“You appear to be reading my mind, hence I have nothing to add, for you’ve already arrived at the conclusion, I understand.”

“I have. And I declare: I’m fighting for the cause, I’m going to war for the cause and I shall fulfil the role I’ve been assigned for the cause. The cause of the Chalice must prevail, all our endeavours are bent towards it. Thanks to our efforts and sacrifices, Utraquism and the one true faith will triumph, an end to immorality will dawn and the world will change for the better. I’m ready to spill blood for it. And give up my life if necessary.”

Scharley sighed. “But we aren’t skiving,” he said calmly. “We’re fighting. You’re making a career in medicine and intelligence. I’m moving up through the military hierarchy and quietly amassing loot. I’ve already put away a pretty penny. We’ve cheated the Grim Reaper several times in the service of the Chalice. And all we’re doing is tempting fate, pushing on blindly from incident to incident, each one worse than the last. It’s high time to talk seriously to Flutek and Prokop. Let younger men risk their necks in the field and in the front line. We’ve earned a rest—we’ve done enough to be able spend the rest of the war lying around sub tegmine fagi. Or alternatively, we’ve earned the right to cosy positions at headquarters, Reinmar, which, apart from being comfortable and lucrative, have another inestimable virtue. When everything begins to totter, fall apart and disintegrate, posts like that are easy to run from. And then you can take plenty with you—”

“What exactly will start tottering and falling apart?” Reynevan frowned. “Victory is in sight! The Chalice will triumph and the true Regnum Dei will dawn! That’s what we’re fighting for!”

“Hallelujah,” Scharley summed up. “It’s hard talking to you, lad. So I’ll put the arguments to one side and end with a concise and matter-of-fact suggestion. Are you listening?”

“I am.”

Samson opened his eyes and raised his head to indicate he was, too.

“Let’s get away from here,” said Scharley calmly. “To Constantinople.”

“To where?”

“Constantinople,” the penitent repeated in an utterly grave voice. “It’s a large city on the Bosporus. The pearl and capital of the Byzantine state—”

“I know what and where Constantinople is,” Reynevan interrupted patiently. “I was asking why we have to go there.”

“In order to live there.”

“And why should we live there?”