Reynevan cleared his throat and looked at Samson. Samson didn’t return his glance. He nodded, agreeing with Scharley.

Unsmiling.

In front of the bridge stood a squad of halberdiers and a group of monks in black habits with leather belts, identifying them as Augustinians.

“Heed!” shouted the corporals. “Heed, people! The town is being made ready for defence, so entry onto the bridge is only granted to those skilled in arms and ready to fight! Only them as are skilled in arms! Those as aren’t but can labour are to help demolish the monastery and erect a palisade. Their families may stay in Kłodzko. The rest go on, to the Rybaki suburb, where Franciscan friars are making vittles and serving them and tending to the sick. From there, after you’ve rested, head north, towards Bardo. I repeat, Kłodzko is preparing for a siege, entry only to those who are skilled in arms! They are to report at once in the town square, to receive orders from the guild masters…”

The crowd murmured and seethed, but the halberdiers were firm. Soon a division had occurred—some turned towards the bridge and the rest, several of them swearing vehemently, rode on along the Wrocław road leading between the bank of the Nysa and the cottages of the suburb.

It became a little less crowded.

“Heed! The town will be defended! Entry only to those as are skilled in arms!”

Unrest was occurring before the bridge. There was quarrelling; raised voices could be heard. Reynevan stood up in the stirrups. Three clergymen in travelling attire were arguing with a captain with a blue and white shield on his tunic. A tall Augustinian with an aquiline nose and bushy eyebrows walked over to the clergymen.

“Father Fessler?” he asked, recognising one of them. “Parish priest of Waltersdorf? What brings you to Kłodzko?”

“An amusing jest, indeed,” answered the priest, frowning exaggeratedly. “As if you didn’t know. But we won’t bandy words here, in front of these churls. Stand down your soldiers, Frater! You can bar the way to tramps, but not me. I’ve been travelling all night; I must rest before I continue.”

“And whither does your journey take you, may I ask?” said the Augustinian, slowly.

“Don’t play the fool!” The parish priest was still extremely angry. “The infernal Hussites are coming in a great host, burning, pillaging and murdering. My life is dear to me. I’m fleeing to Wrocław, perhaps they won’t get that far. I advise you to do the same.”

“I thank you for the advice.” The Augustinian tilted his head. “But duty keeps me here, in Kłodzko. We mean to defend the town along with Sir Půta. And shall succeed, with God’s help.”

“Perhaps so, perhaps not,” the parish priest rejoined. “But that’s your affair. Out of my way.”