Bohemian Gospel

by Dana Chamblee Carpenter

  Mouse woke to the sound of voices. She held herself still, listening.

  “I am sorry, my Lord,” Mother Kazi said quietly. “I can tell you little about it.”

  “How did she come to the abbey?” Ottakar asked.

  “Her nursemaid brought her.”

  “And did the nursemaid say nothing about her family?”

  “Nothing.”

  Mouse could hear the lie in Mother Kazi’s voice and heard her heart skip as she told it.

  “She . . . she came from somewhere in France,” Mother Kazi added. “And she had several pieces of a woman’s jewelry to offer the abbey. She said it belonged to Mouse’s mother.”

  Mouse heard the chair scrape the floor as Ottakar shifted. “What kind of jewelry?”

  “Necklaces, rings, bracelets, clasps. Mostly gold. Some silver.”

  “Gems?”

  “Yes.” Mother Kazi gave her answer reluctantly.

  “Then she does come from a noble family.”

  “My Lord, there is no way to know that. The nursemaid might have stolen the jewels. The girl might have been hers all along.” Another lie.

  “What do you believe, Mother?”

  “What I believe is of no consequence, my Lord.”

  Mouse moved, letting them know that she was waking. Lord Rozemberk was asleep by the window. A faint light shone through it. Dawn. She had slept through the night. No dreams. No screaming. Some part of her uncoiled a little at the hope that the dark things had lost her scent, but she feared that they might still be haunting the Brothers and Sisters at the abbey.

  “Vok, it is time to ready the men,” Ottakar said as he walked toward Lord Rozemberk.

  Mouse moved stiffly to the table, her muscles sore from yesterday’s ride and sleeping on the stone floor. She grabbed a piece of bread and a cup of wine.

  “Good morning, little Mouse,” Mother Kazi said, her voice full of conciliation.

  Mouse took a bite of bread.

  “Sleep well?” Ottakar asked, coming back to the table and reaching over her to take a piece of bread himself.

  “Did you?”

  “Quite well.”

  Mouse laid her hand on his forehead. “No fever.” She smiled.

  “Permission to ride then, physician?”

  “Permission granted.”

  “May I take Mouse for a little while before you leave, my Lord?” Mother Kazi asked.

  “Of course. It will take the men an hour or so. And I must ready myself.”

  “You will be able to ride longer if you do not wear the hauberk,” Mouse said over her shoulder as she left the room.

  Mother Kazi led her to the outer parlor and wasted no time. “I know you are angry with me, Mouse. But I do want to help you.”

  “I do not need your help.”

  “Yes, you do. You cannot go to court like that.”

  Mouse looked down at her stained surcoat and muddy mantle.

  “I have laid out some clothes from a girl who has just come to us. Her family is often at court in Prague, so these should be fashionable.” Mother Kazi lifted a deep blue gown from a stack of clothes on the chair. “And you must wear shoes. Here.” She handed Mouse a pair of soft leather slippers and some wooden pattens.

  “No. I bare my feet for penance like Father Lucas.”

  “You are not a monk, Mouse. You are part of the King’s court. You will be expected to wear shoes and dress properly.”

  Mouse looked down at the elaborate clothes. “I do not know how to put them on.”

  “I will send a Sister to help you dress.” Mother Kazi stood to leave.

  Mouse ran her fingers along the fine gold ivy embroidered along the collar and cuff of the gown. Still hurt and wanting to lash back, she grabbed Mother’s Kazi’s arm. “What do you know of my parents?”

  “You know I know nothing,” Mother Kazi answered warily.

  “You are a liar.”

  “Mouse! You should—”

  “Do not tell me what I should do. You no longer have that right. And I can hear your lie here.” Mouse reached out to touch Mother Kazi’s chest, but the old woman flinched. Mouse pulled her hand back. “Why are you afraid of me?”

  It was more a plea than question; Mother Kazi’s fear wounded her. Mouse balled her fists defensively.

  “You are not supposed to use your . . . gifts. Father Lucas has told you, has taught you—”

  “I cannot help what I hear or see or smell. That is part of who I am. Why does that frighten you? I love you, Mother.” She sat down on the chair, crying.

  “I love you, too, child. And I am not afraid.” She winced, knowing that Mouse would hear that lie, too. She knelt in front of the chair and pulled Mouse to her. “This will be very difficult for you. Court is different than anything you know. Watch what others do. You learn fast. You will be fine.” She was trying to reassure herself as much as Mouse.

  Mouse nodded, tears still rolling down her cheeks. “Will you—” She pressed her hand against her lips, trying to get the words out. “Will you tell Father Lucas where I have gone? When he comes back and I am not there?”

  Mother Kazi stood. “Let the abbey go, Mouse. Do not look back. Do what is right. Father Lucas and I have worked hard to fill you with goodness, and you are . . . you are a good girl, Mouse.”

  The telltale skip in Mother Kazi’s heart exposed the last as a lie, too. But Mouse didn’t have the courage to ask what she was if she wasn’t a good girl.

  SEVEN

  They had been on the road for three days when it happened.

  Mouse was sore from riding; they were mounted each day by sunrise, and they made camp not long after noon. The King would never call them to a stop so Mouse did. Reading the pallor of his face and how he held himself, she knew when the pain of his ribs was too much. The men assumed it was she who slowed them down, and she let them think it. She was surely glad to be off the horse anyway, and the quiet moans every time she moved her legs were real enough.

  The men thought other things, too, when she lifted the talon of the massive eagle embroidered on the front of Ottakar’s tent and followed him inside each afternoon. That she came out reeking of mint and chamomile did not alter what they imagined. She could hear their whispers, lurid enough to make her feel the shame even if she never committed the sin. She could see the lust in their eyes as they followed her from the King’s tent to her own.

  Mouse spent her time inside the claustrophobic space, pacing. She felt like a bridled horse in the clothes Mother Kazi had given her; the wimple pulled so tightly at her chin that she fought to eat or speak. Fortunately, she felt little desire to do either except when she was with Ottakar. They talked about stories and science, Ottakar full of plans for bringing new ideas to Bohemia, Mouse often referring to something Father Lucas had said or some book he had shown her.

  “It seems an unusual relationship for a Norbertine canon to have with a girl,” Lord Rozemberk said one night as they ate. Lord Rozemberk was nearly always with them.

  “What do you mean?” Mouse spat back.

  “I understand that the Norbertines are not allowed familial attachments so that they may give their whole heart to the Church.”

  “How could his kindness to me weaken his love for God?”

  “Perhaps you have mistaken charity for kindness.”

  Mouse bit back her anger. “He is the only father I have ever known or will likely know.”

  “I envy you the father you have, Mouse,” Ottakar had said quietly.

  She’d cried herself to sleep that night, feeling very alone in the world and sure that, given the way Mother Kazi behaved, she would never tell Father Lucas where Mouse had gone. Mouse doubted that she’d ever see him again.

  She had woken later, swallowing a scream from a nightmare—the squirrel was crawling after her in disjointed jerks like some lost golem looking for its master. She sucked in a breath of stifled air heavy with the scent of mint and dead squirrel. The smell came from the new mantle Mot
her Kazi had given her; it was lined with squirrel fur.

  Mouse tossed the mantle out of the tent and yanked at the wimple tight against her neck. Afraid she would never be able to get it back on right, she had left it alone, even sleeping in it. But now she was free, the cool air brushing against her bare neck, soothing her.

  And so it was the next morning, as they mounted to ride the rest of the way to Prague, that Mouse wore only a simple veil pinned in her hair, leaving her ears open to the birdsong, the clack of the hooves, the sounds of the forest. Her unnatural hearing no longer muffled by the layers of scratching cloth, she heard everything. And it saved them.

  “Protect the King!” she screamed. The horses nearest her shied, and the men just stared at her. But Mouse kicked her horse, racing the sound of the coming flight as she tried to reach Ottakar first.

  “Shields!” Lord Rozemberk commanded, and the ring of men around the King tightened into a circle of flaming eagles as wooden shields clashed. The other men kept riding, confused and squinting as they searched the sky.

  “Down!” one of them yelled as he spotted the first arrows. But it was too late. A couple of men dropped from their horses, grabbing at their necks.

  Just as Mouse reached Ottakar, one arrow sank into her horse’s flank and another in its throat. The horse tumbled with a scream, throwing Mouse over its neck as it fell. She rolled, slamming against a large linden tree, and scrambled behind it, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of her.

  “Ride! Ride!” Lord Rozemberk ordered. As the horses surrounding the King took off with him nestled safely in the center, Lord Rozemberk swung his mount toward Mouse, his arm stretched out to her. “Get up!”

  She ran to him, grabbing his hand and jumping to the back of the horse just as a new flight of arrows descended, one piercing Lord Rozemberk’s arm. She threw her arms around his waist as the horse raced down the slope after the others. Mouse could see towers in the valley and knew it must be Prague. She looked behind her but could see no one in pursuit.

  Froth hung from the horse in white streaks by the time they rode under the arch of the gatehouse. The huge wooden doors rammed shut behind them, and the horse reared as it ran up against the others just inside the courtyard. Lord Rozemberk nearly kicked Mouse in his hurry to dismount, but she wasn’t far behind him as he ran toward the center of the melee.

  “Move!” he shouted. “Let me pass.”

  Mouse wove herself through the gaps Lord Rozemberk made until he stopped abruptly. She heard Ottakar but could not see past the men.

  “Just a race, guardsman, a bit of fun to see who could reach the castle first, right, lads?” Ottakar’s men hooted assent, ready to follow his lead.

  Lord Rozemberk turned a little toward Mouse and whispered, “Pull the shaft before the guard sees.”

  She wrapped her hand around the fletching and yanked; it slipped free easily, as she knew it would, leaving the arrowhead imbedded in his arm.

  “Vok, it seems you owe us all a wager.” Ottakar said it heartily enough, but Mouse could hear the strain in his voice. “What kept you?”

  “The girl lost her seat, my Lord.” Lord Rozemberk stepped aside, leaving Mouse exposed. “I thought you would want me to fetch her.”

  The men laughed. Mouse chewed at her cheek and clenched her fist tightly around the shaft she kept hidden at her back.

  “She is hurt,” Ottakar said, and Lord Rozemberk turned to look at her, too.

  Mouse looked down, studying her body for injury; she seemed whole, but then she felt the stinging and raised her hand to her forehead. It came away bloody.

  “Get her to a room,” the King ordered, and Lord Rozemberk grabbed her arm, pulling her with him as they cut through the men toward a large stone building that turned into a dark alcove and then a black wooden door.

  “Take her to my chambers. Go the servant’s way,” Ottakar hissed as they stepped into a hallway with stairs leading to the right and another doorway to the left.

  “Where are you going, my Lord?” Lord Rozemberk asked.

  “I want to be seen in the Great Hall, robust and healthy,” he barked and then headed up the stairs.

  Mouse followed Lord Rozemberk though narrow halls and up some stairs that finally opened at the end of a larger corridor. They went in a door opposite the small stairwell. The room was as large as the whole of the women’s dormitory at Teplá. A massive bed rested against the wall across from the fireplace, a table and chairs stood nearest the door and another seating area was at the far end of the room. It was cold, with no fire lit, and dim with sunlight filtering through the slats of the shutters on the windows. Mouse blinked as Lord Rozemberk opened them.

  “Bring water and wine and get a fire started for the King.”

  Mouse thought he was talking to her, but as she turned back to the door to go fetch his water and wine, she saw a tall young man standing behind her. He bowed and left. Lord Rozemberk sat down heavily in a chair near the table, grabbing at his arm.

  Mouse pulled out a small leather case from her bag as she knelt beside him.

  “Leave it,” he muttered, jerking away from her.

  “By the saints, you are a stupid man!” she said. “This will come out. Now hold still.”

  She tore at his shirt to get to the wound.

  “Shall I call for the King’s physician?” The young man had come back with a pitcher in each hand.

  “No,” Mouse and Lord Rozemberk said in unison.

  “Just hand me the wine,” Mouse added.

  She poured it over the wound and then over what looked like a metal spoon with its handle split and curled to either side; it had a hole at the top. She took her knife, cutting across the wound to widen it, and then slid the spoonlike tool past the arrowhead until she felt its tip slip into the hole. She pulled slowly, easing the arrowhead out until it clanked onto the floor by her knees.

  Ottakar came as she was finishing her stitching. He poured himself a cup of wine and dropped into a chair on the other side of the table from Lord Rozemberk. Mouse looked up briefly to find him staring at her.

  “My enemy is watching us closely to know our travels so well, or else there is a traitor besides Gernandus among us,” Ottakar said.

  “Or both,” Mouse mumbled past the needle she held in her mouth.

  “And how was your father?” Lord Rozemberk asked the King.

  “Not here.”

  “What do you mean? He summoned us to Prague. Where has he gone?”

  “To Austria. The nobles are not happy with Rome’s choice of a duke for them.”

  “What do they want with your father?”

  “I imagine one or the other of them has his own claim and wants my father’s aid in taking it.”

  “Surely they are not interested in him as duke?”

  “I do not know, nor do I care. What I want to know is who is trying to kill me.”

  Lord Rozemberk grunted. “Luka, is Evzen here?”

  “No, Uncle,” said the young man who had brought the wine.

  Ottakar pushed himself back in the chair, shifting his weight from the wounded side. “Vok, you did tell Evzen to come to Prague once he had questioned Gernandus’s family?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “They live in Plzen—less than day’s ride away. So why is Evzen not here already?”

  “Dead, most likely,” Mouse said.

  “A pretty picture you paint,” Ottakar answered.

  “Better than him being a traitor,” Lord Rozemberk added.

  “Yes, except that we must look to our men for another,” the King said bitterly. “Unless you have something to tell me, Vok?”

  Lord Rozemberk jerked around just as Mouse finished tying the dressing.

  “What say you, my Lord?” he asked hotly. “You question me and not this girl?”

  Mouse sat back on her heels and kept her eyes on the floor.

  “What do you mean?” Ottakar asked.

  “It was she who calle
d out the warning, long before there was any sign of attack.”

  “So I have Mouse to thank, again, for saving my life?”

  “She could have been signaling the attack. It was she who wanted you to go without armor.”

  “If Mouse wanted me dead, she could have done her job less well the other day and faced no blame.”

  “Well, then Gernandus must have told her when and where to expect another attempt on your life.” Lord Rozemberk sounded flustered. “How else can you explain how she knew the attack was coming when none of our men did? They have been in battle. She is just a girl.”

  “Mouse?”

  She looked up and sighed. She had no answer but the truth, and she knew how ridiculous it would sound. “I heard them.”

  “You what?” asked Lord Rozemberk.

  “I heard the whistle of the arrows.”

  “And how would you know the sound of a volley of arrows? Have you been to war, then?”

  “I may not have been to war, Lord Rozemberk, but I am not a stupid girl. I heard something that did not fit. It only took me a moment to understand what it meant.”

  “You cannot have heard them from so far away and before my men,” he growled at her.

  She looked at him calmly though her heart was thudding. “I have good hearing, Lord Rozemberk.”

  Ottakar laughed. “And I am glad you do!” Mouse turned, smiling; his eyes trailed up to the blood streaking her face, and he lost his mirth. “Is it deep?”

  She had forgotten about it, used to letting her body mend itself as it always did. She ran her fingers along the gash. It was a finger long and had most likely gone to the bone, but Mouse could tell it was already closing. She shook her head.

  “Luka, show the lady to a room and send a girl to see that she has what she needs,” Ottakar ordered.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  Mouse was about to argue that she needed to change his dressing and apply a poultice, but she bit her tongue. Clearly the King did not want anyone at Prague to know that he was being hunted. She would keep his secrets. And, anyway, he had the court physicians to use now.

  “You did not mean to call me traitor, my Lord,” Lord Rozemberk said coldly as Mouse followed Luka out of the room.