“I am Jan Smiřický of Smiřice. Understand, lad? Jan Smiřický! The ransom for me—”
“The corpse of your comrade, stripped naked, is already hanging from the pillory in the Old Town Square. There’s room beside it.”
The knight didn’t lower his eyes. Reynevan knew who he was dealing with but kept to the strategy he’d chosen. He continued trying to frighten and intimidate him.
“Of your comrades, the only ones to survive are those who Father Rokycana defended, shielding them with his own breast from the spears of the rabble. They were dragged to the town hall dungeon. After having to run an impromptu gauntlet of two rows of men wielding clubs and axes. Not all of them came out of it alive. The others are still being hunted and the mob is still waiting outside the town hall. Are you wondering why I’m saying this? For I have a dreadful desire to drag you into the town square, hand you over to the Praguians and watch you dash between the clubs. Do you know where that desire comes from? Can you perhaps guess?”
The knight narrowed his eyes. And then opened them wide.
“It’s you… Now I recognise you.”
“You betrayed my brother, O Jan Smiřický of Smiřice, you turned him over to die. You will pay for that. I’m wondering how. I could, as I said, hand you over to the Praguians. I could stick a knife between your ribs myself, here and now.”
“A knife?” The knight swiftly regained his aplomb and pouted contemptuously. “You? Between my ribs? Ha, go on then, young Lord of Bielawa. Stab away!”
“Don’t provoke me.”
“Provoke you?” Jan Smiřický snorted and spat. “I’m not provoking you. I’m mocking you! I’m a good judge of character, I can look straight into the soul. I’ve looked into yours and I shall tell you: you couldn’t even kill a chicken.”
“I can, as I said, drag you to the town hall. To a crowd of less sensitive fellows.”
“You can also kiss my arse. I invite you. And I wholeheartedly recommend it.”
“Or I can let you go.”
Smiřický turned away. But not quickly enough for Reynevan not to notice the glint in his eye.
“So, then,” Smiřický asked a moment later, “a ransom?”
“If you like. You’ll give me the answers to a few questions.”
The knight looked at him, saying nothing for a long while.
“You squirt,” he said at last, curling his lip and drawling. “You Silesian German. You quack doctor! Do you know who I am? I am Jan Smiřický of Smiřice, a Czech nobleman, a knight, the Hejtman of Mělnice and Roudnice! My ancestors fought at Legnano and Milan, at Ascalon and Arsuf. My great-grandfather covered himself in glory at Mühldorf and Crécy. Answer questions? Your questions? Go fuck yourself, dolt.”
“You, Lord Smiřický, plotted treachery against your own countrymen like a common thug. The men who made you hejtman entrusted you with Mělnice and Roudnice. In gratitude, you conspired against them with Konrad of Oleśnica, Bishop of Wrocław, in the Cistercian grange in Silesia two years ago. Two whole years have passed, but you no doubt remember every single word spoken there. Because I do.”
Smiřický fixed his eyes on him. He said nothing for a while, swallowing a few times. When he spoke, apart from astonishment, there was genuine admiration in his voice.
“So it was you… You were there. You eavesdropped… The Devil take it! You move widely and ambitiously in the world, I must confess. I admire you. But I feel sorry for you at the same time. Men like you die young. And usually violently.”
Samson Honeypot sent a mental signal using the magical amulet. But although the communication had functioned tolerably during the chase, now, at a distance of two paces, the signal was quite incomprehensible. Although the intent was clear, the content was unintelligible. Reynevan took it as an urge to act decisively.
“You will answer my question, Lord Smiřický.”
“No, I won’t. Think you have something you can frighten or blackmail me with? You haven’t got shit, young Lord Bielawa. Know why? Because a historical moment is upon us. Each day brings changes. At times like these, you quack blackmailers have to act very quickly or your blackmail becomes a laughing stock. Didn’t you see what happened in the streets today? I rode into Prague beside Hynek of Kolštejn. We came straight from Kolín, from Lord Diviš Bořek, who gave us his soldiers. Devout Catholics and Hussite killers like Půta of Častolovice and Otto of Bergow marched shoulder to shoulder with us. Our aim was no secret. We intended to capture the town hall and take control, because Prague is caput regni: whoever has Prague has Bohemia. We wanted to free Korybut and make him king. A true king, meaning with Rome’s approval. We meant to come to an agreement with the Pope, who is inclined, rumour has it, to compromise regarding the liturgy, and prepared to yield regarding the Chalice and Communion sub utraque specie. Prepared to negotiate. But not with the Tábor, not with radicals, not with people who have the blood of priests on their hands. United with Oldřich of Rožmberk and the lords of the Landfried, we meant to finish off the radicals, destroy the Orphans, eliminate the Tábor and restore order to the Kingdom of Bohemia. Understand?
“We entered Prague openly and with visors raised,” Smiřický said, not waiting for Reynevan’s response. “I couldn’t have shown more clearly whose side I’m on, what I want and what I am against. Everything was revealed and demonstrated today. So what do you wish to do? Now, with the cat out of the bag, you’ll go to the Tábor and announce: ‘Listen, brothers, I’ll tell you some news: Jan of Smiřice is your enemy, he’s plotting with the Catholics against you.’ Old hat, Lord Bielawa, old hat! You’ve bungled it, you’re too late. Indeed, a year, or even a month ago—”
“Even a month ago,” Reynevan finished his sentence, smiling nastily, “I could have unmasked you. I was dangerous, so you sent assassins to kill me. Most chivalrous, Lord of Smiřice, most noble. Indeed, your glorious ancestors, those heroes of Ascalon and Crécy, must be proud.”
“If you think I’m going to apologise to you for that, you are fucking mistaken.”
“Answer my questions.”
“I believe I’ve already suggested you kiss my arse? I repeat the invitation.”
Samson Honeypot suddenly stood up. And Reynevan would have sworn that Jan Smiřický took fright.
“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.”