“It’s war!” he cried, confirming Reynevan’s suspicion. “War, lad! Whoever can harm you is your enemy, and you destroy your enemies! Your brother worked for the Tábor, for Žižka, for Švamberk and Hvězda, so he was my enemy—he could and did do harm. And the Bishop of Wrocław, on the contrary, was a valued ally, worth winning over. The bishop wanted the names of Taborite spies operating in Silesia, so he was given a list. In any case, the bishop had been suspicious of your brother for a long time and would have caught up with him eventually without my help. The Bishop of Wrocław has his means and methods. You’d be astonished how effective they are.”

“I wouldn’t—I’ve seen a few things and I don’t deny the effectiveness of his actions. After all, now neither Jan Hvězda—whom you mentioned—nor Bohuslav of Švamberk is alive. And you, in the Cistercian grange, put forward both those names as targets for the bishop’s killers. Švamberk was from a noble family, perhaps from a nobler and older one than yours, though you boast about your forebears. The scaffold awaits you for Bohuslav Švamberk, his kinsmen will see to that now.”

Samson sent another signal. This one Reynevan understood.

“Hvězda and Švamberk died from wounds sustained in battle,” Smiřický stated meanwhile. “Talk, accuse me, no one will believe—”

“No one will believe in black magic?” finished Reynevan. “Is that what you mean?”

Smiřický pursed his lips. “What the Devil do you want?” he suddenly exploded. “Revenge? Go on, then—avenge yourself! Kill me! Yes, I betrayed your brother, though he trusted me like Christ trusted Judas. Happy? Of course I’m lying, I never clapped eyes on your brother, I heard about him from… Never mind. But I turned him over to the bishop and he died because of it. I reckoned you a spy of Neplach, an agent provocateur and a possible blackmailer. I had to do something about you. A hired crossbowman, unbelievably, missed. I tried to poison you twice, but poison probably doesn’t work on you. I hired three killers, but I don’t know what happened to them. They vanished. All lucky coincidences, young Lord of Bielawa. Very odd, lucky coincidences. Didn’t somebody refer to black magic just a moment ago?”

Flutek forced the arrested thugs to confess, thought Reynevan. He had certainly heard reports about an assassination attempt being prepared, and the thugs revealed the rest under torture, confirming his suspicions. A trap was set for the conspirators, they didn’t have a chance. By setting murderers on me, Jan Smiřický lost Prague. And Hynek of Kolštejn lost his life.