The child blurted out something in Bohemian, and Godke quickly emerged from the witch house to discover the cause of the commotion. He talked to the Bohemian child for a short time and then turned to Gunnar.

‘This is the witch’s brother. His name is Jaromil,’ he said.

‘He tried to knife me,’ I said, but Godke didn’t seem to care.

‘Don’t let him out of your sight,’ he commanded Gunnar. Gunnar nodded, and he sought my help in tying a rope around Jaromil’s neck. The other end of the rope was held by Gunnar, and he wrapped it around his wrist to free his hand.

I was happy to stay in the streets of Pilsen and explore this exciting new town, but Godke called me into the witch house.

‘The razor,’ he said to me, and I handed it to him. He passed it to Thies, nodding briefly before turning back to face me. ‘I want you to watch this.’

And so I witnessed my first witch shaving. Bohdan was stripped of his attire and his pathetic naked body was shaved until every inch of skin was visible. The door to the witch house was still open to provide enough light to perform the delicate operation, and several Bohemians had begun to congregate outside to watch the ordeal.

To his credit, Bohdan remained silent during the shaving despite the fact that Thies nicked his skin several times. It was somewhat gruesome to watch, but Godke never looked away and so I tried to steady my gaze.

When he was done, Thies handed me back the razor and I pocketed it once more. Thies returned to Bohdan’s side and used a small cane which he had evidently kept hidden somewhere in his great brown coat to direct Bohdan’s body around as Thies scanned it with his attentive green eyes. Quite what he was looking for I don’t know, but Bohdan began crying during the inspection and Godke had to growl at the young man several times in order for him to remain compliant.

‘I couldn’t find it,’ Thies said after several minute of searching. Every bodily crevice had been searched and I noticed that Jaromil had been watching through the door. His face was a distortion of various emotions, none of which I care to name.

‘Find what?’ I asked.

‘The Devil’s mark,’ Godke said. ‘Some witches can make them invisible.’

‘What is the Devil’s mark?’ I asked.

‘All witches have the mark. It means that they have a pact with Satan,’ Godke responded, before turning to Thies. ‘It’s already late. And this room has no light. Perhaps we should continue this tomorrow when the sun rises.’

‘Yes, Godke,’ Thies responded obediently.

The three of us left the witch house and the crowd outside quickly dissipated. Gunnar was still holding Jaromil’s leash.

‘What should we do with this little runt?’ he asked.

‘We should kill him,’ Thies said and I was somewhat shocked. The man was a chirurgeon, after all. Back then, in 1618, the only death I’d seen was my father’s, but now I was recognising that death was commonplace.

‘No,’ Godke said. ‘We need to do this properly, legally.’

That was another lesson for me, but not one which I fully comprehended at the time. Nonetheless, at Godke’s instruction Gunnar bound Jaromil’s wrists and led him to the tavern where we arranged for food and lodging for the night. There were seven of us now but only six beds in the room, so Godke made Jaromil sleep on the hard wooden floor. It was an old, weather-worn building. Whenever Jaromil shifted in his sleep the floorboards made an awful groaning noise, and Thies would smack him across the body with his cane until the groaning stopped.

When dawn came Godke awoke me, Jacob and Thies, and we left the room quietly. Gunnar and Hurland stayed to watch over Jaromil while we made the brief walk to the stables. Thies and Godke piled a varied assortment of wooden and metal devices into a closed-topped basket. The razor I’d brought Godke in the previous day lay in the carriage where I’d left it after the confrontation with Jaromil. Jacob took only one item from the carriage: a beautiful set of wooden rosary beads that he told me had belonged to one saint or another. I shrugged my shoulders in apathy: though I had been raised Catholic, I cared more for the champions of Hurland’s tales than the Christian saints.

My mind was still plagued by curiosity, and as we walked to the witch house I talked to Godke to try and learn more. ‘Why should we not kill Jaromil?’ I asked.

‘It’s important that we avoid becoming enemies of the Emperor,’ Godke said. ‘So we must try and follow as many laws as possible so that the rulers of towns and kingdoms think well of us.’

‘I know that,’ I said with the arrogance of a child. ‘But you told me yesterday that we are entitled to the wealth of the deceased unless their family attempts to defend it. Shouldn’t we kill Jaromil before he attempts to defend his brother’s wealth?’

‘He already tried.’ Godke smiled at my curiosity. ‘Jaromil is only a child. He poses no threat to us except that if we kill him it may stain our reputation.’

I nodded as if I understood, but in reality I simply wanted vengeance. Jaromil had attacked me and I had fled. How could I think that I would be able to kill my enemies when I had run from a mere child? Sometimes, as an older man, I think back on the thoughts I had on that day and I’m scared to think how quickly Godke had corrupted me from a naïve, virginous child into an angry and sadistic young man. He deserved my contempt. On that day were planted the maiden seeds of my contempt for him. Or perhaps I was simply uncovering the feelings that I’d already possessed but hadn’t taken notice of in the maelstrom of confusion that had engulfed my life.

We entered the witch house and I was told to stand guard by the door. I wondered why Godke did not task Gunnar with this tedious duty today as they had done yesterday, but I could still hear what was happening inside the witch house so I did not make a fuss. Occasionally I could look inside if my curiosity got the better of me, but I tried to keep watch on the quiet morning street.

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‘This holy relic will resist the perjury of the Devil,’ Jacob murmured, and Godke translated what he was saying into Bohemian for Bohdan’s benefit. ‘We are going to use pain to force out the Devil. Let us pray.’

The three of them recited the Lord’s Prayer and I joined them though I was not required to do so. My father had often made me recite it and it was comforting to do so now in this alien environment.

‘Will you confess to being a witch?’ Jacob finally asked, and I assume that Bohdan refused for Jacob left the room without the rosary beads and stood guard beside me.

‘What is happening now?’ I asked him. I could hear Godke speaking in Bohemian.

‘Thies usually begins with the screw, that’s why he brought the basket,’ Jacob responded.

‘The screw?’ I asked.

Jacob made the sign of the cross before responding. ‘The thumbscrew. It crushes the witch’s finger or toe by tightening a metal vice on it.’

Sure enough, a few moments later Bohdan began to moan in pain. I glanced inside and saw that Thies had placed the thumbscrew over Bohdan’s right big toe, which was now taking on a purple hue and an unnatural elongated shape.

Godke gave the man another chance to confess, but he refused and Godke left him to Thies’ mercies.

‘We should find something to eat,’ Godke said and we walked back to the tavern. Hurland and Gunnar had already eaten, but they sat at the table with us nonetheless as we ordered our food. It was a warm evening, and the uncomfortable heat was only multiplied by the close confines of the tavern, and the large number of people packed into the small space.

‘No luck with the screw?’ Hurland asked us over the din of the other patrons, and Godke shook his head.

Gunnar had his eye on one of the serving girls, a redhead only a few years my senior. I was too young to notice her, but if memory serves she was likely very pretty. ‘I wish Thies would hurry up.’

‘No,’ Godke said, shaking his head again. ‘Not yet.’

I didn’t understand what they were discussing but I was too hungry to ask. Thankfully the food soon arrived and I noticed that the serving girl had brought me a very small pitchfork to eat with. I’d never seen such a thing before, and Hurland saw me eyeing it.

‘It’s a fork,’ he said. ‘A fanciful Italian eating invention. You poke it into the food and then use it to transport the food to your mouth.’

I frowned, but attempted the manoeuvre anyway. It was successful, and I grinned fondly at the cutlery.

‘What will we do if he doesn’t confess?’ I asked, and Gunnar laughed. This time I was not annoyed. I was becoming accustomed to his eccentricities, and was even beginning to find his constant good cheer comforting.

‘They always confess,’ Godke said, shovelling food into his mouth.

‘They do?’ I asked, and Godke nodded. ‘But what about if someone says someone’s a witch but they’re not?’

It was a childish question, but Hurland answered it for me. ‘If we find the Devil’s mark, then we don’t need a confession.’ I had already assumed that, but he continued. ‘But if they’ve hidden their mark, then the Devil has a strong grip on them and we must use the powers of prayer and of pain to drive him out. Once the Devil has been forced out of the witch, they always confess.’

That made sense, and my worries ceased. I was too young to be cynical, and I was distracted with the delights of the Bohemian cuisine. Gunnar had ordered a large mug of ale, and much to his amusement I did not decline his sarcastic offer to drink it. Though it tasted foul, I wanted to prove my resilience and so I downed as much of it as I dared. No doubt it was this poison that led me to act as rashly as I did afterwards.

Gunnar and Jacob were sent to the witch house to assist and guard Thies while I went to the quiet Pilsen marketplace with Hurland and Godke. My head seemed more loosely connected to my shoulders and I had to be steadied at several points. My companions were wracked with almost involuntary laughter and did not see any danger in it.

Yet when I stood with Godke before a metalware stall my more primal thoughts took hold of me as I was reminded that I was at the market beside my father’s murderer. Though time had seemed to pass more quickly since the tavern, it suddenly slowed for me and I realised that I hated Godke. I hated the way he talked to the vendor as if he hadn’t been the man to kill my father and steal me from my home in Bielefeld. I hated the way he filled me with food and ale and led me around the city streets like an adopted pet. Most of all I hated the patronisation of his assumption that by making me his acolyte he had made up for the damage he had done to me.

I recalled one of Hurland’s tales from the Bible, which he’d told while we were travelling through Germany. The tale was that of David and Goliath. David was much smaller than Goliath, but he’d defeated him in single combat. Just like how I had to kill Godke. I still liked him, and I still knew that he rescued me, but that didn’t change the fact that he was responsible for killing my father. And I hated him for it, and I hate him for it to this day.

It was this sudden burst of adolescent emotion fuelled by a virgin’s taste of ale that led me to grasp a nearby metal eating fork and attempt to plunge it into Godke’s abdomen.

Though he had no warning of the attack, Godke had the presence of mind to simply step back and I fell onto my face, losing the fork in the process. I tried to get to my feet quickly, but stumbled in the dirt and eventally Godke lifted me up by my shoulders. He dragged me away from the market and left Hurland to negotiate with the vendor.

‘What was that?’ he asked me. Though my challenge had posed no threat to him he was still angry at the betrayal of his trust. He’d thrown me a lifeline after I was left an orphan at Bielefeld, and though he must have expected that I’d remember who made me fatherless I guess that he had hoped that my young age and his tutelage would erode any thoughts of vengeance.

‘You killed my father!’ I shouted and he dragged me even further away from the market.

‘Karl!’ he shouted, but I interrupted again.

‘You killed my father!’ I repeated, and he slapped me across the face. It stung, but I remained silent as he knelt and spoke to me.

‘Karl, honourable men do not kill other honourable men by stabbing them in the back, or when they’re not looking. You must make your opponent aware of your intentions, and defeat him in combat, man to man.’

‘Why?’ I asked.

‘It is the way of things. If you kill an honourable man by dishononourable means, you dishonour yourself and you will become an outcast.’

I shuddered at the thought of being an outcast: I had only just become a part of this new family and the prospect of solitude was a fresh nightmare I had no desire to experience.

I fell to my knees in shame but Godke grabbed me by the shoulder once more and lifted me back to my feet. I was sorry for what I had done, but my regret stemmed from the dishonour of my means and not from the attempt itself. Godke had to die, and this was becoming clearer with every passing day.

‘Karl, promise me that you will not try to kill me without facing me in honourable combat. Promise me that you will not stab me in the back or from a dark alley,’ Godke said, and I swore on my father’s grave that I would not act with such dishonour again. I meant it too. I wanted to do the right thing, and assassinating a man as a coward was not something to be proud of. Defeating an opponent in single combat could create a reputation and maintain one’s sense of honour and ethics. Despite my young age, I knew from my father that reputation mattered, as he had always said that the reason people bought his linen was due to his reputation.

After I’d finished speaking, Godke said only one sad thing in response. ‘I always knew I’d die to the family of one of the many that I’ve killed.’