There was no end to the cries of greeting; joy and euphoria at the reunion seized them all. Soon, Jan Královec of Hrádek was crushing Prokop the Shaven’s right hand, Little Prokop was kissing Markolt’s bristly cheek, Jan Zmrzlík of Svojšín was slapping Matěj Salava of Lípa on his iron cuirass and Jaroslav of Bukovina was groaning in the powerful embrace of Jan Kolda of Žampach. Urban Horn hugged Reynevan, Rzehors hugged Drosselbart. The Orphans’ flailmen and archers greeted the Taborite lancers, while the Slány voulgemen and the Nymburk axemen hugged the Chrudim bowmen. The drivers of the combat wagons greeted each other, cursing hideously in their customary fashion.

The wind buffeted the banners fluttering beside each other—the Orphans’ Pelican shedding drops of blood into a gold Chalice flapped beside the Veritas vincit, the Host and the Tábor’s crown of thorns. The Warriors of God cheered and threw their hats and helmets into the air.

While behind them, the town of Rychbach, which had been torched by the Taborites after being abandoned by its panicked residents, blazed and belched forth clouds of black smoke.

Prokop, his hand still on Jan Královec’s shoulder and a very satisfied smile on his face, looked at the army forming up. Now, gathered together, it numbered over a thousand horse, more than ten thousand foot and three hundred combat wagons laden with artillery. He knew there was no one in the whole of Silesia capable of standing up to that force in the field. All that was left to the Silesians were the walls of their towns. Or—as in the case of the people of Rychbach—flight into the forests.

“Move out!” he yelled to the hejtmans. “Prepare to move out! We’re marching on Wrocław!”

“On Wrocław!” Jaroslav of Bukovina joined in. “And Bishop Konrad! Moooove out!”

“Today is Easter Day!” cried Královec. “Festum festorum! Christ is risen from the dead! He is truly resurrected!”

“Resurrexit sicut dixit! ” Little Prokop joined in. “Hallelujah!”

“Hallelujah! Let us sing to God, Brethren!”

A thunderous song escaped the lips of the Orphan flailmen and Taborite lancers and soared heavenwards. To be echoed by the voulgemen of Chrudim, the pavisiers of Nymburk and the crossbowmen of Slaný.

Christ the King

Has risen from the tomb!

Let us all sing,

His glory dispels the gloom!

Lord have mercy!

Lord have mercy!

As they set off in turn, the song was taken up by the spearmen of Zikmund of Vranov, the knights of Zmrzlík, after them the crews of the combat wagons, the light cavalry of Kolda of Žampach, the riders of Salava and the Moravians of Tovačovský. Finally, the Poles of Puchała brought up the rear with the thunderous song on their lips.

Our Lord rose from the dead,

After His cruel torment,

For us this is solace indeed,

Christ is our merriment!

Have mercy!