Her father’s words pierced Anika’s conscience. She should have been hard at work on Master Hus’s sermon, but she had been enthralled with The Art of Courtly Love. Not that she expected to be courted by a nobleman, but she enjoyed reading about a way of life she would never experience.
A thoughtful smile curved the priest’s mouth. “Ah, you are too good to me, Ernan O’Connor. I know you will work hard on my sermon while other work goes begging, and I cannot pay what you need to provide for your daughter—”
“God smiles upon us, and we have not gone hungry,” Ernan answered, pushing sweat from his forehead up into his mop of auburn hair. “And if the truth is to be told in this troubled time, a book is far more willing to speak than many a man.”
“Well said.” Hus lifted a hand toward Anika, then turned to her father and lowered his voice. “In fact, Ernan, I have also come today to speak a private word in your ear. If there is some errand your daughter could run—”
Anika felt a blush run like a shadow over her cheeks. When would they stop treating her like some sort of fragile flower? Only a moment ago the preacher had noted her sophistication, yet now he was willing to send her away as if she were only a simple child. What news could he bring that she could not understand or imagine?
“Sure, and I was just wanting to send Anika out with these books,” her father said, pointing to a wrapped parcel on a stand near her desk. He turned to her and gestured toward the door. “Anika, me wee bird, those books are to be delivered to the new rector at the university.” Standing, her father laced his fingers behind his neck. “Be sure to place the books directly into the rector’s hands. They are too valuable to be entrusted to anyone else.”
“Yes, Father,” she murmured, hoping the discontent in her voice would not spoil the preacher’s opinion of her.
Hus winked at her as she stood and tied her cloak around her neck. “I apologize for sending you away,” he said, his mahogany-colored eyes softening.
“I understand,” she said, trying to force a smile. “You have something to discuss that has nothing to do with me, so it is best that I am out of the room.”
“On the contrary, my dear, the news I bring has everything to do with you,” Jan Hus answered, the smile suddenly leaving his eyes. “And for your safety, I think you should allow our friend Sir Petrov to escort you to the university. I will see you later, perhaps when you have returned.”
Petrov rose stiffly from his stool and gathered the bundled books into his arms. “I will finish the story I began for you,” he said, opening the door for her with one hand as he balanced the books with the other. “As I recall, the lady had just tumbled into the stream, and I stood there with only a broadsword to protect her honor.”
Anika gave Petrov a fleeting smile, then turned and curtseyed to Master Hus. She lingered near the doorway as long as she dared, hoping to catch some clue of what he intended to discuss with her father, but he picked up one of the wax tablets and pretended to read it, clearly indicating that he would not speak until she was well away.
With a heart burdened by care and curiosity, she reluctantly moved through the doorway, allowing Petrov to take her arm and lead her along the slanting streets of Prague.
Though he was happy to serve as Anika’s escort, Petrov had no inclination to wait with her for the rector. Naturally impatient and burning to know what matter had compelled Master Hus to seek privacy, Petrov asked the rector’s housekeeper to send the girl home with a trusted chaperone, then took his leave of the two women. He quickly retraced his steps and entered the bookshop without knocking. Ernan O’Connor and Jan Hus were deep in conversation over the copyist’s worktable, and neither man even seemed to notice that Petrov had reentered the room.
“So you see how it is, then,” Hus was saying, all traces of humor gone from his eyes. “Your daughter is old enough to marry, and more than a few men have noticed that she is pleasant and comely. You have done well to raise her alone, Ernan, but what plans have you made for her future?”
“Why shouldn’t she spend her future here with me?” Ernan’s face brightened to a tomato hue. “I’ve taught her to read and write four different languages. There’s not a lass within a hundred miles of Prague who has read as many books! And she can quote the Scriptures in Bohemian, French, or even English. I would have taught her Gaelic as well, but there’s not much call for me mother tongue around these parts. I had planned that we should continue together in the business—”
“You have done a fine job, and I’m not disputing her virtues,” Hus interrupted, putting out a soothing hand. “But the idea of a woman in trade is absurd. She will need to marry, and what womanly skills have you taught her? The bread you ate for lunch today—did she bake it? Does she know the least bit of what a woman should know in order to become a wife?”
Twin stains of scarlet appeared on the copyist’s cheeks. “She can read a book as well as you, Master Hus, and translate it, too.”
“Be honest, Ernan.” The preacher looked up and shot Petrov a glance that clearly said, Help me out. Uncertain which end of the debate he should support, Petrov lowered himself to the corner stool and crossed his arms, waiting to see whose was the stronger argument.
“Anika will work with me.” Ernan gave the minister a forced smile and a tense nod. “She has no need to marry. Together we make a good income, and no scribe in Prague does a better job of book copying. The university students pay her by the column—sixteen columns of sixty-two lines for a penny, what an income! And Anika handles the book rentals—soon the rentals will bring in as much as the copying. As long as me daughter has her books, she will not starve.”
“What if she wants to marry?” the preacher countered.
The copyist’s steel-blue eyes widened with astonishment. “Why would she? She has a home here, and a father to provide for her.”
“She may want a home of her own. She reads the romances; your daughter may even yearn for a husband … and love.”
Surprise siphoned the blood from Ernan O’Connor’s face. Petrov sat still, his heart contracting in pity for a loving father who had suddenly realized that his daughter was no longer a child. In truth, Petrov himself had been dreading the day when Anika would leave them, but he had not dared think that time might be fast approaching.
“I respect you, Master Hus,” Ernan said, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion, “but I cannot thank you for bringing this notion to me house. Anika has no need to marry; she needs nothing. She has been provided for—each book in those chests yonder is worth its weight in silver. I spent fifteen months copying the Scriptures in the engraved chest; the book is mounted on wood and overlaid with gold leaf—”
“Ernan, I can see that I’ve upset you, and it was not my intent to do so.” Hus paused to look at Petrov. “And I am glad that you have returned, my chivalrous friend. Though you no longer use your sword, your knowledge of the nobility may help us in certain days ahead.”
Petrov nodded silently, aware that his pulse had quickened.
Hus squared his shoulders, then turned to face Ernan again. “I did not come to you about Anika, Ernan, because I want you to find her a husband. If you want to enjoy her sweet presence in your home for a few more months, who am I to tell you that you should not? But do not let your eyes deceive you. You may see your daughter as a child, but others see her as a grown woman, and a most lovely one.”
“Priests—” Ernan spat out the word, “are not supposed to notice such things.”
The preacher’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Priests are men, too, Ernan. But I did not come today to warn you of a priest. I came to tell you that unless you consider marriage for your daughter and see her safely betrothed to a husband, other men may be inclined to consider her for less honorable purposes. I have overheard—how, I cannot say—that a certain youth of Bohemia has noticed your daughter’s beauty. He has even taken to following her in the streets.”
“What?” Petrov’s pensive mood veered sharpl
y to anger. “By the hounds of hell, I will discover this youth and pull out his spying eyes!”
The preacher lifted his hand. “That would not do, brave Petrov, though we appreciate your courage and devotion to our Anika. No, what is needed here is not violence, but knowledge. Ernan, you must make a plan for your daughter. If she is willing to be wed, you should set about finding her a suitable husband of whom you approve. The knave I spoke of is of noble birth, and while he would not be likely to take your daughter as his wife, he would not hesitate …” the preacher’s eyes slid down to the table top, “to use her in an ignoble fashion.”
Petrov glanced at his friend; Ernan’s face had become a glowering mask of rage. “Who is this who dares to think of me daughter in such a way?”
“You do not have the power to control young men’s thoughts, Ernan, any more than our fathers could control ours when we were young and unsettled.” Hus pressed his slender fingertips to the table. “But you must do your part to keep your daughter safe. Make it known that she is betrothed, even if the marriage is two or three years hence. Make it clear to any who would ask that she lacks neither purpose nor protection. Men are less likely to steal an innocent lamb if they know both the herdsman and the owner are standing guard.”
Comprehension broke upon Ernan’s face like a spring breaking forth from under a sheet of ice. “I will heed your words,” he said simply, gripping the edge of his worktable. “I will begin—tomorrow—to find a suitable match. But this must not be rushed. Anika herself must be consulted.” He pushed himself up from the table, his muscular arms trembling. “I love my daughter, gentlemen, and won’t be marrying her off to just anyone. And if you will excuse me, I must fetch a cup of water from the bucket upstairs. There is much I need to consider.”
“We will leave you to your thoughts,” Hus answered, rising. As Ernan turned toward the back staircase, Master Hus looked at Petrov and gestured toward the doorway. Without speaking, Petrov stood and turned to follow the minister.
“Grace be with you until we meet again, Ernan, my friend,” Hus called, opening the door. “Do not hesitate to send word if you need me.”
The copyist waved a hand and muttered as he moved up the stairs, but Petrov did not hear his reply. With surprising force for so slender a man, the preacher propelled Petrov through the doorway.
When they were safely within the camouflaging noise of the bustling street, Hus took Petrov’s elbow and pulled him away from the copyist’s shop.
“Where did you leave the girl?”
Petrov blanched. “With the rector’s housekeeper. I did not know she was being followed.”
“Go there at once, and personally escort Anika home.” Lines of concentration deepened along the preacher’s brows and under his eyes.
Petrov felt his pulse quicken. Was the threat really so great?
“If she is truly in danger,” he said, one hand automatically going to the silver sword hanging at his waist, “will you tell me who this wayward lout is? A hunter warned is a hunter forearmed.”
The minister’s eyes clouded with hazy sadness. “I did not want to tell Ernan, lest he confront the youth or the youth’s father at an inopportune time.” Hus lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. “And you know fathers, Sir Petrov. Wisdom often flies out the window when a daughter’s safety and honor are concerned.”
Petrov did not know much about fathers, having never been one or known his own, but he warmed to the implied compliment in the preacher’s words. “You can tell me the lad’s name,” he answered, nodding. “And I will guard Anika and her father with my life, if necessary. The loyalty I once swore to Lord Honza I yield now to you. May God strike me if I fail in my duties to either the girl or Ernan O’Connor.”
The preacher clapped his hand on Petrov’s shoulder. “You are a good man, Sir Knight, and I knew I could confide in you. The youth who concerns me is Miloslav, son to Lord Laco of Lidice.”
“Lord Laco?” Petrov’s breath caught in his throat. The previous Lord of Lidice had been a foe of Lord Honza’s, and the name still made Petrov’s heart pound. The present Lord of Lidice had to be descended from Petrov’s old enemy, and apparently this Miloslav was cut from the same traitorous cloth.
“I have heard it suggested,” Hus went on, his brows drawing downward in a frown, “that the youth fancies our Anika. He has been told that Ernan has no great fortune, therefore the daughter might be compelled to seek employment as a serving maid.” His eyes caught and held Petrov’s. “I do not need to tell you what sort of service Miloslav has in mind. Unfortunately, the nobility think that lesser folk have neither brains nor morals, and they are not above taking whatever they desire.”
“Do not fear.” Petrov spread his feet and stood before the minister with the solidity of a fortress. “Anika will not be harmed. I will not let the young man within twenty paces of her.”
“But we must guard against Anika, too,” Hus warned, lifting his hand. “She is a romantic. She yearns for the love she reads about in books, and Miloslav may know the words to win a girl’s heart. He is a handsome lad, and if she were won with lies and flattery, even so virtuous a girl as Anika might be brought to ruin and despair.”
“I would die before I would allow her to be hurt, Master Hus.” Petrov placed one hand across his chest and rested the other upon the priest’s arm. “I have known the girl since she was a wee child of six or seven, and upon my oath as a knight, I promise both you and God that I shall protect our Anika.”
“Do not forget to guard your tongue,” Hus warned, nodding. “Do not reveal to Ernan O’Connor the names of either Lord Laco or Miloslav. Members of the nobility often visit his shop, and with one slip of the tongue he might place his life and his daughter’s virtue in danger. If he were to erupt in anger …” Hus let the sentence trail off.
“Ernan O’Connor shall never know the lad’s identity,” Petrov answered, his heart swelling with a feeling of purpose he had thought long dead. “As you trust in God, Jan Hus, you may trust in me.”
Two
Unrest moved like an ill wind over Prague as the papal legate arrived in the city. Citizens who attended the Roman churches knew about the papal bull and Pope John’s awful curse against Ladislas. Those who attended Hus’s Bethlehem Chapel had heard enough to realize that the pope’s messenger would stir the smoldering fires of controversy and distrust. Rumors of a coming confrontation between the pope’s prelates and the Bohemian preacher spread through the city like a wind-whipped grass fire.
Tucked away in the bookshop, Anika heard the rumors, too, but paid them little attention. Jan Hus had been in trouble with church authorities before, and his quick intellect won every debate. On the first Sunday in May, she rose with the sun, then slipped into her best dress, an emerald, floor-length gown with an empire waist and a simple white collar. Long flared sleeves with dagged edges extended to the floor, accenting her slender waistline.
Frowning at her reflection in her mirror, Anika brushed her mane of long red locks, then separated the stubborn strand of white hair and quickly plaited it into a delicate braid. She pulled it up and over, then pinned it beneath her hairline on the opposite side of her head. She had been troubled by this unusual white streak for years but lately had begun to arrange her hair in this braided fashion. Worn like this, under a veil of crispinette, the discolored braid appeared to be a false hairpiece cunningly tied into her own hair. No one had ever commented on it when she wore her hair this way, and when she worked in the shop she tucked the offending streak up inside her cap so no one could see it.
Finally ready, she pulled back the curtain that separated her sleeping compartment from the rest of the family quarters. Her father sat on a chair by the table, already dressed for church. Apparently his thoughts were not fixed on worship, though, for his eyes were directed at a pamphlet in his hands, and his face had gone brick red.
Anika lifted a brow as she approached. “Good morrow, Papa. I trust your dreams were more pleasant than your
present thoughts.”
“By all the saints, Daughter, Cardinal D’Ailly plans to attend services at Bethlehem Chapel today!”
Kneeling by the hearth, Anika reached for an iron poker and shoved the charred remains of last night’s log onto the still-glowing coals. Despite the advent of spring, the morning air still snapped with cold.
“Perhaps nothing will come of it,” she told her father. “Our good Master Hus will not want to make trouble. He yearns to make peace with those who oppose him.”
“Hrumph!” was her father’s only reply.
Later that morning, as Anika sat next to her father in the large hall known as Bethlehem Chapel, she blinked in amazement to see that her father had heard correctly. A red-robed cardinal, one of the virtual rulers of the Roman Catholic Church, sat in a front pew to the left of the pulpit. Beside him sat a richly dressed nobleman Anika did not recognize, and beside the nobleman fidgeted a young man probably only three or four years older than Anika herself.
Jan Hus seemed not to notice that his congregation included more illustrious company than usual. He mounted to the lectern and led his congregation in rousing song, into which Anika joined with her customary jubilation. The uplifting song, one Hus himself had written, inspired her worship, but her thoughts were distracted from their heavenly plane when her eyes fell upon the youth seated on the cardinal’s pew at the front of the church. He was attractive, she supposed, with clear blue eyes, classically handsome features, and a secretive expression. Reflected light from the chapel windows glimmered over his blond hair like beams of icy radiance, and indomitable pride shone through the eyes that caught and held her gaze.
For a moment he looked at her with an interested and somewhat surprised expression, then his mouth took on an unpleasant twist. As Anika went mute with surprise, his lips puckered—and he sent her an undeniable kiss, in front of her father, the entire church, even Holy God Himself!
Anika lowered her head, coloring fiercely. What was he doing? What if someone saw him? What if someone thought she had invited such a greeting? They would think her the lowest kind of wench. No honorable woman would offer her attention to a man while her thoughts ought to be turned toward God!
The Silver Sword Page 4
