The Silver Sword (29 page)

“If the things I heard were not fit for a woman's ears, why are they fit for anyone at all?” she demanded, a flash of temper sparking through her tears. “I have done nothing to disgrace the knights at this castle. I have worked hard, harder than the lot of them, to prove myself. You have to admit that, Sir Novak!”

She threw the words at him like stones, and something in her attitude tempered his anger with amusement. By all the saints, what a knight this one would have made if she were a man! The heart of a lion resided in that small frame, and the persistence of a mosquito.
But she was female, and females had no place in a garrison. They belonged in the castle or the kitchen, or in the merchant shops or a convent.

“This sorts not,” he finally said, gathering his thoughts. “You cannot remain here.” He lowered his voice, fearing that others might hear. “Consider now, my girl, what might become of you if you were to persist in this! Why will you not consider a life in trade or tutoring? You have been well educated. But you cannot become a knight. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” She tossed her head and eyed him with cold triumph. “I have already become a squire.”

“But not a knight. And you won't, for I'll not deceive my master. I won't lie to Lord John; I can't do that.”

“I'm not asking you to lie to him.” She crossed her legs and rested her arms on her bent knees, sighing. “But do you have to tell him what you have discovered? Why can't I go on as I am? There remains only my test—”

“You will be discovered. And if the master finds out that I have known, my loyalty will be called into question. And that—” he stiffened, “must never happen.”

She sat in silence for a moment, her sea-green eyes darkening like angry thunderclouds. Novak marveled at her ability to sheathe her tears. “We cannot leave this place,” she said finally, flushing to the roots of her fiery hair, “until we settle this.”

“You are right,” he agreed, casually picking up a piece of straw. He whirled it between his palms, then thrust it between his teeth. He had never liked women, but this girl, at least, had earned a measure of his respect. She was young and ignorant, though, so he might as well explain the facts of life.

“Your disguise is not good,” he began. “Woman was made of Adam's flesh and bone, so she was made of more precious things than man, who was made of clay. Do you doubt me? There is proof. Man, made of clay, is more tranquil than woman, who is of bone, for bones are always rattling. If you take a man and woman and tell them to wash as well as they can, then take clean water and bid them wash
again, which water bucket will be fouler? The man's, of course. For if you wash clay you make mud, and if you wash a bone, you make no such thing.”

He looked at her, expecting some sign of acquiescence, but she only gave him a hostile glare. “If women are made of more precious things, then why are they expected to do all the work? Women travail in childbirth, they travail to suckle the child, to rear it, to wash and clean by day and night while the man goes singing on his way.”

“So you hate women's work?”

“No!” Her jaw clenched as she rejected his words. “I liked keeping house for my father, but I enjoyed working for him far more. I was his scribe, a copyist, and I wanted nothing more than to write.”

Stroking his beard, he regarded her carefully. “Then why can't you write for Lord John? He could put you to work as a scribe.”

She shook her head, dismissing his idea. “I have a vow to fulfill before I will settle down to work for a man,” she whispered, her voice choked with sincerity.

Novak paused, considering his situation. He could understand why an orphaned girl might hide from Lord Laco, for that nobleman's villainy and lecherous nature were well-known in Prague. And Sir Petrov had been a gentle and noble knight, so Novak couldn't fault her for thinking the garrison a comfortable and convenient refuge. But she simply couldn't continue as a knight, any more than Novak could become the Queen of Bohemia.

“Suppose you tell me why it is so all-important that you become a knight,” he said, his voice cracking with weariness. “God made you a woman. Why can you not consider a role fit for women?”

“God gave me a mother and father, too, but evil men took them away,” she snapped, the muscles in her face tightening into a mask of rage.
“Church men,
Novak. Cardinal D'Ailly was with Lord Laco when the order was given to kill my father. My mother died because a cardinal was too worried about his money purse to surrender a ladder to a woman trapped in a burning inn.”

Novak slowly uncrossed his arms, taken aback by the fire in her gaze. She had been a determined squire, a tough opponent, but he
had never seen this energy in her eyes. What other surprises lay inside her?

“Bohemia has its share of orphaned girls,” he said quietly, stretching his long legs into the straw before him. “Yet none of the others have stooped to pick up a sword.”

“None of them have Lord Laco searching for them, either,” she said, tossing her head in disdain. “Becoming a squire seemed a useful and practical idea. Sir Petrov was dear to me, you see, and had filled my childhood days with stories of knights and lords and their ladies. He taught me how to hold a sword before I learned to write, and once I began to read, I devoured stories of the gallant knights of yesteryear—stories of men like you.” The fringe of her lashes cast subtle shadows on her cheeks as she looked down at her hands. “I know it has never been done, Novak, but does that mean it cannot be done? Perhaps I can be of service to you and Lord John in the days ahead. I could spy for you in a woman's garb. I am small enough to slip through narrow openings, and I have learned to ride as well as any knight in your garrison. But please, do not make me leave Chlum. I have learned too much and come too far.”

Her eyes, liquid pools of appeal, lifted to his, and Novak felt his heart constrict. 'Twas no wonder he hated women. He was helpless in their hands, and they knew it.

“I will keep your secret tonight,” he answered, slowly pushing himself up from the ground. “But I cannot keep this truth from my master. Lord John must be told.”

“Then promise me this, upon your honor as a knight.” Across her pale and pointed face a dim flush raced like a fever. “Tell him
after my
testing. Give me the chance to prove myself.”

“The test will change nothing.” He leaned back, measuring her determination and her motives. “You will never be a man.”

“But I will be a knight. And I will be sworn to serve Lord John.” She straightened herself with dignity, a curious deep longing in her eyes. “You cannot begrudge me this desire, Sir Novak, since it is one you share.”

She stood before him not as a mischievous impostor, but as a
woman who had tested the depth of her commitment. In the light of her strength, Novak decided that she deserved a chance. Even though God had created her female, she was a fire eater, iron-willed and strong. History spoke of queens who donned armor and rode to battle with their armies—why couldn't a bookseller's daughter do the same?

“So be it,” he said, holding up his hand. “You will undertake your test on the morrow. But if you pass the test, you must tell Lord John the truth before he administers the vows of fealty.” Novak smiled as the fiery animation in her face dimmed. “Have faith, my squire. If you express yourself as eloquently before the master, it may be he will show mercy to you. But whatever you do, say your prayers and cleanse your heart. Your fate will be decided on the morrow.”

Before she could weaken his resolve further, Novak turned and left her alone in the stable.

Seeking solitude, Novak climbed the winding tower staircase to the top of the castle walls, then spent the better part of an hour pacing along the ramparts, his hands behind his back, his head lowered in thought. Mixed feelings surged through him, emotions that grew more tangled and complex by the moment.

When Kafka had first revealed her deception, he had been angry enough to throw her to the wolves in the woods. Before he left her, however, he had not only agreed to keep her secret, but had promised to allow a mere slip of a woman to participate in a test that might result in her joining an exclusive and vaunted company of men—
his
men. It
was
true that several queens had worn armor and led armies into battle, but he had never heard of a queen taking the vows of knighthood. And though he had heard songs and poems extolling the valor of noblewomen who poured boiling oil over the heads of enemies who attempted to scale their castle walls, never had he heard of a woman who permeated the ranks of men in order to fight beside them.

His anger had evaporated, leaving only confusion. An inner voice reminded him that Kafka's ruse was a sin, probably a mortal
one, for she had forsaken the role God had assigned her at birth. But she had never lied to him, Novak realized. In all his recollection, she had never claimed to be a man. She had given straight, simple answers to his queries about her background, and they had all rung with truth. And Sir Petrov had been her earliest teacher, and that aged knight had acquitted himself as honorably in his death as in life. For Petrov's sake alone, Novak thought he should give Kafka a chance.

But what if that chance resulted in the girl's death? She had failed miserably today in their practice duel. She was unused to wearing heavy armor, and a womanly frame would never fit into it properly. She had learned to ride well enough, but if her opponent unseated her and confronted her on the field, she might be wounded by even a blunted blow. Now, knowing the truth, Novak did not want to be responsible if she were hurt. Lord John would be furious when he discovered the ruse, and Novak would be disgraced for sending a helpless girl out onto the tourney field.

A helpless girl—by Saint Agnes above, that was a joke! Kafka—Anika—whatever her name, she would always be ‘Kafka' to him—was anything but helpless. She had the courage of a bull, charging in where no woman had gone before.

A guard on the tower called a greeting, interrupting Novak's thoughts. The captain wordlessly lifted his hand to signal that all was well.

Maybe you should marry the girl and be done with it.
The thought came from out of nowhere, stunning him with its clarity and incomprehensible logic. Marry her? An hour ago he'd wanted to fling her to the far side of the moon! But she had endeared herself to him as a boy, and surely she would prove to be a charming wife. She was of age, and maybe she could take satisfaction in knowing she was the wife of a knight instead of trying to fill out a suit of armor herself. Lord John would surely grant permission for Novak to marry and would likely give them a little house on the manor, much like the cozy cottage Demetr and his wife enjoyed.

Novak walked to the parapet and spread his palms over the
railing, enjoying the solid reality of the stone beneath his broad hands. He closed his eyes and studied the memory of Kafka's face, flushed with resolution and hope. Marry him? She wouldn't. She would be embarrassed at the suggestion, for he was old enough to be her father. She wanted to
carry
arms, not marry them, and that bright spirit would not go willingly into the dim and demure gowns of a married woman.

He sighed heavily, abandoning his foolish notion. There was only one thing he could do. He had promised to let her joust, but he could at least make certain of her opponent. Tomorrow when Kafka put her hand into the helmet and drew forth a stone, Novak would make sure the stone she drew was his.

As the first pale hint of sunrise touched the eastern sky, Anika awoke and braced herself for her day of testing. Novak had returned to the garrison late last night, and had self-consciously turned his back on her as he unbuckled his armor and removed his surcoat. He lay down to sleep in his shirt and rested in unnatural silence as she slipped into the straw beneath his bunk.

He was still snoring as she rose, visited the lavatory, then returned to slip her heavy hauberk over her own shirt. She could manage the heavy shoes, the breastplate, and the other body pieces but would need help with the arm and shoulder plates. By the time she was ready, she hoped Novak would be awake and in an amiable mood.