Before they fully understood the danger of their situation, their pursuers were upon them; Hussite cavalrymen in sallets and kettle hats were teeming around. Risin howled, stabbed by spears. Kurzbach sobbed. He cowered in the saddle, struck on the head by a mace, and fell down under his horse. Borschnitz yelled and began to swing his sword around him. The others followed his example. Jan of Ziębice had lost his sword in the flight. At the sight of the Hussites surrounding him, he seized a battleaxe hanging from the saddle and swung it, screaming curses, but in his panic, he swung so clumsily that the crooked handle slipped from his fingers and the battleaxe flew away. The Hussites leaped on him from all sides. He was struck on the back, then on the head. He gave a deafening scream, slid from the saddle and fell to the ground. He tried to stand up, was hit again in the side, then a hammer struck and dented his armour, breaking his ribs, and the duke choked, gulping for air. He was struck yet again, fell over on his back and saw his blood streaming over the shattered ice. He heard Kurzbach’s high-pitched scream beside him as he fell under sword blows. And Borschnitz yelling as he was finished off. And then he himself began to yell.

“Mercy! Meeercy!” he bellowed, tearing the armet from his head. “I am Duke—”

“Hodie mihi, cras tibi.”

The duke trembled. He had recognised Reynevan.

Reynevan placed a foot on his chest. And raised what he was holding in his hands. The duke saw what it was. And felt sick to the stomach.

“Noooo!” he howled like a dog. “Don’t! The orders have been issued! In Ziębice! The maid will perish! If you touch me, the girl dies!”

Reynevan raised the bear spear high. And plunged it deep into the duke’s belly with all his might. The four-edged, forged blade penetrated the lames of the fauld. The duke bellowed in pain, jerking up his legs spasmodically and grabbing the shaft in both hands. Reynevan pressed him against the ground with his foot and tugged the spear out. Everything around him became blindingly bright, clear and white.

“Ransooom!” Jan howled. “I’ll pay a ransooom! Gooold! Jesus Chriiist! Meeercy!”

Reynevan lifted the spear high. There was a crack as the spear blade pierced a slit between the breastplate and the plackart, entering up to the spur. Jan of Ziębice screamed, choking as blood poured from his mouth and down his chin and armour.

“Meeercy… Meeercy… Aaaah…”

Reynevan struggled with the trapped blade for a while, finally jerking it out. He lifted the bear spear and struck. The blade pierced the plate. Duke Jan couldn’t scream any longer. He only groaned. And puked. Blood spurted a yard up into the air.

Reynevan braced his foot against the breastplate and hauled on the shaft, trying to pull out the blade.