“I understand,” she whispered, plunging her hand into the warm water to pull up one of the tankards. “And I think I can see the wisdom in his decision.”
“As I can see the wisdom in teaching you to ride,” Lev went on. “And as a knight must demonstrate courtesy and largess to his companions, I would be happy to help you learn.”
“Squire Lev,” she had answered, handing him a dripping tankard, “I would be happy to accept your offer.”
A blush of pleasure rose to her cheeks now as Anika grasped the reins. After several days of practice, one lesson had sunk into her brain—riding was a matter of blending into the horse. She had been too frightened before, too stiff and afraid of falling off. But if she kept her eyes on the goal and did not stop to worry about how she got there—
“Slow him, Kafka!” Lev called, gesturing toward the place where the main gate and barbican met the road. “Here comes a rider!”
Anika obediently pulled back on the reins and brought the horse to a jerky stop, then dismounted and led the stallion back toward the gate. A rider would bring guards pouring out of the tower to hear his news, and she did not want to explain these private riding lessons. Maybe, she thought, pulling the stallion off the road, the rider brought a message from Petrov, telling her she could return home.
A sweat-streaked horse, gray as a thundercloud, came trotting up to the entrance to the castle barbican. The rider, who wore a black surcoat and dusty boots, tossed the reins of his exhausted mount toward Lev, then dismounted and pulled a parchment from a leather bag at his belt. “Lord John of Chlum,” he said simply, one brow raised in inquiry.
Anika was about to reply that the lord was in the great hall when at least a half-dozen knights appeared in the passageway, their hands hovering suspiciously above the hilts of their swords.
The visitor inclined his head. “Grace and peace to you, friends. I bring a message from a friend in Prague, a letter for Lord John of Chlum.”
“Who is your friend in Prague?” Novak asked gruffly, his thumbs tucked into his belt. “And what is your name?”
The man smiled but shook his head in disapproval. “My name is not important. And I am sworn to secrecy about this errand, Sir Knight. But I can tell you that I obey a lady who fears for her safety and the good of all Bohemians. The letter I bear is of dire import, and I have been urged to see it safely and directly into Lord John’s hand.”
Novak gave the stranger a grudging nod. “Enter, then,” he said, stepping aside to make way for the messenger. “But know that we are watching. With one word from our master or one ill-intentioned action from you, this day shall be your last.”
“Never fear, I mean you no harm.” A shadow of annoyance crossed the messenger’s face as Novak motioned for other knights to surround the stranger. “Just lead me to your master.”
Lev and Anika watched silently until the men passed into the castle. Then Lev tugged on Anika’s sleeve. “Let’s follow, Kafka,” he said, turning toward the kitchens. “We’ll sneak in through the back entrance.”
“Should we?” she asked, searching anxiously for the meaning behind the messenger’s words. The messenger had said the important letter came from a lady. Lady Zelenka? Lady Ludmila? Or some other titled beauty who sought Lord John as a husband? She really had no business in the hall, but since Novak and Lord John were involved in this mystery, it might not be unseemly for two squires to go see if their masters required anything.
Lev turned toward her, sensing her hesitation, but she tucked the stallion’s reins under her arm and grabbed his sleeve. “What are you waiting for? Let’s tie the horse and go.”
The parchment lay in Lord John’s hand when Anika and Lev crept into the hall, and Anika saw that a rigid, congested expression had settled on her master’s face. She felt a thin, cold blade of foreboding slice into her heart. This news, whatever it was, could not be good.
After a long moment Lord John looked up at Novak. “Our friend in Prague writes that Michael of Deutschbrod has been appointed by the pope as procurator de causis fidei in the case against Jan Hus. And our friend,” he added in a lower, huskier tone, “fears that Hus will not fare well. She writes that people in Prague are already calling this devil Michael de Causis.”
“What is that?” Lev whispered, turning to Anika. “I don’t understand Latin.”
“This Michael is the pope’s advocate in matters of faith,” Anika answered, her eyes searching Lord John’s face as he reread the missive. “Apparently he intends to prosecute Jan Hus.”
Lord John refolded the letter, then sat in silence for another moment, staring at the floor. Finally he lifted his eyes and gave his attention to Novak. “Sir Novak, my most faithful and sure knight, you must take a message to Jan Hus. He must come here for dinner tomorrow and stay for weeks, if necessary. His enemies are restless, and I worry about his safety if he chooses to remain in Prague. The streets are crowded—some cutpurse is altogether too likely to slice his throat instead of his purse strings.” He glanced next at his steward. “Demetr, prepare a chamber for our friend, and make whatever provisions necessary for his needs. He is a stubborn man, and if we must hold him here by force to save his life, we will.”
Finally he looked again at the messenger. “You must take this verbal message to our friend; I dare not send it in writing. Tell her she is a blessing from heaven and a most gracious lady. Tell her I am honored by her trust in me, and I will do all I can to ensure the safety of our mutual friend Master Hus.”
The stranger received this message in silence, then bowed deeply.
“If there is anything else you need, please speak now,” Lord John added.
“A fresh horse,” the man answered, folding his hands. “Nothing else. Unless, perhaps, the knight you are sending to Prague might escort me as far as the outskirts of the city. My lady thought it best for me to ride out alone, but I would prefer to have an armed man at my side for the return journey.”
“Shall we send a company, my lord?” Novak asked. “We could send a dozen knights—”
“No,” John answered with staid calmness. “Sir Novak, you will ride with him, and your squire, too. An armed company would rouse our enemies like a bugle, but no one will notice two men and a boy on the road.”
Anika took a quick breath of utter astonishment. She would be riding to fetch Jan Hus? She couldn’t! He might recognize her. She ought to see if Novak would take Lev instead.
But in spite of her worries, tender thoughts of Petrov rose in her consciousness. Why shouldn’t she return to Prague? She could stop at the bookshop and visit her father’s friend. In visiting as Kafka, she might discover if Anika could safely return home. She missed the old knight more than she had dreamed possible, and Petrov would know if Lord Laco had stopped searching for her.
Lord John stood in farewell; Novak and the messenger left the chamber through the main hallway.
“You’ve got to go!” Lev whispered, sending her off with a shove. “Novak won’t wait!”
“God in heaven,” she murmured a heartfelt prayer as she turned to hurry out the back entrance, “give me wisdom. And blind Master Hus so he will not see me.”
She looked up to find Lev at her side, his eyes wide with curiosity. She had foolishly spoken the prayer aloud, and he was certainly wondering why she had to hide from the famous preacher of Prague.
“I once committed a sin and confessed it to the preacher,” she said simply. It was the truth, for he had heard enough of her confessions to fill an ocean. “I am embarrassed lest he recognize me.”
Lev smiled and slapped her on the back. “Then take my hooded cloak,” he answered, pushing her toward the garrison. “And remain silent. Haven’t you noticed that men with much on their minds do not notice a boy who says nothing?”
Thirteen
Anika and Novak left the unnamed messenger at an intersection of roads outside Prague. Where does he go from here? Anika wondered, watching him trot away. To the home of Lady Zelenka or Lady L
udmila? Once the taciturn stranger had disappeared on the road, Anika began to beg her master for leave to visit Petrov.
“You know Sir Petrov. You met him the day I came to the castle,” she said, knowing that she walked a thin line between winning his permission and rousing his anger. “The old knight and I are close. If I do not see him today and tell him I am well, I may not see him for months. Surely God has sent this opportunity for me to go.”
“All right, be off with you,” Novak answered, waving her away as if she were an annoying mosquito. “But you must report to the preacher’s house before sunset. I will urge Master Hus to make haste, for we should begin our return to Chlum before dark.”
“I will hurry,” Anika promised, spurring her horse. The animal snorted at the unexpected touch of metal upon his flank and took off so abruptly that Anika’s head snapped back and she nearly lost her seat. She heard Novak laughing behind her, but she hung on tenaciously, taking grim satisfaction in the fact that she had not fallen. Novak thought her a clumsy rider, but she had come a long way in a short time. She would impress him yet.
The city was so crowded that once she passed the city walls, Anika had to dismount and lead her horse through the streets. Hordes of pedestrians clogged the roads; wagons and oxcarts and carriages jammed the alleys. Why had she never noticed this congestion before?
Her heart sang with delight when she turned onto the narrow street where her father’s bookshop lay. The building was just as she remembered it, although a little smaller than the place in her memory. Two students stood in the doorway, wax tablets in their hands and precious books tucked under their arms. Anika quickly tied the horse to a post and threaded her way through the students until she stood before Petrov.
He was studying a parchment upon which someone had written a line of figures that looked more like chicken scratches than proper writing. Anika waited for him to lift his eyes, and when he did not, she murmured a low greeting. “Grace and peace to you, Sir Knight.”
He raised his head, and his dark eyes flew open. “Little bird!” She saw that he wanted to embrace her, but thankfully, the table stood between them. She reached out and clasped his hand in both of hers.
“Sir Petrov, it is good to see you.”
His seamed face lit up like sunshine bursting out of the clouds. “What brings you to Prague? Is all well?” He leaned back in his chair, a frown puckering the skin between his eyes into deep wrinkles. “Is anything amiss?”
“I am fine. Nothing is amiss at Chlum Castle,” she leaned forward and lowered her voice, “but something is afoot in Prague, I fear. Lord John has sent me with Sir Novak to escort Master Hus to Chlum.”
Petrov leaned upon the desk and tapped his finger against the side of his head, thinking. “I have heard rumors but paid them no mind. Master Hus has not changed his behavior in church, so I am not surprised there is trouble.” His brows pulled into a brooding knot over his eyes. “’Tis a pity your father is not here to help me sort through these things! He always knew the state of affairs around our unfortunate preacher.”
“What rumors have you heard?” Anika spied her old chair behind a desk and slid into it.
A student in the doorway called for Petrov’s attention, but the knight waved the man away, then turned toward Anika and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “The preacher’s enemies have sent letters of complaint to the pope. Of course they have done this for years, but lately these letters have mentioned Hus’s condemnation of the pope’s fondness for granting indulgences. Though many of Hus’s fellow priests are forsaking his friendship, every day he gains new supporters among the nobility and common people. He has lit a candle in their hearts and minds, little bird. The truth of the gospel has shined in a dark place, and they will not go back to their old ways.”
“Tell me, Sir Petrov, is one of these noble friends a woman?”
The old man shrugged. “Surely he has many women friends, as well as men. But his enemies are the ones to be feared. They say that the cursed Michael of Deutschbrod has been appointed to bring Hus to Rome. They want Hus to pay with his life for his actions against the pope.”
“I have heard of this Michael of Deutschbrod,” Anika answered. “But only that he is the pope’s advocate.”
“He is a total knave, the worst sort of scoundrel,” Petrov answered, scowling. “If he were a knight, we would have turned him out and not allowed him to live. But he did not take the vows of knighthood—he swore instead to honor God. He was a parish priest who neglected his duties in favor of obtaining money by fair means or foul, it mattered not. For King Wenceslas he devised some method of working the royal mines, then absconded with the money entrusted to him. With his ill-gotten gold, he has offered his influence and unsavory skills to Pope John, and the devil himself could not use him more foully!”
“What will this Michael do?” Anika asked, an uneasiness rising from the bottom of her heart. “Is Master Hus safe in Bohemia? Surely he is, for unless he goes to Rome—”
“I cannot answer that,” Petrov answered. “Danger lurks everywhere, little bird.” For an instant a wistfulness stole into his expression.
“We can only pray and wait for God’s will to be done—just as I am waiting for a sign that you are safe and can return to me.”
Anika lifted her head, distracted from her thoughts of Jan Hus. “That I am safe? Surely you know I am.”
“I pray that you are.” Petrov lowered his head into his hands and kneaded his forehead as though it ached. “The day after I took you to Chlum, a pair of Lord Laco’s knights appeared here, demanding to know why you had not presented yourself to serve that nobleman.”
Anika’s heart thumped against her rib cage. “What did you tell them?”
Petrov lifted his eyes and looked at her, his mouth tight and grim. “I told them you had found employment elsewhere. They cursed me and left but went next to Master Hus’s house. The preacher told them exactly what I had told him—that you had found a position with a family in the country. But the preacher couldn’t tell them which family, and I wouldn’t tell them, so Lord Laco’s suspicions are not assuaged.”
“Why does he trouble himself on my account?” Anika asked, dismayed to hear a faint thread of panic in her voice. “Why won’t he leave me alone?”
“Because you are the one thing young Miloslav has desired and cannot obtain,” Petrov answered, a faint light gleaming in the depths of his dark eyes. “Be patient, Anika, and remain where you are. Be strong and well.”
“I will, Sir Petrov,” Anika promised, realizing that she found the thought of remaining at Chlum infinitely satisfying. She loved Petrov and wanted to be with him, but if she returned to Prague, she would miss Novak and Lev and Svec and those quiet hours after supper when she read to Lord John.
In penance for her disloyal thoughts, she glanced around to be sure no students or townsfolk lingered in the doorway, then leaned forward and gave the old knight a kiss on the cheek. As Petrov stammered a farewell, she hurried out to meet Novak and Master Hus.
By the time Master Hus had attended to his duties and said his farewells to friends in Prague, the molten orb of the sun hovered low over the western mountains. A cold wind rushed out of the mountains, urging travelers to hurry and find shelter.
Anika discovered that Lev was right. With her face safely hidden within the cowl of the hooded cloak and the additional cover of gathering darkness, Hus did not recognize her. He rode beside Novak, eager to refute Lord John’s concerns for his safety, his eloquent hands fluttering left and right as his mount’s ears flickered back and forth in a crazy pattern of annoyance.
Huddled within the heavy cloak, Anika remained silent on the journey. The preacher might well recognize her voice even before recalling her face. And as she bobbed up and down in the placid pace of the animals, she listened to the men’s conversation and learned a great deal about the preacher’s situation.
“The council in Rome has reaffirmed my excommunication,” Hus s
aid, lifting his eyes to the first bright star that shone from the cobalt vault of the heavens. “They have pronounced the great curse upon me. No man is to associate with me, no man is to give me food or drink, no man is to grant me a place where I might rest my head. Wherever I sojourn, religious services are to cease, and if I die on this journey, you are not to give me a Christian burial.”
“Well, we’d better pray you don’t die then,” Novak joked, laughing gently. “I would hate to tell my master I was forced to leave your body by the side of the road.”
Anika stiffened at Novak’s ungracious humor, but the preacher’s next words put her mind at ease. “It is a good thing I place my faith in the Lord of heaven and not the lords of the Church.” Hus dropped his hand to the pommel of his saddle. “My God is unchangeable and all knowing. He knows I could do nothing to merit his grace, and yet he has accepted me as one of his own. But these men in Rome expect me to submit to them before I can belong to the family of God. They proclaim that I am barred forever from entering heaven, but they would quickly change their opinions if I were to recant my beliefs. And so I will keep my eyes upon the One who changes not.”
“Even so, I am stunned by the severity of their sentence,” Novak said, turning sideways in the saddle to look at the preacher. “And I grieve for you.”
Hus smiled with beautiful candor. “Don’t grieve for me, Sir Knight. I am confident in my Lord.” The smile suddenly faded. “But I do worry about those who have no understanding of the truth. The most recent papal bull published against me is not directed at me alone. In order to punish all those who stand with me, the pope has decreed that Bethlehem Chapel—which he describes as a nest of heretics—should be torn down to its foundations. And as long as I reside in Prague, another interdict is proclaimed against the city. Again, there are to be no marriages, no Christian burials. Communion is available only to the dying. The people of Prague, I fear, will suffer terribly. For their sakes alone I have consented to accept your gracious master’s kind invitation and leave the city.”
The Silver Sword Page 14
