The Silver Sword (20 page)

She knew she was going to fall before she ever reached the quintain. Fortunately she had the presence of mind to drop the lance (which she had nearly lost anyway), and when she hit the ground, she remembered that she should roll away from the stallion's dangerous
hooves. But she landed on the bulky shield still strapped to her arm and found that she could not move. The war-horse's pounding gait had reduced her muscles to jelly, and the impact of the fall knocked the breath from her lungs.

“Help!” she managed to gasp. For a few seconds she heard nothing. Lev, Novak, and the other squires were still down field, mercifully away from her humiliation and pain. But in a moment they would be here at her side, and they would undoubtedly chide her. Perhaps Novak would be sorry that he had sent her off so ill-prepared. Maybe he would blame himself, but he would certainly want to know why she hadn't learned to ride—and why she hadn't told him she couldn't. How could she answer him?

She lifted her head. The stallion, finding himself free of rider and rein, had stopped to browse the new grass on the field. The quintain stood stiffly in the distance, mocking her. Her lance lay in the grass a few feet away like a toothpick some giant had discarded. And her comrades—she squinted and looked down the field. Her comrades were laughing!

No one was coming to check on her; not one of them had even ventured away from the others. Lev was bent over, slapping his hands on his knees, and Novak stood apart with his arms crossed, a bemused smile on his face.

With renewed humiliation, she looked away and struggled to push herself up. Why had she ever imagined they might actually
care
what happened to her? Depending upon his mood, Novak saw her either as his slave or his burden; the other squires probably thought her weak and unworthy competition.

“You are behaving like a girl,” she sternly told herself. She shook the shield from her arm and stood to her unsteady feet, then quickly ran her hands over her body. Everything still worked. She was not hurt, and they knew it. But she had been perilously close to tears, too close to revealing herself.

She drew a deep breath and forbade herself to tremble. She would face them, and she would learn to ride that mountainous
horse. She would practice alone, all night if necessary, and if they found her at sunrise with her neck broken, well—

“They will know who I really am,” she whispered, fighting against tears she refused to let fall. “And they will know that a woman would not give up.”

“Now, canter!” Lev's voice rang out over the dull clomping sounds of the horse's hooves on the road, and Anika kicked the stallion and leaned forward, pressing her lips together so no sound would burst out. The horse broke from the jerky, bone-crunching trot into a smooth canter, and Anika wanted to whoop in gladness. She was learning!

Lev had agreed to teach her to ride in stolen moments throughout the day. “I don't know why you can't sit a horse,” he told her as they cleaned the supper dishes the night after her disastrous tumble, “but I'll help you learn, if you like.”

She gave him a smile of pure relief. Lev had proved to be a good friend, something she had not expected to find behind the castle walls. At twelve, he was already tall and straight, with a sensible, practical nature. As they worked together in the kitchen, Anika learned that Lev had been serving in Lord John's household since he became a page at the age of seven.

“I can't imagine your mother letting you go so young,” Anika said, spilling a tray of tankards into a huge barrel of water. “Seven is a very tender age.”

“My mother did not miss me,” he answered, an easy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “And my service was my father's idea. He wanted his son to learn as other men's sons did.”

Anika turned, bewildered. “Your father? Is he a nobleman?”

“Umm.” Lev's face closed, as if guarding a secret. “I thought you knew. I thought Novak would tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Lev dumped another tray of tankards into the dish barrel, then a smile played at his mouth. “Lord John is my father.”

Anika was too surprised to do more than nod. No wonder she
had never seen Lord John's sons! One of them had been by her side all along! And the other—

“Don't you have a brother?” she asked.

Lev lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Svec. He's still a page. He won't be allowed to become a squire until he can tilt at the quintain without falling off.”

Anika stood silently, shocked by a sudden elusive thought she could not quite fathom. So she wasn't the only one in the garrison trying to prove something! Svec, bless his heart, and even Lev felt the same pressure she endured. No wonder Lord John did not single his sons out! He was trying to give them a normal life, one free from constant examination and discussion.

“Who knows?” she asked when she finally found her voice. “The steward? The servants?”

Lev shrugged again. “I expect most people from the castle know. But none of the visitors or my father's guests.” His dark, earnest eyes sought hers. “I wouldn't want you to think my father doesn't love me. He does. He just wants me to learn like other boys.”

“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.