Liebenthal pushed the table away from him and grabbed his sword as Stročil kicked the bench over, and Priedlanz and Kuhn flashed half-drawn blades. But the four glum men found unexpected allies. A clay pot, thrown with great accuracy and force by one of the pilgrims decorated with scallops, smashed against Kuhn’s forehead. The Bavarian’s back slammed against the wall, and before he came to his senses, he was being held in the powerful grip of two Cistercians. The third Cistercian, a short fellow but stocky and strong, shoulder-barged Liebenthal and punched him with a short but accurate left hook and then with a right. Liebenthal punched back, the monk dodged—minimally, but enough for the punch to barely brush his tonsure—then hit Liebenthal with a nice uppercut, followed by an even nicer straight right. Right in the nose. Liebenthal, blood covering his face, vanished under the swarm of pikemen who had set about him. Other men had already overpowered Stročil and Priedlanz.

“You are arrested,” repeated one of the glum men, none of whom had participated in the brawl. “You are arrested in the name of the Holy Office. For blasphemy, sacrilege and offending religious feelings.”

“Fuck your arses!” roared Priedlanz, face down on the ground.

“That will be noted.”

“Fucking whoresons!”

“That, too.”

It probably doesn’t need adding that Reynevan had long since left the tavern. As soon as the row began, he ran for it.

The stable lad had fulfilled his request and left one of the horses saddled. It was still long enough before sundown for the gate not to be locked, but near enough for there not to be a soul on the road, no one who could give the pursuers any directions. And Reynevan didn’t doubt that he would be followed as soon as the matter was explained. He would be followed, he knew, not only by his recent escort, but all the glum men he unerringly recognised as servants of the Inquisition. He had to increase the distance as quickly as possible, get as far away as he could in order for the approaching dusk to hinder his pursuers. When darkness fell, he had to be far away. At all costs. Even if he had to ride his horse into the ground.

Luck continued to help him; for the time being, the horse wasn’t showing any signs of fatigue in the gallop. It only began to lather up and pant when they reached the forest. Reynevan had to slow down there anyway. In the forest, it was almost completely dark.