A crowd of Orphans gathered around the two monks in front of the church. The first blow fell almost immediately, then the first kick, then more blows and kicks, and then clubs and axe butts. The prior dropped. Jan Buda stayed on his feet, praying out loud and spitting blood from his lacerated mouth. Smil Půlpán looked at him with hatred. At a sign, a stump used for splitting logs was brought from the woodshed.

“They say you blessed the weapons of the men marching on Náchod, Papist. We learned the punishment we’ll use on you from the bishop’s ruffians at Náchod. Bring him here, Brethren.”

Jan Buda was dragged over and one of his legs was placed on the chopping block. One of the Hussites, a powerful bruiser, raised a battleaxe and swung. Jan Buda screamed frightfully and blood shot up in a pulsating fountain from the open wound. The Orphans lifted up the Dominican, jerking spasmodically, and placed his other leg on the block. The battleaxe landed with a dull thud and squelch and the ground shuddered under the impact. Jan Buda screamed even more horrifically.

Berengar Tauler took a few unsteady steps, leaned with both hands against the wall of the church and vomited. Reynevan withstood it, but barely. Samson went very pale and suddenly glanced up at the sky. And remained looking in that direction for a long time, as if expecting to find something there.

On a block used to chop firewood, those butchers, haeretici, wishing in their rage and wickedness to surpass the very Devil, their master and teacher, severed with axes all the poor wretches’ extremitatis one after another. My quill cannot describe those atrocities, my hand trembles, lacrimae flow from my eyes… Nicolaus Carpentarius, Johannes Buda et Andreas Cantoris, martyres de Ordine Fratrum Praedicatorum, died martyrs’ deaths for the Word of God and for their witness. O God, O God, we appeal to Thee! Usquequo, Domine sanctus et verus, non iudicas et vindicas sanguinem nostrum?

Meanwhile, the Orphans plundered the church of everything of any value. Holy paintings, planks from the choir stalls and the chopped-up remains of the altar—objects without value—were burning on a mountainous pyre. On Půlpán’s orders, the two mutilated and dying monks were dragged over to the pyre and tossed onto it. The Hussites, standing in a ring, watched the two limbless torsos clumsily writhing in the flames. In fact, they burned poorly as it had started raining. Smil Půlpán felt his torn-off ear, swore and spat.

“There’s one more!” yelled some men hurrying from the vestibule. “Brother Půlpán! We’ve caught another! He was hiding in the pulpit!”

“Bring him here! Bring the papist!”