“Twice in Wrocław we feared for our lives,” said the stout merchant. “The first time was on the Thursday before Palm Sunday, when, after sacking Brzeg and burning down Ryczyn, the main Hussite forces stopped outside Oława. The fire and smoke were clearly visible and the stench of burning was being carried on the wind, for it is but a stone’s throw from Oława to Wrocław… And though the town walls are strong, defended by cannons, with no shortage of soldiers, our legs turned to jelly… But God averted it. They departed.”

“Not for long,” observed one of the mercenaries.

“Aye. We’d barely breathed a sigh of relief on hearing that Prokop had turned back towards Strzelin, had barely celebrated an anxious Easter before the bells rang out the warning again. The Hussites are returning! In even greater numbers. Having joined forces with those hellish Orphans, they are burning Rychbach, burning Sobótka, the roads are crawling with refugees. And on the Friday before Misericordia Sunday, once again we see smoke from the walls, this time to the west: Kąty is afire. Word gets out that there’s a large camp near Środa and Prokop is preparing to attack. The bells toll again, the women and children flee into the churches—”

“But you saw it out again that time,” said Dzierżka. “There was no attack, as we all know. The Czechs departed two days later, on Misericordia Sunday.”

“They set off for Strzegom,” confirmed another soldier. “Everybody thought they’d attack Świdnica, but they didn’t. They clearly feared the fortress—”

“It wasn’t that,” said the knight. “Świdnica made a secret pact with the Hussites a year ago. That’s why it survived.”

“And m’Lord Starosta of Kolditz was safe and sound behind Świdnica’s walls,” sneered the miller from Marcinkowice. “What cares he if the land is burning and awash with blood? He won’t be harmed—he made a pact. Ugh!”

There was silence for some time. The innkeeper from Górka interrupted it.

“The Hussites headed west from Strzegom,” he said. “They left Jawor undamaged but sacked Świerzawa and put it to the torch. They utterly plundered and burned down Dobków, the manor of the Lubiąż monks, then went on, towards Złotoryja. And today I met a friend on the highway. He said that Złotoryja is burned down for the second time—it’s an unlucky town. And Prokop and the Orphans are said to be marching on Lwówek—”