“Jesus Christ…” The Wrocław merchant crossed himself, but his face brightened up at once. “Ha! If Prokop has set off for Bolesław along the Zgorzelec road, it means he’ll leave us alone! He’s going towards Lusatia!”

“A vain hope,” countered a Minorite to sighs from the others. “Prokop will turn back from Bolesław towards Silesia again. And attack Lubin.”

“Christ, be merciful,” sounded voices. “Gott erbarme…”

“Lubin was still holding out yesterday.” The monk put his hands together. “The cottages outside the city walls were in flames and the town was ablaze because the assailants were firing burning missiles onto the roofs, but the folk valiantly resisted, repulsing the attack. The news from Chojnów must have reached them; the Lubin people know what awaits them if they surrender, so they are holding out.”

“Moat’s deep there,” muttered an elderly soldier, “walls seven ells high, more than ten towers… They’ll hold out. If they don’t lose heart, they’ll hold out.”

“God willing.”

Elencza trembled and moaned in her sleep.

Dzierżka, despite her superhuman efforts, must have dropped off again and was shaken out of sleep. The man tugging her turned out to be her own man, Sobek Snorbein. Snorbein was commanding a group of stablemen, on Dzierżka’s order riding all over the vicinity, both on and off the roads, searching for lost and ownerless horses, particularly pedigree stallions and destriers which were good breeding stock for the stud in Skałka. On hearing the instructions given to Snorbein, Elencza had goggled and looked outraged, at which she was told curtly and bluntly by Dzierżka that wasting godsends was a sin, that selfless magnanimity was admirable, but only during holidays, and, generally speaking, the horses would be returned if the owners could be found and could prove their rights. Elencza hadn’t asked any questions. Particularly since soon afterwards, Dzierżka had established a refugee camp, wholly dedicating herself to it both on working days and holidays.

“M’lady.” Sobek Snorbein leaned towards the horse trader’s ears. “Things are no good. The Czechs are coming. They’ve put the outskirts of Ścinawa to the torch. They are also burning down Prochowice. The Hussites are marching on Wrocław… So they’ll pass this way—”

Dzierżka of Wirsing came to her senses at once and sprang to her feet.

“Saddle our horses, Sobek. Elencza, get up.”

“What?”

“Get up. I’m just going to talk to the monks and when I return, you’re to be ready. We are fleeing. The Hussites are coming.”

“Is such haste necessary? To Prochowice it’s only—”

“I know how far it is to Prochowice.” Dzierżka cut her off. “And haste is necessary. A Hussite troop may appear here any moment, believe me. Some of the Czechs—”

She cut off and glanced at Snorbein.

“Some of them,” she muttered, “have damned good horses.”