“God in the Heavens.” Prokop raised his eyes. “Thou rulest the raging of the sea: when the waves thereof arise, Thou stillest them. Thou hast broken Rahab in pieces, as one that is slain; Thou hast scattered Thine enemies with Thy strong arm. May the enemy forces leave the battlefield vanquished today, too. To battle, Brethren. Go forth, in the name of God.”

“Onwards!” bellowed Jan Bleh of Těšnice, riding up before the army on his skittish horse. “Onwards, Brethren!”

“Onward, Warriors of God!” Zikmund of Vranov brandished his mace, giving the signal for the monstrance to be raised before the regiment. “Go forth!”

“Go foooorth!” The captains passed it down the line. “Go foooorth!… Foooorth… foooorth…”

The mass of Taborite infantry shuddered, their armour and weapons rattling like a dragon’s scales, and like a great dragon moved forward. The formation, numbering many thousand men, a thousand and a half paces wide, two and a half paces deep, marched straight towards the Silesian army mustered at Nysa. The wagons within the formation rattled.

Reynevan, in imitation of Scharley, had climbed up into a pear tree for a better view, searched but couldn’t locate Bishop Konrad among the Silesians. He only saw the bishop’s red and gold standard. He caught sight of the pennant of Půta of Častolovice and the man himself, trotting in front of the knighthood and holding them back from a chaotic charge. He saw the large Knights Hospitaller regiment, among whom must have been Ruprecht, Duke of Lubin, the Grand Prior of the order. He saw the arms and colours of Ludwik, Duke of Oława and Niemcza. He ground his teeth on seeing the banner of Jan of Ziębice, with a half-black, half-red eagle.

The Taborites proceeded, marching with regular, measured step. The wagons’ axles creaked. The line of Silesian peasant infantry, hidden behind pavises, blades upright, didn’t budge, and the mercenary commanding them, a knight in full plate armour, galloped up and down the ranks, yelling.

“They hold fast…” said Blažek of Kralupy to Prokop, and anxiety sounded in his voice. “They’ll wait, letting us open fire… The cavalry won’t move before that.”

“Trust in God,” replied Prokop, eyes fixed on the battlefield. “Trust in God, Brother.”

The Taborites marched on. Everybody saw Jan Bleh ride to the head, in front of the array. Saw him give the signal. All knew what order he was giving. A song rose above the marching companies. A battle chant in Czech.

Ye, who are warriors of God,

And of His law,

Pray to God for help and have faith in Him;

That ever with Him shall you victorious be!

The Silesian line trembled visibly, the pavises wavered, the spears and halberds swayed. The mercenary—now Reynevan recognised the ram’s head on his shield and knew that he was a Haugwitz—roared and issued commands. The song rumbled like thunder, rolling above the field.