“But we do to them.” Prokop cut him off. “For we are the Warriors of God and true Christians. We will keep our word to the Duke of Głubczyce, the heir of Opava. At least as long as the heir of Opava keeps his. But if he betrays us, if he takes up arms against us, then I swear on the Lord’s name he shall only inherit smoke and ash.”

Some of the commanders present in the makeshift headquarters smiled at the thought of the massacre. Jaroslav of Bukovina openly chortled and Dobko Puchała gleefully rubbed his hands together. Jan Bleh grinned, as if already seeing the fire and killing in his mind’s eye. Prokop noticed it all.

“We are entering the bishop’s lands,” he declared, resting a fist on the map lying on the table. “There’ll be enough to burn, enough to plunder—”

“Bishop Konrad,” said Urban Horn, “and Půta of Častolovice are concentrating their forces at Nysa. Jan of Ziębice marches to their aid. Ruprecht, Duke of Lubin and Chojnów, is also approaching, and his brother, Ludwik of Oława.”

“How many of them are there in all?”

Horn looked at Rzehors. Rzehors nodded, knowing that everybody was waiting to see what valuable intelligence the notorious Vogelsang would offer.

Rzehors raised his head after quite a long calculation. “The bishop, Půta, the dukes. The Knights Hospitaller from Strzegom and Mała Oleśnica. Mercenaries. Municipal militias… And peasant infantry… Taken together, seven to eight thousand men. Including about three hundred lances.”

“Young Duke Bolko, the heir of Opole, is approaching from Krapkowice and Głogówek,” interrupted Jan Zmrzlík of Svojšín, who had just returned from a foray. “His men have reached Kazimierz and occupied the bridge over the Stradunia, a strategic point on the Nysa-Racibórz road. What force might Bolko be commanding?”

“Around sixty lances,” Rzehors assessed calmly, “and around a thousand foot soldiers.”

“Damn that bloody Opolian!” growled Jaroslav of Bukovina. “He’s cutting us off, threatening our flank. We can’t march on Nysa with him behind us.”

“So let’s strike straight at him,” suggested Jan Bleh of Těšnice. “With our full force. Let’s crush him—”

“He’s lined up in a place that is hard to attack.” Rzehors shook his head. “The Stradunia has flooded, the banks are marshy—”