Eva laid a hand on hers and squeezed it.
“Hopefully we’ll catch up to Commander Zizka’s army soon enough.”
* * *
The massive house seemed almost cavernous. Baron Alexander Krejik walked the halls and heard nothing but the sound of his own footfalls. It would not have felt so empty, he was certain, if his son had not left to claim his role in this war. When Pavel was here, the walls echoed with laughter and merriment. Now all was silent.
Pavel’s wife, Karin, kept to her room and the study. They would see her only at meals. Marketa longed for she and Karin to reach better terms than the simple politeness they now enjoyed, but that kind of relationship required time. Even he wished he could do something to help Karin feel more included. Maybe then these halls would not feel so empty.
It was not just Karin that had disappeared these last several days—he noted that his wife felt less at ease moving about the house. She, too, kept to her solitude. What had made her such a hermit? On occasion, she would walk out to the garden to see to its planting and tending, but that was the extent of her outings. This was not like her.
Alex felt it was up to him to do something. This was, for certain, out of his realm of comfort. He would much rather have gone off to war with Pavel if they would have him. But they would not. What did they need with an aged soldier? Something he would never tell his wife was that he had written to Commander Zizka offering his services along with Pavel’s. The man was mindful of Alex’s pride, insisting Alex could best serve their purposes at home while Pavel would be best utilized by Zizka’s side. While Alex was pleased to have his son do his duty, he was saddened at his own apparent impotence in this arena.
Just then, Alex passed near the study. The door creaked. It drew his attention. And he saw Karin emerge, a couple of books in hand.
“Baron,” she said, curtsying. “Forgive me, I did not see you.”
“It is no matter.” He offered her a smile, hoping to ease her anxiety. It did not seem to be working. “Did you find what you needed?”
“Did I . . . ?” She peered at him, confused.
He pointed at the books in her hands.
“Oh, yes.” She let out a breath. “Your library is quite extensive.”
“I am glad you are pleased.” They were once again plunged into silence. He broke it. “And your rooms? Are you comfortable?”
“Yes, my lord. I am quite comfortable.” She returned his smile then. It was a genuine smile as far as he could sense.
“Good, good. Have you had a chance to visit the garden this season? It promises to be every bit as beautiful as last year.”
Karin gazed toward the window at the end of the hall as if she could see the garden a full story below from where she stood, several feet away from the window. “No, my lord. I have not had the pleasure.”
He felt stuck. What should he do? Release her to return to her bedchambers and read? This was what she obviously intended to do. Or invite her on a stroll with him? And maybe, just maybe, get to know his son’s wife a little better. Though it would push him out of his arena of comfort, he decided on the latter.
Sticking out his arm, he offered her his best smile. “Then I insist I have the honor to show it to you.”
Karin’s eyes met his and he saw a hesitation in her.
Still, she slid a hand into the crook of his elbow and returned his smile.
And so, leading her, he walked down the stairs and out of the house to his wife’s most prized sanctuary.
They made simple conversation as they walked, and he discovered Karin was a lady who smiled easily and laughed heartily. He liked those attributes. She complimented the garden and its arrangement with such sincerity that he wished Marketa was there to hear it. Perhaps he would remember to share it with her later.
After some time in the garden, Alex escorted Karin back into the house and to her room. The dinner hour approached, and he was certain she would need to ready herself.
He did pause before releasing her hand. “Karin, you are free to move about the grounds and house as if it were your own. As you do not have your own house yet— a fact I hope to rectify soon enough—I do so hate to see you shut up in your rooms all the time.”
She nodded, her gaze settled on the floor.
“We miss him, too,” Alex said boldly, patting her hand.
Her eyes rose to meet his.
“I just mean to say that you are not alone.”
Karin’s head bobbed, and she bit her lip but did not speak.
Was she fighting tears? He saw moisture welling in her eyes. What could he do? What was appropriate? The tears came into being and fell down her face.
She leaned into his shoulder.
Had he offered it? Perhaps in his silence he had. He raised his opposite hand and patted her back. “It will be all right. God will protect him. We must have faith.”
Karin nodded into his shoulder. “I know. It’s just . . . not easy.”
He nodded. This was beyond his level of comfort. Marketa always managed these sorts of things. And he certainly couldn’t comfort Karin as he would his wife. But she was like a daughter. A daughter he never had. A daughter he had prayed for.
Closing his eyes, he imagined she was his blood daughter and embraced her, just allowing her to cry. He stroked her hair and whispered soothing words that made little sense. In time she did calm and then quiet.
Eventually she pulled back, wiping at her face.
And the spell was broken. She was not his daughter but his son’s wife. Still, she was more somehow.
Their eyes met and he offered her a warm smile.
She did her best to turn her mouth upward, her eyes glistening. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to—”
He shook his head. “Think nothing of it.”
Karin nodded before pulling in a deep breath. “I think I better prepare for the evening meal.”
“I will see you in the great hall, then.” He released her hand and started to turn, but paused. “Just think about what I said.”
Karin gave a slight bow of her head.
Then Alex walked away, back down the silent hall. He prayed this would be the beginning of a change in his home.
* * *
Pavel trailed behind Commander Zizka, eager to see these battle carts the commander had commissioned. They had spent a long morning finalizing their negotiations with the Royalist commander. Plzen was taken by negotiation instead of battle; they had fallen by choice. The Royalists granted them communion in both kinds—of bread and wine—and many Hussites were content to remain with those sanctions.
Zizka was not. It was no secret he’d had his eye on Usti for some time now. The Royalist commander granted safe passage to anyone wishing to leave Plzen. And they intended to leave—but not before Commander Zizka showed off his battle carts.
As they walked on, Pavel could make out a looming object in the distance. Still, it wasn’t as massive as he had imagined. How could this simple wagon defend all their army? Chancing a glance at Zdenek and Radek, he tried to decipher if they were equally unimpressed. Their faces held neutral expressions.
“Come, come,” Zizka said, waving the men closer. He seemed almost giddy.
So the men took the steps that would close the distance remaining between them and the war wagon.
“Please, have a look.” Zizka raised an arm toward the wagon, inviting them to inspect it.
Pavel moved closer to the piece. Upon first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a conventional wagon with raised sides. Running his hand over the smoothed surface of the wood, he noted that the planking was about four feet off from the base of the unit. There were hinges on top of the side facing them and an extra board hanging down.
He twisted away and opened his mouth to inquire after its use when Zizka stepped toward them.
“This board can be raised like so.” He hopped into the wagon and lifted the side panel to elongate the sidewall. There were small openings in the panel at a
bout the level a man would be firing a crossbow or a hand cannon. In this way, he could do it with maximum protection, exposing only the parts of himself necessary to fire the weapon. Ingenious. Zizka then demonstrated how the side panel could be fixed into place for the duration of combat.
“This is a magnificent idea,” one of the other soldiers in the group spoke up. “But how many men can fight from one of these?”
“I imagine there will be about sixteen soldiers associated with each wagon: crossbowmen, gunmen, soldiers with flails, shield men, and, of course, drivers.” Zizka rattled off the list with such smoothness, Pavel had no doubt he had this all planned to the last detail.
But then, would one wagon truly make much of an impact against such an overwhelming foe?
“Excuse me, Commander,” another nobleman spoke up. “Did you say each wagon?”
“Ah, yes. Yes, I did. My intention is to have several of these wagons linked together in a circle with the remaining soldiers and cavalry protected within the center.” Zizka’s eyes lit up and his mouth curved upward.
Pavel was starting to get the vision. If they could set up something like that, would it be impenetrable? If so, it could mean the war for them. “How will you create a solid barrier?”
“You see how these front wheels are projected out from the body?”
He nodded. It had not escaped him, but he had thought perhaps it was a design flaw.
“This is so we can lock one front wheel into place with the rear wheel of the next cart. Then we can chain them together for stability. We can then post armed soldiers with shields in the gap.” Zizka moved around the cart as he explained it, trying to give the men a picture of what it would be like.
“But could not an enemy soldier gain access under the cart?” It was Radek that spoke.
Pavel was certain he had exposed a flaw in the plan.
All eyes were on Zizka.
The commander’s face broke into a smile. “You think like a man of war, my boy.” Zizka then came around to the extended side of the cart and reached underneath. Slung below the wagon was another hinged plank that fell as he released it. This closed off the space underneath and it even had the same firing slits pierced in it so soldiers could fire at the enemy from that position.
Pavel was eager to see the war wagons in action. Not that he was ready to rush into battle, but he felt more confident in their defensive position should they find themselves in combat in the near future. These were magnificent!
Zizka crossed his arms over his chest, which was visibly puffed out.
And rightfully so. This battle cart was everything he had said it would be.
“Any other questions?”
The men looked at one another and shook their heads.
Pavel sensed that the other men around him were, likewise, pleased.
“Then I shall bid us disperse for now. Collect your men and rally them together. Today will be a long one. We march north tomorrow.” Zizka gazed over his group of chosen leaders, nodding to them and clapping several on the shoulder as they parted from the group.
Turning toward Zdenek and Radek, Pavel motioned them closer. “I would be honored to have you fight alongside me.”
“We would not have it any other way.” Zdenek’s voice was bold and confident.
Radek simply nodded. Still a man of few words.
“I have been charged with leading the group from Plzen. We need to move through the camp and locate these men.”
Zdenek and Radek nodded.
“My campsite is on the far east side of camp. We shall rally there.” Pavel pointed in that direction.
Zdenek and Radek nodded again, exchanged a look, and then headed out into the camp on their errand.
Pavel thought he should join them in their task but then thought better of it. Perhaps he needed to take this time for solitude and prayer. He was going to be responsible for leading these men into a fight for their lives. Maybe not today, but soon. That weight lay rather heavy on his shoulders. And he could not bear it alone. Yes, prayer was going to be a necessary part of his role.
* * *
Stepan awoke, drawn to the light of the early morning rays slipping in through a crack in his curtains. It did not bother him. He welcomed the reminder that another day came in the midst of conflict. Everything was so twisted, and he felt it to his core.
Rising, he rang for his valet. The matter of dressing for the day was inconsequential. So routine, these things. They rather bored him.
Once the valet came and Stepan was prepared, he waved off the manservant while shifting his shirt collar. Need they be so high on the neck?
His father would be waiting for him to join him for breakfast in his study, but Stepan hesitated. Being with his father only left him more conflicted. It was as if his spirit could be as torn as their homeland.
But he could not escape this morning engagement. Nor did he truly want to. As much as his father left his insides a twisted, cluttered mess, he desired the man’s approval more than anything.
Taking a deep breath, Stepan made his way to his father’s study. Just as he expected, his father sat at the table, already engrossed in his breakfast.
“Dobry den,” Stepan said, taking his seat across from Vlastik.
A manservant stepped forward, offering to serve him from the platters of food on the table.
Vlastik made a grunting noise that resembled the Czech greeting but continued to focus on his food.
The two continued to eat in silence until Vlastik pushed his plate forward. Only then did he look across the table and meet Stepan’s eyes.
“The Pope has made it official.”
Stepan stopped chewing the bit of food in his mouth for a moment. Then he swallowed hard. “Official?”
Vlastik’s countenance dropped as if he were rather bored with explaining things to Stepan. “He has declared a crusade.”
What would this mean? There was already fighting. Loyal Royalists were already active, staging raids all over the Czech lands. What difference would this make?
Vlastik continued his explanation. “These skirmishes in Bohemia will now be an organized crusade to eliminate all of these heretics. It’s a good thing, my boy.”
“Could a unification of the Royalist forces lead to a unification of the Hussite forces?”
Vlastik’s face fell. Then his eyebrows furrowed and his face reddened. “They are a disorganized band of misfits. Farmers. Merchants. Untrained, untried, and without any real direction. What hope do they have against a royal army?”
Stepan sank back into his chair. He had not realized his wondering had been out loud. And he certainly had not intended to anger his father.
After a few moments, he raised his eyes to meet Vlastik’s. “Of course, Father. They will be defeated.”
* * *
As the servants passed dinner entrees, Marketa could not help but study her daughter-in-law. This had become habit. What were this woman’s thoughts and passions? It was clear Karin made her son happy. But what was it about her? Trying to remember that long-ago conversation when he spoke of Karin with such longing in his heart, Marketa attempted to gauge Karin’s finer qualities from those he might have highlighted. Marketa’s memory was not what it could be, however. And so, she was left with what she could observe about the young woman who had come to live in her home.
There were a few things she did know about Karin. The girl was polite, well mannered, and had at least a passing interest in reading. And she was a Hussite. That took courage. Pavel had said Karin even defied her family to follow her beliefs. The story got a little hazy when it came to the reasons she was sent to the chateau and the viscountess’s plot to kill her. It seemed a bit melodramatic. But what a story!
On this night, however, something had changed. Karin and Alex conversed more easily. Not that Marketa could hear much of what was said. This table was ridiculous in its length and they would not speak up. For one, Karin was more soft-spoken than should be allowed at s
uch a table. Alex did not help matters in that Marketa could only catch snatches of what was being said.
In the next moment, both Karin and Alex’s eyes were upon her. Had she said something out loud? Surely not. Had one of them said something to her? Yes, perhaps that was it.
“I apologize,” she said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “I did not hear the question.”
“Karin and I were discussing your garden. It is magnificent. Well done.” Alex raised his voice to an unnecessary level.
Marketa furrowed her brows. Why would he raise his voice so? She was not deaf, after all, just farther away than he had anticipated.
“Thank you,” she all but yelled back. “But I assure you, there is no need to shout at me. Just speak up.”
Alex and Karin exchanged a look. What was that about? More and more, people were doing that around her. She did not like it. Not one bit. But she must rise above it. Yes, instead of getting cross, she would just change the subject.
“Any word from Pavel?” She set her knife down and lifted her wine glass to her lips.
Karin met her eyes. “I received a letter just today. If you would like, I will share it after dinner.” Was it her imagination or was Karin speaking a bit too loudly as well?
Either way, she let her mouth upturn and nodded. “Yes, that would be nice.”
One of Karin’s sweet smiles spread across her face. This must have been one of the things that endeared her to Pavel. Marketa could understand. She was enchanting.
Though the meal continued in relative silence, Marketa was unable to focus on anything but the letter forthcoming. She was all too eager to hear about Pavel’s whereabouts. What was he doing? Was he safe? Would the letter bear bad news? Surely if anything was awry, they would have heard. Yes, she had no need to worry.
It was not long before the meal came to a close and the plates were cleared. Marketa focused on her husband who spoke.
“Shall . . . by . . . fireplace?”
She could not make out every word, but she gathered that he wished they all retire to the large solar.
Nodding, she pushed her chair back and stood.
The Lady And The Hussites (The Lady Bornekova Book 2) Page 5
