Čapek frowned. “It’s not enough just to be here and bay like dogs on a chain. That’s not how Brother Žižka taught us. The best form of defence is attack! Strike the foe, give him no rest! Wait not until the foe arrives with his rabble but march on him, enter his domain with fire and sword. Strike them, the Lord said to the Israelites. And it is time to strike! It is time to muster and strike: Frýdštejn, Děvín, Ralsko, Roimund, Tolštejn—”

“And beyond,” interrupted Kolúch with a wicked grin. “Lusatia! Grabštejn, Frydland, Žitava, Zgorzelec! But we cannot do it alone. We lack forces. For where can we look to for support? To Prague? Prague, if it isn’t planning treachery, is playing at revolutions and street brawls. To the Tábor? The Tábor is besieging Kolín, a Czech town. As if there were no Hungarian, Austrian or German ones.”

“They say,” said Scharley, “that Prokop is planning something of that kind now. That his gaze turns towards Hungary and Austria.”

“God willing. But meanwhile you’ve seen for yourselves what manner of neighbours we have here.”

“One name hasn’t been uttered yet,” said the penitent, seemingly casually. “Does he not trouble you? I have in mind Otto of Bergow at Trosky Castle, some four miles from Michalovice. What kind of neighbour is he, I wonder?”

“A thorn in the arse.” The old woman, fiddling at the spindle, spoke before the Hussites. “That’s what Lord Bergow is to you, gentleman brigands, isn’t he? A thorn in the arse!”

There was a long silence, indicating that the old woman had touched a nerve. Jan Kolúch of Véska broke the silence.

“We are Warriors of God,” he said, playing with a knife. “We are mindful of the Lord’s word when He spoke through the mouth of the prophet Jeremiah: The most proud shall stumble and fall, and none shall raise him up. I will kindle a fire in his cities, and it shall devour all round about him.”

“Give him according to his deeds,” added Čapek, also clearly versed in biblical quotations.

“Render to him all that he has done.”

“Amen.”

“Bergow has a winged fish on his coat of arms,” added Štěpán Tlach, ominously and to the point. “Neither fish nor fowl. The day will come when we’ll scale that little fish. And pluck that little bird.”

“Amen to that.” Vojta Jelínek stood up. “I’m drowsy, Brethren.”

“I also.” Jan Kolúch stood up, too, and Brázda of Klinštejn and Štěpán Tlach followed his example.

“Indeed, the day was hard… Are you going, Brother Čapek?”

“I shall sit a while yet. With our guests.”

The fire crackled. Tawny owls hooted around the tower. The old woman’s spinning wheel rattled softly.