Although it took him more time, the gardener also passed on rumours from Bohemia—the news Reynevan and Samson had been yearning for. The hejtman of the New Town in Prague, Velek Kúdelník of Březnice, recounted the gardener, scraping shit from his pitchfork, struck the land of the Bavarians around Saint Urban’s Day. The Hussites burned down Mosbach, the residence of Count Palatine Otto, and marched along the valley of the River Naab to Regensburg. They thoroughly pillaged and utterly ruined the Cistercian abbey in Walderbach. Wagons laden with loot, they returned to Bohemia, leaving scorched earth behind them.

At more or less the same time, said the gardener, picking his nose and looking intently at the contents, the Tábor attacked Austria with a savage plundering raid in order to teach Duke Albrecht a lesson. Burning, wreaking havoc, sacking, without encountering any resistance, the Taborites got as far as the Danube. Though only a short distance separated them from Vienna, they couldn’t cross the great river. They shot a few cannons from the left bank in a show of strength and then departed.

“And our Scharley was no doubt there, too,” Reynevan muttered to Samson. “Up to no good.”

“No doubt.” The giant yawned, scratching the scar on his head with his fingernails. “I can’t imagine he’d go to Constantinople without us.”

The abbess summoned Reynevan again on the Eve of Saint James’ Day.

This time, she was reading a sumptuous and rich edition of Meister Eckhart’s Book of Divine Consolation.

“You haven’t been to church in a long time,” she observed, looking at him over her spectacles. “You might stop by sometime, kneel before the altar. Ponder over this and that. Give thought to this and that… Oh, I forgot.” She lifted her head and continued without waiting for an answer. “You don’t have time. You are occupied, you and Jutta, very occupied. Why, I understand you and don’t condemn you. I haven’t always been a nun. In my youth, I’m ashamed to admit, I also paid ardent homage to Priapus and Astarte, and many times felt that I was closer to God in the arms of a man than in a church. I was mistaken. But it doesn’t prevent me from understanding those who need time to understand that error.”

A moment later, she continued, “We have given you sanctuary and care. You’ve no doubt realised that we weren’t motivated entirely by mercy. Nor was our sympathy entirely owing to the affection and fondness our dear Jutta Apolda feels for you. There were also other reasons, about which it is time to talk.