The Silver Sword (41 page)

The route to Constance had taken Hus and his party through Barnau, the imperial free city of Nuremberg, and numerous other small towns. Everywhere they journeyed, even in the German territories, Anika was amazed and pleased at how well Jan Hus was received. Any and all suspicions the people might have harbored after
hearing lies about the preacher from Prague vanished as the man himself won supporters with his earnestness and humility. By the time he left, the common people and humbler clergy felt that he fought for them.

At Nuremberg, their hearty welcome forced a delay of several hours, for the people were eager to see Hus and hold a public disputation. Priests, a doctor of theology, and several magistrates were assembled in the city hall, waiting for Hus. After a few hours of debate, public opinion had swung firmly to the reformer's side.

That night Anika helped Hus pen a letter to friends in Prague. “I have not,” he dictated, “met a single enemy as yet.”

Reports of Hus and his speaking skills spread like wildfire through the country, and soon they had to stop and let the preacher speak at every village the procession passed through. In each place the priests and religious scholars engaged the Bohemians in theological discussion. In Biberach, Anika had to smother a broad smile when Lord John took so prominent and enthusiastic a part in the debate that the citizens believed him to be a doctor of theology. From that day forward, Hus jokingly referred to Lord John as “the doctor of Biberach.”

“Do not forget your own name, O goose,” Lord John replied, enjoying the gentle sparring.

On November third, not quite a month after leaving Prague, the Bohemians arrived at Constance. The picturesque beauty of the town stunned Anika. Situated on the south bank of the Rhine, the imperial free city normally boasted a population of fifty thousand. But now that the world's attention had focused on the city, the population had doubled. The streets blazed with gorgeous color—red-robed cardinals moving among blue surcoats and bright gowns of women. Horses with waving plumes pranced in the streets, ridden by knights in polished armor trailing gleaming standards. The pope and the emperor would both join the convention, Anika reminded herself, and with each would come a numerous and dazzling array of officers and attendants.

In addition to all the invited participants, a throng of merchants,
artisans, retainers and curious visitors jammed Constance, drawn by curiosity, the possibility of making money, and the probability of pleasure. Anika heard Lord John remark that this was the largest congress the world had ever seen.

Because the inns were full, booths and wooden buildings were hastily erected for the accommodation of visitors, while thousands more camped in the surrounding countryside. Lord John arranged a hasty encampment for his men, though he fully intended to remain at Jan Hus's side for as long as possible.

Through an arrangement with the council, Hus himself was lodged in the house of a righteous widow named Fida. Her modest dwelling was not far from the episcopal palace where the pope and his entourage were headquartered.

After seeing Hus safely to his room in Fida's house, Lord John turned to Anika and Novak, who alone had followed him into town. “With all respect to you, Mistress Fida,” John said, bowing deeply while the elderly woman twittered in pleased surprise, “my knights and I must report Master Hus's presence here in the city. We will return, but if anyone gives you cause for concern regarding Master Hus's safety, please do not hesitate to send me word.”

The woman nodded, a clump of white hair clustered in short curls around her heart-shaped face. “I will take good care of Master Hus.” She spoke in a tone filled with awe and respect. “You need not fear for his safety while he is here. The archbishop of the city has assigned a guard to my house at night; 'tis one of the safest in Constance.”

“Thank you, gentle lady.” With a gallant gesture, Lord John bent to kiss the woman's plump hand, and Anika smiled at the blush of delight that rose to the woman's cheeks.

The episcopal palace, home to the archbishop of Constance and now to Pope John XXIII, dwarfed Chlum Castle in size and majesty. Anika could not tell if the treasures inside the plastered and painted hallways had been brought in for the pope or resided with the archbishop, but either way she thought it unseemly for churchmen to
indulge in such an ostentatious show of wealth. The church elders had gathered in Constance, after all, to discuss reform so that the common people might benefit from the church, and such a show of affluence only accented the great gulf which existed between the clergy and those they supposedly served.

They were kept waiting for the space of half an hour, then a pair of servants in bright red and gold livery opened a pair of gilded doors and admitted them into the presence of Christ's representative on earth.

Standing beside Novak, a few paces behind Lord John, Anika stared at the robed figure seated on a gilded chair. Her first thought was that John XXIII was no servant of Christ—or anyone else. Aloof on his golden throne, he had an air of authority and the appearance of one who demanded instant obedience. Massive shoulders filled the spotless white robe he wore, and from the flowing sleeves two impatient hands tapped against the armrest of his chair. Thick, tawny-gold hair fell from the tonsure on his pate, and his square, florid face was shaped into lines and pouches of sagging flesh that suggested dissipation rather than age. He did not look capable of any pleasant emotion.

His square jaw tensed visibly as the trio approached.

“You are Lord John of Chlum, are you not?” the pope barked, not waiting for a formal introduction.

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

Anika watched with muted pride as her master bowed formally to the man who had no right to wear the crown of Christ. The correct form of address when speaking to the pope was “Your Holiness,” but her master had used the address reserved for cardinals. While others might think his greeting a mere lapse in memory or a fault in manners, Anika knew Lord John was making a point—a very sharp one.

The pope's dark eyes flashed imperiously. “You have brought Jan Hus?”

“Yes.” Lord John nodded abruptly. “He is safely ensconced in the widow Fida's house.”

“
Bene.”
The pope seemed to measure the three of them in a cool, appraising look. “It is my duty to reassure you that your friend is in good hands. No one will be allowed to molest him, and I myself will preserve his safety. His sentence of excommunication is suspended while he remains here, so the city will not be subject to interdict on his account.”

“How kind … and convenient of you.”

Anika was alarmed at a certain reckless note in her master's voice.

Before Lord John could turn to leave, the pope lifted his jeweled hand. “All I require,” he said, eyeing them with a prim and forbidding expression, “is that you ask Master Hus to remain in the widow's house. To avoid scandal, let him not attend public worship. He may receive guests as often as he likes, and the widow Fida shall, at my provision, supply all his needs.”

“What about mass?” Lord John asked, shifting his weight and folding his arms. “My friend is a pious man and would like to partake in Holy Communion.”

“He is a priest, isn't he?” Sudden anger lit the pope's eyes. “Let him say his own mass in the privacy of his room. It shall be enough.”

Anika bit her lip, half-afraid her master would return the pope's contemptuous words with a few of his own, but after a half-second, her master inclined his head in a small gesture of thanks. “You are right, it is enough,” he answered, his voice pleasant. “Jan Hus has never needed any man's help to reach the heart of God.”

As her own heart brimmed with pride, Anika stepped aside to let her master pass. Then she and Novak followed him from the pope's pretentious chamber.

Cardinal D'Ailly ducked behind a statue as Lord John and his knights exited the chamber. He felt a sudden darkness behind his eyes and a chilly dew on his skin. John of Chlum's presence could mean only one thing—Jan Hus had arrived in Constance. The schismatic who would destroy a thousand years' work of refining religion would soon stand before them to have his heresy exposed.

D'Ailly took a deep breath to calm the erratic pounding of his
heart. The fox was near the trap; he ought to be relieved, but doubts and apprehensions still clouded his brain. Hus had the luck of the devil; he had escaped their carefully laid snares before. And each time he had stolen souls from the church. Hundreds of men and women who had faithfully trusted in Holy Mother Church were now following the dangerous winds of dissension, riding first one current of heresy, then another. Hus claimed to interpret the Holy Scriptures and give them to the people, but common people could not understand the things of God. Only men who had studied the Hebrew and Greek could be trusted. Only men who had studied the laws of the church should be allowed to teach and preach.

Hus had become dangerous, and so had his friend, this John of Chlum. Fortunately, however, D'Ailly had one friend in Chlum's camp—the chaplain. Though D'Ailly could not remember the little man's name, he was certain the priest would soon appear.

Unlucky coins and impoverished relatives always turned up.

Swiveling his head to keep his master in view, Vasek waited until Lord John and the two knights disappeared. Then he skulked out of his hiding place and tugged on Cardinal D'Ailly's sleeve. The cardinal ought to remember him, for they had met more than once in Prague.

“Cardinal D'Ailly, a word,” Vasek whispered, glancing left and right to be certain his master would not reappear. “I must see His Holiness.” He indicated the door with a jerk of his head. “My master has just left the pope, and I have news which may be helpful. I promise you, His Holiness will be pleased to hear from me.”

The cardinal stiffened and turned up his nose at Vasek as if he had caught a whiff of some vile smell. “What did you say your name was?” he asked, distrust chilling his hooded eyes.

“Vasek,” the chaplain replied, wiping his hands on his tunic. “Surely you remember me. I serve Lord John at Chlum Castle and have traveled for the past month with the one called Jan Hus.”

At the mention of Lord John's name, the cardinal gave Vasek a
fixed and meaningless smile. “What news have you to offer His Holiness?”

Vasek gave the man a tentative smile. “I know what the Bohemian preacher plans to say. I have heard him rehearsing his arguments. I know he hopes for a public hearing so he may further spread these heresies.”

“Wait here.” D'Ailly turned soundlessly and slipped through the double doors, then reappeared before Vasek had finished reciting the
Our Father.

“His Holiness will see you,” the cardinal remarked, his eyes as hard as dried peas and his mouth drawn into a knot. “Make certain that your news is trustworthy, or you may regret having approached us today.”