The flaming horse
My name is Jan Šembera of Boskovice and I was once one of the richest men in Moravia. If you don’t believe me, ride out and take a look at my castle in Bučovice. Its dazzling magnificence will tell you all you need to know: my word can be trusted.
In the latter half of the 16th century the entire land knew my name. If a man became my enemy, I wasted no time pussyfooting around. I simply hammered him into the ground. When Lord Zikmund Prakšický of Zástřízl, insulted me, I ran him through with my sword, just as the drunken dog deserved. And this is how I dealt with everyone. My sole cause of grief was this: instead of a son, I had two daughters. Not the end of the world, you may think, but what made matters infinitely worse was that, if there were to be no male descendants in our family line, my foolish ancestors had pledged all our property to the Minorites in Brno. That was never going to happen!
I had the abbot summoned on the pretext of making some addendum to this self-same deed. The foolish monk came and entrusted me with the records. In front of his very face, I threw them into the roaring fire. Take that! Curse me as much as you like!
But when the time came and my soul departed this life, the devil came for me. The foul monster. He came for me in a coach. Well, perhaps we could sort out some arrangement, so I climbed in and we set off. But instead of coming to an arrangement, the devil had prepared a horrible punishment.
He transformed me into a blazing horse, and every night, on the stroke of midnight, I had to carry him through the streets of the town. Giddy up, giddy up! Faster Šembero!
Ha ha ha! With these words he would twist back my reigns and force me to clatter along Cejl and onward to Obřany, where we were swallowed into the earth itself. And so, every night I gallop Brno’s streets with this beast upon my back until someone finally releases me. Well? What are you waiting for?!