“We’ll give the people of Wrocław and the Antichrist bishop a lesson they won’t forget,” continued Prokop. “That small village at the foot of the hill—what’s it called?”

“Żerniki, good sire.” One of the obsequious peasant guides hurried over. “And that’un is Muchobór—”

“Burn them both down. You deal with it, Brother Puchała. Over there, and I see a mill over there… And another. And there’s a village… And there’s another… And what’s that? A wooden church? Brother Salava!”

“At once, Brother Prokop!”

An hour hadn’t even passed before fire and smoke began rising into the sky, the stench of burning making the fresh spring air unbreathable.

I tire of marching with pike and gun,

I would find more joy with my darling one…

Wistful subject matter was beginning to dominate noticeably in the repertoire of Prokop’s army’s marching songs. Weariness of war was making itself felt more and more.

Leaving Wrocław behind, they marched southwards, with Ślęża looming up suddenly and menacingly on their right from the flat landscape. The peak of the mountain, though not at all of imposing height, was veiled as usual in elongated clouds—it looked as though the clouds gliding across the sky had snagged on the peak and remained there.

They marched on Strzelin and Ziębice quite quickly, not even doing much pillaging. In truth, there wasn’t much left to pillage. Jan Kolda of Žampach, stationed and left at the post on Ślęża, was waiting idly in the castle, but often set forth, plundering anything that was fit to plunder and burning anything that could catch fire. The odd priest or monk hanging by a rope from a roadside tree could usually be put down to Kolda’s men, although one couldn’t rule out the spontaneous initiatives of the local peasant community, often taking advantage of the opportunity to settle accounts with their parish priest or monastery for old grudges and injustices. Reynevan feared for White Church, pinning his hopes on the agreement reached with the Patriciate of Strzelin and the Duke of Oława. And the dense forests concealing the monastery.

The sight of Ziębice, calling forth memories of Adèle and Duke Jan, was like a red rag to a bull to him. He tried talking to Prokop, hoping to convince him to break the agreement with Jan and attack the town. But Prokop was unmoved.

All he achieved was permission to join Dobko Puchała’s cavalry units harrying the vicinity with forays. Prokop didn’t protest. He didn’t need Reynevan now. While Reynevan took out his anger, burning with the Poles the hamlets and granges surrounding Ziębice.