“Ready, steady . . . ” one man said with a voice much more calm than it should have been.
And Zdenek watched as the Royalist soldiers made their approach. He let out a loud cry as he hurled his lance, not even following its trajectory as he spun to grab for a stone.
The Royalists were only mildly deterred by the defensive maneuvers of the men and women in the forts. It would only be a matter of time. And they all knew it. But they fought ever more fiercely as the cavalrymen gained ground toward the forts.
All of a sudden a loud scream pierced the air.
Zdenek could not help but glance in the direction of the noise.
Apolena, Eva’s friend, grabbed for the last lance at their disposal. “Let us show them our courage! Let them feel our conviction!” she cried.
A few of the men roared their agreement, and the small band moved to squeeze out of what little protection the fort offered.
“No,” Eva screamed, rushing after her friend.
Zdenek’s legs moved underneath him more quickly than he thought possible, and he intercepted Eva before she stepped outside.
“Apolena,” Eva called. “Come back!”
Zdenek held her still. “You can’t go after her. She is already dead.”
Eva cried then, sobs shaking her body.
Torn between consoling Eva and returning to the desperate fight, Zdenek spun her to look at him. “Eva, we can’t. Too much is at stake. We must keep fighting.”
Eva stilled her body and nodded, pulling back from his arms. Then, grabbing yet another stone, she made for the opening with fresh determination.
Zdenek followed her. And he wished he hadn’t pushed her so soon. For they were at the window-like openings in time to watch as Apolena and the few men who followed her came around the fort to face their enemy.
“No true Christian must ever retreat from Antichrist!” Apolena shouted. Then she charged forward, lance in hand, into the thick of the cavalry.
Zdenek closed his eyes against the reality of such senseless deaths. And prayed Eva did the same.
For it would only be a matter of moments before they joined them.
Thirteen
War
Pavel moved about the streets of Prague. How much longer would it be? How much longer would the Royalist army taunt them? He would much rather engage the enemy and be finished with the whole thing. Waiting was difficult.
And now it was Zdenek’s turn in the fort. Pavel prayed for his safety and trusted God would watch over him. All the same, he did not like being separated from his friend. It also made Radek tense. Quite tense. The man had become overly agitated these last few days. All the more so since Zdenek’s shift in the fort began.
“Prominte prosime!” a voice behind him shouted.
He knew that voice. Turning, his eyes confirmed it was Radek. His friend pushed through the somewhat crowded street. Something was amiss. Radek’s eyes were wild and his movements hurried.
Pavel stepped forward to intercept him. “Tell me, friend? What has you so disturbed?”
Radek’s harried eyes met Pavel’s. Fear had settled there. “They have come. The Royalists are attacking Vitkov Hill.”
Pavel wasted not one more moment. He moved in the direction from which Radek had come—the direction of the Hussite soldiers’ camp. His pulse quickened, but he fought down the wave of apprehension with a prayer for strength.
Moments later, he arrived back at the camp with Radek in tow.
General Zizka barked orders at his men, mobilizing the soldiers and militia.
They obeyed without question as they had been trained to.
Pavel did not stop until he reached his horse. Mounting easily, he urged the animal to Zizka’s position. He only hoped Radek would follow suit.
As he listened, Pavel discerned Zizka’s intent for the Hussite army to march up the southern slope of the hill to join the fight, while he and his small band of guards and comrades would go ahead by horseback to intervene for those in the forts.
Zizka gave his final command and looked to the men closing in around him—his bodyguards and longtime comrades.
“General, may I go with you?” Pavel pulled his horse alongside Zizka’s.
Zizka’s eye fell on Pavel. His gaze was stony and cold. But then softened. Did he recognize that it was Pavel’s friend in the fort this day?
The general nodded and refocused on his men, firing off a few short instructions. Then he rallied them around himself and raced toward Vitkov Hill.
They climbed the gentler southern slope. As they neared the top, Pavel spotted the Royalist cavalry attacking the bulwark. The narrowness of the ridge prevented the enemy army from making a broad attack or flanking the forts. If not, the Hussites would surely have found a massacred and defeated stronghold. As it was, the forts held, if only barely.
Zizka, with a loud cry, plunged into the fight. There was such might in him that Pavel doubted anyone would be able to stop him.
If this man had the courage to drive into the fray, then what was to keep Pavel from doing the same? God was with him. Ducking his body, Pavel gripped his sword tighter and pushed his steed into a vulnerable space in the flank of the cavalry.
And there was great fight in them. Amongst the clashing of swords and cries of the wounded, Pavel knew that Zizka’s men inflicted great damage. But the Royalist’s numbers were too great.
In the few breath’s space Pavel was granted, he watched the scene before him. The small contingency Zizka led was nearly overcome. How would they prevail?
By God’s might! They must. They would. But Pavel’s mind told him that his faith could not save them from imminent defeat without miraculous intervention.
Oh, God! Send Your mighty hand to sweep away our enemy!
In the chaos, Pavel sought out Radek. Their eyes met. Radek’s were hollow and his face weary, dismayed. Pavel felt it in his own spirit, too. But he would not go down easily. No, he would fight until the bitter end.
* * *
The tensions in Tabor ran high. But the battle had been theirs. Rozmberk was defeated. And Alex had proven useful after all. He and his men defended his manor and lands against Rozmberk’s men.
But now the house fell quiet. How long would it be before Marketa and Karin were returned? His inquiries after them led to precious few answers. He was assured they had been taken to safety. And that word was sent to their protectors it was safe for them to return.
Still, the silent days stretched.
Alex busied himself helping those in Tabor that were in need of assistance. Some had been left without anything. And in the absence of the priests, there were many needs to be seen to. His estate, though situated a fair ride from the main city, was perhaps the closest barony to the collection of Hussites.
He admired their desire to not be governed by the nobility as he admired their fervor after God, but he was unsure he could see the sense in it. These people had needs. And they needed an earthly lord to see to them.
Still, they insisted they could collectively see to each other.
And so, day after day, he sent provisions as necessary and rode into the town to see to the people.
But after some time, his concern after his wife and daughter-in-law had so greatly grieved him that he had maintained constant vigil for these last four days together, neither setting foot off the estate nor eating much, so great was his burden.
Perched high in the watchtower, he kept his eyes to the horizon. Would it be today? Would word come today?
He refused to become overly concerned after their fate. No good could come from that. Once one allowed his mind to wander into that territory, it would not end. Faith and hope were one’s best companions in these situations.
Yet as the days passed and word of the crusade in Prague reached Tabor, he could not help but entertain the possibility that he might not see Marketa or Karin again.
Closing his eyes, he allowed that prospect to sink in and then dismissed it. For he was n
ot a man of dismay. He was a man of faith.
Gazing back to the horizon, he spied movement. Two figures appeared on the farthest hilltop. And faith once again proved the victor.
* * *
Pavel wearied as his sword clashed again and again. The spark in him began to dampen. Was there no end to the Royalist cavalrymen? He glanced at Zizka as the man’s sword plunged without relent. And he marveled once again at the warrior who led this group of misfits. But it would be no matter in the end. They had fought a good fight, valiantly, for their God. But, pending a miracle, they would succumb to their enemy.
Shouts and singing voices surrounded them, a thunderous sound. Pavel was stunned into inaction. Had it come from the forts? No, the voices were too many. The Royalists? No, they seemed equally confused. Pavel scanned the area and saw the source—the Hussite soldiers and militia had come!
Led by a priest, they shouted battle cries and sang hymns as they came from the left. The hill’s slope had prevented them from being seen until they were almost to the crest, but their voices carried into the heat of the battle.
The enemy soldier beside Pavel covered his ears and cried out as if in pain. As Pavel watched, the man’s eyes widened and he pulled on the reins of his horse as if to back away from the approaching force of men.
But it wasn’t just this soldier. A great number of the Royalist soldiers reacted in kind. The men backed away until they neared the edge of the northern slope and its steep drop-off. Why would they react in such a way? Were they so afraid of the approaching Hussites?
The Royalists still outnumbered them. What did they fear, then?
Pavel continued to stare in disbelief as a large number of the cavalry, with some help from the Hussite army, were forced off the side of Vitkov Hill.
Just like that, hundreds of cavalrymen were dead.
* * *
What had bewitched the Royalist cavalry, Radek did not know. But they reacted strangely to the sounds of the Hussite army as they sang and shouted. Was it due to the enemy army’s lack of familiarity with one another? They were a collection of various armies. Was it the unfamiliar ground on which they fought? Was it the lack of a battle plan and their inability to make adjustments? Or perhaps they were superstitious and feared the chanting of these men?
Or could it be that the hand of God truly was with the Hussites and had struck some unearthly fear and confusion into the hearts of the Royalist cavalrymen?
Radek narrowed his eyes, watching as the men inexplicably fell off the steep northern slope to their death, and could not discern a reasonable answer. And so he sat in his saddle, sword drawn, not knowing what to do. Many of the Hussite cavalrymen and soldiers moved to assist the enemy in their folly as they journeyed toward the treacherous edge.
Either way, all eyes were on them. This might be Radek’s best opportunity to execute his plan. A plan that had been laid out long before. A plan he had been unable to carry out while Zdenek and Pavel’s well-being were uncertain. But they were safe now.
A part of him wished he could see his friends once more. What would that yield but more questions he couldn’t answer?
Radek pulled his horse’s reins, directing the animal toward the southern slope. But something gave him pause. Turning his head, he saw that Zdenek had stepped out of the fort and into the open.
Their eyes met.
Did Zdenek know?
The horse shifted underneath him, but Radek held Zdenek’s eyes.
His friend raised a hand to bid Radek come.
Radek shook his head.
Zdenek’s brows furrowed.
The girl, Eva, came from the safety of the fort to stand by Zdenek, and Radek’s resolve strengthened.
He jerked the reins and kicked at his horse’s flank. The animal leaped into action, carrying him down the slope and toward the Royalist camp. Working off his outer clothing containing any hint of his connection with the Hussites, he made sure his defection was complete.
* * *
The Hussite army continued to engage the enemy.
Metal scraped on metal behind Pavel. A sword being unsheathed? He whirled around, his own sword at the ready.
Steel clanged and his weapon blocked a deathblow from the attacking soldier. When he met the man’s eyes, his heart stopped.
It was Stepan.
The brown eyes that were once so familiar now glowered at him with anger and hatred. As they lit with recognition, the weight of Stepan’s sword lifted and the weapon withdrew.
Pavel stared in disbelief at his once-friend. Though Stepan had struck with an upper hand, it was Stepan’s life that was in grave danger. He fought to keep from being pushed off the ledge.
Still, Stepan did not plead for his life. His eyes remained cold. But something more flashed behind their hard surface. Regret?
Pavel did not speak, but lowered his sword and shifted his horse out of the way, gifting Stepan a route of escape.
Stepan’s eyes widened for just a moment. He glanced around himself and then pushed his horse through the narrow opening.
Pavel did not watch him go. He dropped his head and let out a breath, wanting to release the emotions coursing through him.
The Hussites did not let up with the retreat of the Royalist army. They took up a great chase, pushing the remainder of the enemy across Spitalske Field to Vlatava River. There, Royalist soldiers foolishly tried to swim across the river in full armor only to drown.
Pavel wondered if Stepan was among them. A part of him, however, prayed Stepan was among the number that made it across and back to their camp. Hopefully never to be seen again.
* * *
A shiver shook Karin though her flesh was quite heated from the summer’s warmth. She leaned forward from her relaxed position on the chaise lounge and rubbed her arms. What had brought on the shaking of her body that lifted her from sleep?
Thinking back on the images from her dream, she conjured a visage of Pavel. She did so ache for him. If only it were his hands that soothed her! But it was not. Even then, he was many miles away in battle.
Her heart was heavy at this thought. Lord, be with him. This prayer had become a familiar chant, almost reflexive. Still, it calmed her to pray and she continued to do so.
Resting back on the chaise, she gazed out the window at the moonlit sky. How had she drifted to sleep in the lounger? Had no one come to prepare her for bed?
Shouts in the hall drew her attention. They came nearer. She clambered to her feet, striding across the room toward the door, but it burst open before she was midway there.
“The stables are on fire!” Nicol screamed. Her face flushed. She trembled from head to toe.
Karin jerked back, the blood draining from her face. Fire? Here? She and Marketa had just settled back into the estate after the Rozmberk scare, and now they were to be plagued thusly? How massive was the fire and how far had it spread? What measures were being taken to put it out?
Nicol waved Karin to the door. “Please, my lady, we must away at once!”
Lifting her skirt, Karin tarried no longer. She followed Nicol through the door and into the hall.
“Where is your master?” she demanded as they two raced to the stairs.
Nicol did not respond.
Karin turned Nicol to face her at the landing.
Her maidservant shook with fear and there were tears in her eyes.
Setting a hand upon her shoulder, Karin offered what support she could. “Nicol, I must know where the baron has gone. Will you take me to him?”
“I do not know, my lady. But I think he is at the stables, seeing after what can be done to fight the horrid fire.”
Karin’s eyes widened. Yet did she expect anything different? “And what of the baroness?”
“Sharka has gone to retrieve her. We are under strict orders to see you to safety in Tabor.”
Karin nodded. They would be safe there. But would Marketa go without Alex? Should they? Or should they stay and attempt to assist in the figh
t to save the manor?
“You must see to the baroness. I am going to the stables.”
“My lady, you must know I cannot. I would be horsewhipped if I let you . . . ”
Karin’s eyes flashed. “I assure you that will not happen.”
Nicol stumbled. Was Karin’s gaze so intense?
“Make haste!” Karin raised her voice. “Get the baroness to safety. Or I shall see you whipped.”
“Aye, my lady. As you wish.” Nicol scrambled to right herself and moved back up the stairs.
Karin stepped down and coughed, her eyes began to sting. The air in the house took on a different quality. The fire must be spreading! She wagered it best to exit through the servants’ hall and out of the estate in that direction. Then circle back around to the stables.
Once she stepped outside, she saw the black cloud that choked the left side of the grounds. More smoke than she had imagined. The fire had claimed much. As she rounded the corner and the stables became visible, her heart sank. They were a loss.
The men now worked to contain a blaze sweeping the eastern wing of the Krejik’s home. Surely they attempted the impossible.
Karin sank to her knees, paralyzed by what was before her. Who had done this thing—targeted them in such a malicious way? Had this foe intended to burn them alive in their beds? As much as she wished to aid in the fight against the angry flames, she could not make her limbs move. So she settled further into her seated stance and prayed.
* * *
As the last of the Royalist soldiers disappeared from view, a great shout went up from among the Hussites. Zdenek and Eva descended Vitkov Hill and joined the others in Spitalske Field.
The fighting had come to an end. Against all odds, the forts held. Contrary to what should have been, the Hussite cavalry held out for reinforcements. And when it should not have happened, the Royalist soldiers spooked and fell to their own deaths.
If there had not been enough evidence of an Almighty God watching out for the Hussite army before, there was now.
The Lady And The Hussites (The Lady Bornekova Book 2) Page 21
