In both the Tábor army and among the Orphans, women always accompanied the marches, mainly taking care of provisioning and cooking, occasionally nursing the wounded and sick. The women, usually widows, took their children with them. When the boys grew up, a new form of unit emerged in the Hussite armies—youth squads. The units grew quickly, absorbing shepherd boys and street urchins on the marches. They also quickly became the mascots and favourites in the army. Pets of the soldiers, favoured and indulged by everyone. Sensing their status and privileged position, the beloved boys became spoiled and unruly. Hussite propaganda, presenting them as the “Divine Children of the New Order,” propagated and nurtured fanaticism and cruelty in the youths, and such seeds—like among any group of children—fell on extremely fertile ground. The merry brood became known as “sling shooters,” for they were mainly armed with slings, the weapons favoured by shepherds and street urchins. Reynevan, however, had never seen the youths use their slings in battle. Or actually fight at all. But he had seen the youngsters in other circumstances. After the Battle of Ústí, the “Children of God” had cruelly blinded fallen Saxons by thrusting sharpened sticks through the slits in their helmets. Not so long ago, in Głuchołazy, at the Battle of Nysa, in Bardo, in Frankenstein and Złotoryja, they had beaten, kicked, stoned and mutilated the wounded and poured boiling water and milk over them.

“What is this?” Krejčíř asked sternly, pointing at the chalice Rzehors was drinking from. “Do you break the law, Brother? Do you seek punishment? All spoils are to be put in a common barrel! Whoever keeps even a single trinket will be punished! As the Holy Bible clearly states! Achan, the son of Zerah of the tribe of Judah, who stole a garment and gold from spoils belonging to God, was stoned and burned in the Vale of Achor!”

“It’s only silver-plated brass…” muttered Rzehors. “Very well, have it.”

“And what is this?” The preacher snatched the book from Samson’s hand. “What is this? Know you not, Brother, that the New Era dawns? And the New Era has no need of either books or writing, for God’s Law will be written in our hearts? And may the old world go up in flames!”

The book with the Polish sentence from 1231 was tossed onto the fire.

“May the old world perish! And with it its false wisdom! Begone! Begone! Begone!”

With each cry, he tossed a book into the flames. First a Tractatus, then a Codex and a Cronica sive gesta flew into the fire as Samson stood by with arms hanging loosely, smiling. The smile made Reynevan feel uncomfortable. Krejčíř brushed dust from his hands, snatched a spiked, metal-headed club from one of the sling shooters, looked around and entered one of the aisles. He spotted a painting. The Adoration of the Christ Child.