The Silver Sword (16 page)

“His family?” A gleam of interest lit her eyes.

“His sons. Lord John has two small boys, I forget their names. But I remember that three years ago Master Hus said a funeral mass for the Lady of Chlum. So you will have to deal with a master, his two sons, their tutors, the chaplain, the steward, the captain of the knights—”

“It all sounds very confusing,” Anika whispered, her eyes shadowed with doubt. “What if I offend one of those people or venture into the wrong place? I do not belong in a castle, Sir Petrov. I fear I shall never succeed. Perhaps we have made a mistake—”

“Enough!” For the first time in his recollection, Petrov felt irritated with the girl. She could not show fear. Anika had chosen this path herself, and even if he had not fully supported her at first, he did now. For years she had embodied all the virtues and ideals of knighthood, and in just a few days she had progressed remarkably in the basics of swordplay. She was prepared in dress and weapons, with his silver sword swinging from her hip and a sharp dagger in her boot, and she had received a blessing from the priest.

Petrov smiled as he recognized his emotion: pride. He had never fathered a son, but if he had, he would have wanted the boy to have the same bold heart that beat in this girl's breast.

He fumbled for her hand, then held it between his own. “Anika, do not fear. When you are at a disadvantage, forget your weakness and find your strengths.” An indefinable feeling of rightness filled his soul, and he struggled to share his sense of conviction. “Trust in God, trust in me, trust in the training I have given you.” He gave her a grin. “I think you will live to see the morrow.”

A
nika bit her tongue to keep from crying out as her boots clumped loudly over the wooden floor in Chlum Castle's great hall. Lord John's residence was all Petrov had said it would be, but in sheer size and vastness it overwhelmed every castle of Anika's book-fed imagination.

The castle's collective life obviously revolved around this spacious hall. Several different hubs of activity filled the chamber, and the sounds of people talking, laughing, even singing vibrated around her as she accompanied Petrov through the hall. She thought for a moment or two that her legs would fail her, but miraculously she kept going.

To her left, a group of knights loitered around tables, the remains of the day's dinner strewn over the rough-hewn surfaces. To her right, several richly dressed ladies were seated in a tight knot, their heads bobbing like the villagers' chickens as they clucked and chirped and clicked their embroidery needles against hoops in their laps. Directly before Anika a yawning fireplace, as wide and tall as a man, occupied center stage. Before it another cluster of people gathered around elaborately cushioned chairs, and it was toward this group that Petrov advanced.

Anika clung to him like a shadow, averting her eyes from the inquisitive glances lifting in their direction.

“Look there,” Petrov whispered as they walked, pitching his voice to reach Anika's ear and not a step further. “The man in the red
chair is Lord John. We will speak to him when he has finished talking with his guests.”

Anika blinked and glanced up for a moment, then lowered her eyes again to the dusty floor. The handsome man in the high-backed chair looked vaguely familiar. Then she remembered—he had spoken to her that ghastly morning she and Petrov appeared before the town council. She had been so flustered and upset that she had barely looked at him, and she fervently hoped that he had been equally distracted and would not remember her face.

Petrov halted a discreet distance from the master, and Anika dared to lift her eyes again. Two people stood before the lord of the manor: a pale woman in a silken gown and a grizzled knight exuding masculinity and anger.

But it was Lord John who caught and held her attention. Even seated, his was a compelling, self-confident presence. He wore an elegant pleated tunic with narrow fur cuffs, soft leather boots with fashionably pointed toes, and a simple gold band upon a finger of his right hand. A long fabric belt emphasized the narrow line of his waist, and a high stand-up collar accentuated his strong jaw. His glossy brown hair was cut short, and his patrician features gleamed in the light from two narrow windows on opposite sides of the fireplace.

All in all, Anika decided, he was a pleasure to look upon. But the expression on his face as he studied the knight before him indicated that he was mightily displeased with something.

With a discreet little servant's cough, Petrov warned Anika to be silent while the knight endured his interrogation. Anika took a half-step back, behind Petrov, so she could study the trio without being observed. The woman stood opposite both the lord and the knight, the third point in a triangle that clearly pitted her against one man or the other—or perhaps both. With her hands on her slender hips, she gazed at both men in a silent fury that spoke louder than words.

“Tell me, Lady Zelenka,” Lord John said, turning his gaze
toward the young woman, “exactly what Sir Novak has done to cause you such distress.”

“Well!” The young woman, wearing a fashionable and expensive double-horned headdress over a wealth of blond hair, tossed her head. “If I must explain myself to you, my lord, perhaps you have no regard for my feelings at all. I said this man is impertinent, and I expect you to act on my behalf.”

“I am not unaware of your feelings,” the master answered smoothly, turning to his knight, “but Sir Novak has served this household for nigh on fifteen years, and I have regard for his feelings as well as yours. So if you could explain the cause for his impertinence, perchance I can discern where the problem lies. For I know Novak, and though patience is not his greatest virtue, I believe he would sell his soul before intentionally displeasing me.”

“He …” The lady lifted her chin and met the knight's icy gaze straight on. “He called me an insolent cat.”

Lord John looked away and pressed his lips together. For the briefest instant, Anika thought he was biting back the need to laugh.

“Did you, Sir Novak,” he said after a moment, his voice now heavy with rebuke, “refer to Lady Zelenka in such a way?”

“My lord,” the knight met the noblewoman's accusing eyes without flinching, “if I did, 'tis no more than she deserved. I was trying to help her into the carriage, and she wouldn't budge unless I carried her over a puddle betwixt the carriage and her threshold. Well, my lord, I've faced the Saracens in the Holy Land, and I've fought with vagrants and scoundrels in the woods, but I've never willingly taken a she-cat in my arms, and I was not about to start this morning. You command my honor and my life, Lord John, but you'll not command me to carry a wench in ladies' clothing—”

“I have heard enough,” John answered, cutting his knight off with an abrupt nod. He averted his eyes from both parties to the dispute and stared at the floor, then folded his hands. When he spoke at last, he lifted his eyes to the lady. “My dear Lady Zelenka, I offer a thousand apologies for my man's behavior. Sir Novak has not spent much time in the pleasant company of the softer sex, and his manners
are apt to be a bit brutish. Indeed, I should have sent a far more genteel knight to escort you. I pray you will forgive me for my shortsightedness.”

Still bristling, the lady shot a glance toward the unrepentant knight. “You speak very softly, Lord John, but what about this knave? Is he to go unpunished for this insolence? If you do nothing, how am I to know that the next knight you send me will not commit some worse effrontery? Are my sorrow and grief never to be assuaged? There is a price to be paid here, sir, and I think it best that you promise to pay it.”

The master studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “You have my word upon it,” he said simply, his eyes dark and unfathomable. “Sir Novak shall not leave this room until I have meted out his judgment.”

“A harsh judgment?” the lady snapped.

“A suitable judgment,” he amended, his eyes trained on her.

Partially satisfied, the lady turned toward the other women, her jaw tightening as she glided away. Lord John said nothing until she had been seated and enfolded by the ladies' conversation. Then he offered his knight a forgiving smile. “I'm afraid you must wait here, Novak, until I think of a suitable judgment for you,” he said, his voice dry as he peered around the vast chamber. A trace of laughter echoed in his tone. “Maybe I should have you escort the lady home.”

“Too harsh!” Novak protested, a smile in his voice.

Then Anika felt Lord John capture her eyes with his.

She looked quickly away, helpless to halt her embarrassment as Petrov's hand fell on her shoulder and prodded her forward.

“My Lord John of Chlum, grace and peace to you!” Petrov's age-crackled voice broke the silence that rang in her ears. “I, Sir Petrov of Prague, have a boon to ask of you. If, in token of the years I gave in sincere and loyal service to your father, you would but hear me—”

“Weren't you my father's captain?” Lord John straightened and motioned them forward, an arched eyebrow indicating his surprise. He gave Anika a bright-eyed glance, full of shrewdness.

“Yes.” Petrov bowed deeply from the waist. “By the grace of God,
I served your father from the time of my youth until his death. Since that time I have been affiliated with a book merchant and copyist in Prague, but I am ever true to the Almighty God and to the ideals I swore to defend in my vow of knighthood.”

Something in Petrov's words caused a warning cloud to settle on Lord John's features. “Which bookseller,” he asked, folding his hands, “did you serve?”

Petrov hung his head in a pose of sorrow. “Ernan O'Connor, who departed this life barely one week ago.”

“I know of the man,” John answered, nodding soberly. “He worked for Master Jan Hus. And he had a daughter …” his eyes flicked at Anika, then returned to Petrov, “about the age of this youth.”

“Aye, that he did,” Petrov answered, nodding again. “The girl has been set to work in the country. Another matter, Lord John, brings me to you today. The youth you see before you …” Anika felt the pressure of Lord John's eyes upon her, and she blushed, “is sixteen, and my ward. As you can see, your lordship, I am in no condition to foster a youth. And so I have taught the child what I know, and am quite certain that the heart beating in this young breast is as loyal and forthright as any on earth.”

Petrov stepped back and fell to one knee in a surprisingly graceful movement for a man of his advanced years. “If you hold any regard for me or for your departed sire, Lord John, I would beg you to consider taking this youth as a squire at Chlum Castle. Kafka is an orphan, without parents or fortune, but skilled in reading, writing, and languages. The heart you see before you is true, the eye sure, and the soul marked by the grace of Almighty God.”

Lord John closed his eyes for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “What say you, Sir Novak?” he asked, not opening his eyes. “Have we room for another squire?”

Anika shifted uneasily from foot to foot, staring at the floor as the brusque knight studied her.

“He'll need a bit of fattening up. He scarcely looks strong enough to lift a saddle.”

“That's what I thought.” Lord John lowered his hand, then opened his eyes and looked directly at Anika.

“What do you say to this, young man?” he asked, a look of faint amusement in his eyes. “Are you as loyal, true, and God-fearing as Sir Petrov suggests?”

Anika struggled to find her tongue. “I hope to please you, sir,” she answered, grateful that her voice came out in a roughened rasp. “I will do all in my power to make a good knight.”

“I see.” Lord John drew his lips in thoughtfully, then glanced up at his knight. “Well, Novak? Shall we take him under our protection and into our service?”

Novak, doubtless still stewing over his reprimand, gave Anika another cursory glance. “If it pleases you.” He lifted one burly shoulder in a shrug. “You can set him to mucking out the stables. Perhaps, my lord, you could assign him to cater to Lady Zelenka.” He lowered his voice, lest the women across the room overhear. “'Tis obvious that she hates me, and you know I cannot abide women. Their endless chatter, their idle threats, their vapid games and coquetries are enough to drive a man to drink—”

“Know you much of women, lad?”

Anika's stomach dropped like a hanged man when she realized Lord John intended the question for her.
He knows! He knows, and the ruse is over before it is begun—

“I'm sorry—give me your name again, young man.”

She stammered before the sheen of purpose in his eyes. “Ka … Kafka.”

Lord John rested his chin on his hand, a bemused smile on his lips. “Kafka, have you spent much time around women? Is there anything you could teach Sir Novak? He is a fine captain, my best man, but I cannot have him offending every woman in the kingdom.”