The Silver Sword (23 page)

Upset from his place on the ledge by her sudden upward motion, Lord John pitched forward with a cry and an oath.

At the sound of a thunderous splash, Anika wiped her eyes and backed away in horror. The water was barely up to her knees, but she suddenly wished that she had drowned. Dying in Lord John's watering trough would be vastly preferable to soaking the master in the middle of a cold November night.

Through her haze of panic, she heard the sound of slapping
footsteps along the ramparts. Then the glow of two torches appeared above the wall. “Lord John! Is trouble afoot?”

Anika wiped her arm across her nose and retreated into the shadows as Lord John rose to his feet and vigorously shook his head. She cringed beneath the spray, hoping he would choose to go away and quietly bemoan the fact that he had accepted the world's most uncoordinated squire.

“All is well, have no fear,” her master called to the guards, lifting his hands in emphasis. “I merely decided to cool off in the pool.”

“But, my lord, it is freezing out here.” One of the guards moved closer, and Anika crouched down, hiding herself in the shadows. 'Twas bad enough that Lord John knew which of his squires had pulled him into the pool, but she'd be the laughingstock of the entire garrison if the guards discovered her identity.

“Go back to your post,” Lord John commanded, placing his hands on his hips. In three steps he crossed the pool and mounted the ledge, his garments streaming water. As Anika's heart trembled within her breast, he waited until the reluctant guards retreated, then turned and extended his hand. “Come out, Kafka. You'll catch the ague if you remain in there all night,” he said, the warmth of his smile echoing in his voice.

Still trembling with fear and the cold, she reached out and accepted his help, then let him pull her onto the ledge. She released his hand quickly, then jumped to the ground and stood before him with bent shoulders. Lowering her head, she braced herself for a rebuke.

“I thought, when I saw you sitting there, that it must be wonderful to be young and free from worry,” he began, his voice surprisingly gentle. “And I'm afraid I owe you an apology for startling you. 'Tis my own fault that we are wet and freezing out here.”

“No, my lord!” As their eyes met, she felt a shock run through her. By all the saints, this was an unusual man!

“I shouldn't have left the garrison,” she said, lowering her eyes. She could feel her cheeks blushing hotly against the cool night air. “But I couldn't sleep.”

“Does Novak still snore?” he asked, his profile dark against the
moonlight. “I have traveled with him, and I remember most distinctly that his snore could wake the dead.”

“Yes.” She struggled to stop the chattering of her teeth. “Yes, my lord, he does. Usually it does not bother me, but tonight—” She wanted to explain the concerns that had driven her outside, but she couldn't. Here stood an honest man who would probably be willing to listen and offer advice, but by her very presence in his home she was being dishonest with him.

“I had a nightmare and couldn't sleep,” she answered, hugging herself again. She steeled herself against the cold and commanded her body not to shiver.

“Perhaps you are not as free from worry as I thought,” he answered, locking his hands behind his back. He stared at the ground for a moment, then moved a mound of dirt with the toe of his shoe. “I am much distressed about my friend, Master Hus. He will not be returning to Prague, I'm afraid, for his conscience will not allow the city to suffer for his sake. The interdict is hard upon the common people, so the preacher is consigning himself to exile. He fears he will not be happy away from his work, but I have tried to convince the goose that he can work here just as well as in Prague.”

“The goose, my lord?” Anika frowned in bewilderment. Lord John was usually not so disrespectful.

“A joke.” Lord John's eyes shone in the pale light of the moon. “The Latin word
auca
can be translated ‘Hus' and means ‘goose.' You may not believe it, but Master Hus can actually be a merry man. He is not always a serious scholar.”

Anika pressed her lips together, smothering a smile. She had seen Master Hus's mischievous side many times in her father's bookshop, but she could not explain
that.
“He will not suffer as long as he has friends like you,” Anika offered, feeling a surge of gratitude and loyalty toward her master. “He will sojourn here for a while, and then he will take the gospel out to the people.”

“You speak as if you know him.” Lord John's dark, silky brows rose a trifle.

“I—have read his works, my lord,” Anika stammered, nearly at
a loss for words. “I know the fire of evangelism burns so steadily in his breast that he will be compelled to carry his work out into the villages.”

“You are right. Already he has asked me to give him leave to visit the villages of this estate.” He drew his arms across his chest and rubbed his wet sleeves, fighting the cold. “Would you, Kafka, be interested in joining my expedition to escort the preacher?”

Anika hesitated, torn between wanting to please her master and not wanting to expose her identity. Jan Hus might recognize her if she accompanied him into the countryside, but she had been successful at hiding herself thus far. And if she went… she would be near Lord John.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, bowing her head. “I would be pleased to join such a cavalcade. I will serve you in any way I can.”

“If you don't freeze to death first.” Amusement still lurked in his eyes. “Well, get you into the garrison and dry those clothes by the fire. We will speak more of this on the morrow. And the next time you venture out to sit by the pool, Kafka, I promise not to disturb you.”

With a parting smile he turned and walked toward the castle. Watching him go, Anika shivered again and shook her head, suddenly regretting her disguise.

J
an Hus's absence from Bethlehem Chapel did little to dispel the enthusiasm of the crowds who gathered there the Sunday after he disappeared into exile. All of Prague had heard of the preacher's decision to leave the city so the interdict might be lifted. Peasants and nobles alike flocked to the chapel to hear Hus's chief disciple, Jerome, expound the Word of God.

Petrov went to the church early, in part to find a front row seat where his aging ears could hear above the crying of babies and the shushing of their mothers, and in part because he wanted to discern which way the political wind would soon be blowing.

“Let me repeat what Jan Hus has told you,” Jerome proclaimed to the crowd of over three thousand Sunday worshipers. “So long as there is no difference between the teachings of Scripture and doctrines of the Church, we do not antagonize or find fault with the latter. But whenever any disagreement is plain, we ought to follow the Scriptures instead of the mandates of men.”

Petrov looked around him. Most of his fellow citizens were nodding in agreement; this was a logical and sound conclusion. Generations ago, Bohemia had been evangelized by two priests who translated the Scriptures into the common language and invited any believer, clergy or laity, to participate in Holy Communion. Theirs had been a participatory faith from the beginning; their forefathers had never needed priests to interpret Scripture or act as intermediaries before the throne of God.

“Our friend Jan Hus, whose great love for you compels him to
be absent today,” Jerome went on, “investigated the writings of the Englishman Wyclif, the one condemned as a heretic. At first he was horrified by several of Wyclif's beliefs, but as Master Hus continued to acquire knowledge of the Holy Scriptures, he found that Wyclif's ideas are consistent with God's Word. Christ, not Peter, is the rock upon which the Church was founded.”

Jerome churned the soul-bed of the congregation with a voice like measured thunder, drawing cries of agreement from the anxious, upturned faces.

“We seek only God's truth,” he said, his dark eyes shifting from one person in the crowd to another. “And perhaps God has sent our beloved pastor away from us in the same way He allowed persecution's sword to scatter the early Christians from Jerusalem. For we know this: Wherever he goes, our friend and brother Hus will continue to preach God's love for all and the need for all to come to repentance. Though he has been accused of making the clergy odious to the people, how can the sinner criticize the prophet? Violence and anarchy mark many clergymen today; turbulence, crime, lawlessness, profligacy, and corruption have tainted the highest leaders of Christ's church. Church positions are bartered and sold. Priestly avarice is unblushing. The three rival popes, instead of attempting to lead us to God, use the power of excommunication as a political tool while they tax the faithful to support armies needed to vanquish their enemies. They promise to forgive sins if a person contributes money to advance their ungodly ambition, and yet the Scriptures tell us only God has the power to forgive sins.”

The ferocity of Jerome's passion was both frightening and exhilarating. This was exactly the kind of sermon Petrov feared. Jan Hus was an excellent and persuasive speaker, but he tended to awake the
intellect
of his hearers while Jerome baptized his listeners with the fire of holy enthusiasm. Members of the congregation left Hus's sermons ready to live peaceably with all men, but today they might leave ready to pick up their swords and fight.

As if it had a mind of its own, Petrov's hand moved to the place where his own sword had hung from his belt. Since giving it to Anika
he carried only a dagger, as any prudent man would. But if Jerome kept preaching like this, Prague might soon boil with blood. Every man would need a blade, if only for self-defense.

“The possession of power has begotten the love of it, and the fingers which grasp the holy scepter will not loose their hold upon it,” Jerome went on. “Will we allow this to continue? Will we allow the archbishop and the pope's prelates to tell us we cannot bury our dead or share in the cup of the Lord's suffering? No! We are Christians, we are Bohemians! We will not be ordered and commanded by the impostor in Rome!”

The congregation responded with cheering as Petrov's mind whirled with a crazed mixture of hope and fear. With the others he tentatively lifted his hands, carried away on the wave of rising enthusiasm. The rafters above echoed with the roaring shout, and Petrov smiled, savoring this small but satisfying victory. Perhaps they would not have to defeat the Romanists with swords. Perhaps God's truth would prevail through the sheer force of righteousness.

He shifted in his seat and lowered his hands, studying the cheering people around him. A sort of passionate beauty kindled each face, a desire to search out and strive for truth, for right, for the glory of God.

This
feeling was what he had lost when he surrendered his calling as a knight! When his old master died, Petrov had allowed his zeal for the cause of Christ to die as well. But God was good. He would allow Petrov to find the fervor he had lost. No longer would the knight look back with longing on his yesterdays, because
tomorrow
would require men of purpose and conviction, passion and courage!

A quick and unexpected movement caught his attention, a shifting of shadows near the pulpit. Petrov leaned forward. On the other side of the lectern, in the vaguest of movements, a man in a brown robe had leaned into the empty space in front of the pulpit. It could have been an innocent gesture, but Petrov did not recognize the man's face. Dark shadows surrounded the stranger's eyes but did not quite disguise the murderous passion in his gaze.

Around Petrov, the enthusiastic cries faded to the soft strains of prayer. As the man in the brown robe inched toward the pulpit, a shining blade poised in his hand, Petrov wrapped his palm around the handle of his dagger and inched toward the edge of his pew. Jerome, who had closed his eyes and lifted his hands in prayer, did not see the enemy.

Rising to his feet in one fluid movement, Petrov moved toward the assassin. Today he had no maidens to protect, no doubts to conquer. He was a sworn knight, born and bred to battle, ready to defend the cause of Christ.