eyes for a long while.

“Go on…” rasped the knight. “Finish me off, heretic. You killed my brother, now kill me. And may the Devil take you…”

“Wolfher of Stercza.”

“I hope you die, Reinmar of Bielawa.”

Two Hussites approached with bloody knives. Samson stood up and barred their way, and something in his eyes made them step back smartly.

“Finish me off,” repeated Wolfher of Stercza. “Devil’s spawn! What are you waiting for?”

“I didn’t kill Nicolaus,” said Reynevan, “as well you know. I am still not certain what role you played in Peterlin’s murder. But know this, Stercza: I shall be back. And I shall get even with the guilty. Know it and tell the others. Reinmar of Bielawa will return to Silesia and demand that scores be settled. For everything.”

Wolfher’s fierce expression softened, relaxed. Stercza had been acting tough, but only now did he understand that he had a chance of surviving. In spite of that, he said nothing and turned his head away.

Brázda’s cavalry were returning from the pursuit and reconnaissance. Driven by its commanders, the infantry abandoned the stripping of the fallen and formed up in marching order. Scharley approached with three horses.

“We’re setting off,” he said briefly. “Samson, are you able to ride?”

“I am.”