They pushed him down brutally onto the ground, bent over and shone the torch on the people lying down—now Reynevan saw that they were crowded inside an enclosure ringed by a sparse palisade. They selected somebody. A voice screamed in desperation, another howled, another appealed once again to God and the saints. A whip whistled and the disjointed screams were drowned by the sounds of blows. The boy dragged from the enclosure—who was even younger than the previous one—was weeping and begging for mercy. From beyond the palisade soon resounded his piercing cries. And the cackling of the martahuzes.

Reynevan swore and clenched his fists helplessly. I’m in it, he thought. I really am.

Memories began to return.

He had a premonition when the pimply-faced man with hair growing from his eyebrows rode out of the forest at the crossroads on a shaggy piebald. When he smiled, revealing blackened stumps of teeth. When another four men emerged after him from the trees, just as repugnant-looking and smiling.

Reynevan’s premonition was confirmed when Pimple-Face gestured a greeting at Hejtman Vojta Jelínek, glanced at Reynevan and eyed him up appraisingly and repulsively. Hejtman Vojta Jelínek also looked at him with a scornful grimace, which said all too clearly: “There’s one born every minute.”

Reynevan pretended to be adjusting a stirrup and suddenly spurred his mount and dashed into the forest. They were expecting it. They barred his way with their horses, kicked him down from the saddle and held him on the ground. And then bound him. Jelínek, the scoundrel, watched, smiling, from the height of his saddle.

“It’s someone of note,” he said to Pimple-Face. “Somebody important, not just any pipsqueak. You’ll give me six hundred groschen for him, Hurkovec.”

“Like hell,” retorted Pimple-Face. He had pimples everywhere, even on his eyelids, even on his lips, why, he even had pimples on his pimples. “Important, indeed! Judging from his dress, he’s some fucking minstrel. How much will I get for him? God only knows. I’ll give you a hundred and twenty. Well? Too little? Go fuck yourself, Jelínek. Have his throat slit and toss him into the bushes—”

“Give me five hundred, at least! He’s a high-ranking fellow, I tell you!”

“Two.”

“You make plenty of money thanks to me! I keep up a good supply of people for you. I’ve rounded up whole villages for you, you skinflint!”

“Three hundred.”

“Ha. It’ll be my loss. Hey, why’s he thrashing about? Choke him a little! Just gently!”

Reynevan tried to break free. Vainly. A strap was thrown around his neck. He was choked gently and kicked gently in the belly a few times. Then struck on the head. He lost consciousness. For a long time.

They heard the screams and sobs of the boy being raped beyond the palisade, by the campfire. The one that had been raped earlier was groaning and whimpering.