as the view is excellent from this building’s tower, we should gather intelligence about the enemy during daylight hours every day. I suggest that we install alternating pairs of men at the top of the tower, each pair covering two periods of the day. One will remain on the landing to act as observer. Should there be a need, he will alert his companion—the runner—to report to these officers whenever there is a conspicuous change or major movement outside these walls. Each team can be fed from the kitchen below, and as the landing is sheltered, observation can continue even during inclement weather. Provision of a telescope would be most beneficial. I approximate the enemy’s number to be between 15,000 and 20,000 men. This should be verified.”
“Excellent; approved!” confirmed Hritek, tapping the table. “I agree that St Bartholomew’s is the overtly obvious choice. Pilsen’s footprint is a rough square, and if we draw a cross within that square, the cathedral blesses its intersection.” He raised his eyebrows and traced geometrical shapes in the air with his stubby fingers. “Each of my officers has a glass. One will be made available.”
“Next, we should gather information from under Mansfeld’s very nose. This requires a pair of experienced and nimble men to leave and return secretly every night with updated bulletins on armament number and placement, weaknesses in defence and troop movements—in fact, any information that will assist us in hampering the enemy. We must convert any one of Mansfeld’s forfeits into gain as an alchemist transmutes base metal into gold! ”
“Done!” Hritek agreed vigorously. “Will you please see to that, Captain Horvat?” The burgomaster felt less troubled now, no longer burdened by a Calvary of despair. The lieutenant was an intelligent officer who crackled with ideas belying his youth. Hritek viewed him as a singular hero—one who possessed a perspicacious eye; an arm of granite, and an omniscient mind.
“Thirdly,” Jack continued. “Our store of munitions needs to be scattered about the city, especially the precious powder.”
“An important observation, if I may add,” Chauvin interposed animatedly. “I personally witnessed the gunpowder magazine disintegrate totally after a shot exploded in the storeroom during the battle of Fontaine-Française.”
“We currently hold our gunpowder in two separate storage cellars but will further disperse it around the defences to ensure that we don’t lose it all in a single and hapless direct hit,” Horvat retorted. “Captain Svoboda, will you ensure this happens?”
“Additionally,” Jack spoke with a tinge of levity. “Medieval history has taught us that a popular form of defence was to assault the enemy with flaming balls of tarred hay. Despite our current advanced modes of battle with gunpowder and cannons, this old yet effective technique may be worthy of consideration if the city holds sufficient stocks of hay and tar. In light of our potential powder shortage, torched bales could be launched from the walls onto the advancing rebel ranks.” Despite the immediate reaction of subdued laughter, Horvat and the other captains speedily recognised the simplicity and practicality of Jack’s suggestion. He sipped his tea before speaking again, allowing the others to settle.
“And finally,” Jack came to his most substantial item of the morning. “We observed earlier that the main Protestant force is camped in the hills to the southeast of the city and that the small gate opposite their watchful eyes—the small gate on the north wall—appears to be unguarded. In fact, totally ignored.”
Jack stood up from the table, pushing his chair back slowly and clasped his hands behind his back. He stared at the group for a moment before continuing, wanting to impress his point. His eyes sparkled like the waters of the river outside the city walls.
“As envoy to the Polish king, I have urgent and important business in Prague, after which I must return to Warszawa to report to the king’s council. I have news from France for my king’s ears. It is imperative that I leave Pilsen after dark tonight for your capital. I further suggest that at least two more riders be despatched to make contact with Catholic forces to plead the city’s plight. We must ensure that word gets out in case those who left five days earlier were not successful. With your approval, gentlemen, our party can leave through this gate around midnight and disperse once we have crossed the Mže.”
The mayor considered the proposal for some time, digesting the gravity of the Polish officer’s words, and then gazed around the table. “Are we all agreed with this, gentlemen?”
The congruent approval was unanimous. Jack smiled and thanked them for their trust and support. His conscience was at ease. He regarded Horvat and quietly asked, “Captain, may I speak with you separately concerning arrangements for a good horse, some minor provisions and guidance for an alternative route to Prague? Travelling the main road would be ill-advised these uncertain days and in these circumstances.”
“Of course, Lieutenant Channing. It will be my pleasure,” Horvat smiled. Jack noticed that he had pronounced his name correctly.
The meeting had ended by mid-morning. Jack and Chauvin joined their small contingent in the square outside and left instructions as to which section of wall they were to occupy. The sun was now warming the day, and the wind had dropped making a perfect example of Bohemia’s finest autumn weather. The two comrades walked the main streets of the city, gauging that the mood of the people was generally positive, as Horvat had reported. Life appeared to go on as normal: a bustling market, busy vendors, children playing, carts rolling past. Their appetite, honed by the stroll, eventually led the men to one of the city’s many inviting taverns for lunch. Before entering, they observed that the cathedral’s belltower had been newly manned as agreed. As they settled into a comfortable corner over a generous plate of pork, cabbage and potatoes, Jack confided in his companion, describing in detail an additional plan that he had not raised at the meeting.
Before leaving for the capital at midnight, Jack intended to leave the city some hours earlier to make his own discrete observations of the enemy encampment and required a volunteer from Chauvin’s team to accompany him. The corporal immediately offered his services, but Jack needed a younger, more dispensable man for support should they stray into trouble. Additionally, he reminded his friend that his job was too valuable here and that he needed to assist the other officers with the actions of the plan they had all agreed to during the discussions. If all went well, the pair would return by eleven, leaving Jack sufficient time to prepare for his own departure to Prague.
Chauvin’s next suggestion, Julien Roberge, was rejected, and after some further open discussion, they eventually decided on Guy Vasseur. Jack wanted to rest during the afternoon and agreed to share a jug of ale at the tavern, knowing it would exacerbate his drowsiness. They sat in convivial discussion at the rough wooden table and soon called for a second flagon. At one point, Chauvin noticed a small dog asleep at the massive, fuliginous hearth.
“So, we’ve discovered the first to test our drinking water. We should enlist him and immediately promote him to the rank of sergeant,” the Frenchman joked, pointing at the animal. “We don’t want to make him a major, or he’ll send the captains to the well every day.” The pair laughed to a clink of glasses.
The tavern filled and became noisy—full of conversations punctuated by frequent bursts of laughter and boisterous outbursts—but the atmosphere was jovial and pleasant, and it was late afternoon before the pair reluctantly thought of leaving. Jack placed an amicable hand on his companion’s shoulder, and when he had Chauvin’s full attention, he began, “Alain, after tonight I will be riding home again, and you will be here defending this tavern, this city, this dog and your country’s honour. They wish to steal our freedom from us like granivorous vermin.” He squeezed the corporal’s shoulder and continued above the clamour in the room after calling for another round of ale.
“Just remember who I am and where I am. I will always be in only one of three places if you need or want to find me. In Warszawa, I stay at the royal castle. In Kraków, I am with my family at the Channing estates; the locals will direct you. And if I’m not at either of these, I’m somewhere else in Europe on the king’s business. Then wait for me in one of the first two until I return.” Gulping another draught of beer, Jack hoped that what he had explained had made sense. “You know, Alain,” he