The Silver Sword (42 page)

As freely as a cascading waterfall, Vasek let all he knew of Jan Hus flow from his tongue. The pope listened silently, his heavy cheeks falling in worried folds over the stole around his neck. Three other cardinals hovered nearby, their beaked and surly features turned toward Vasek like hungry birds of prey.

When Vasek had emptied himself of all the information he thought useful, he lifted hopeful eyes toward the pope. Silence settled upon the group, an absence of sound that had almost a physical density. Vasek found himself struggling to breathe the strangely thickened air.

Then Cardinal D'Ailly spoke. “Why have you come to us?” he asked, his eyes cold and polished as obsidian beads. “You are a servant of Chlum. How do we know this is not a trap?”

“It is not; by my honor, it is not,” Vasek explained, thrusting his hands forward in an open gesture. “I am disturbed, Your Eminence, Your Holiness, by what I see happening in my beloved country. The old ways are under attack. The priests are overthrown and tossed out of their churches. I have seen bishops' houses ransacked and their treasures taken out and given to the poor. The nobles who once sided with the Holy Mother Church in all things now follow Master Hus.

I love my master, but I believe Hus has infected his soul with heresy. I only want to restore greatness and truth to the house of Chlum before its nobility and strength disappear.”

“I think,” the pope said, a thin smile on his lips, “a more apt question might be what you expect of us. What do you require of us, Vasek of Chlum? If we accept your help in this matter, what do you expect in return?”

Vasek paused as the question hammered at him. He had come for noble purposes only. He certainly had not intended to achieve material gain, but if the pope was offering something, he might be a fool to refuse. If he appeared greedy, however, His Holiness might show Vasek the door and expose his disloyalty to Lord John.

He lowered his eyes in what he hoped was a humble expression. “Your Holiness, I am a servant of Christ's Holy Church. As God is my witness, I came here with no thought of personal profit.”

“But if you do us a service, you deserve recompense.” The pope's voice was like velvet lined with steel. “Do not be foolish, Vasek. Do not even the Scriptures say that a servant is worthy of his hire? Even so, if you aid us, God will reward you. We are pleased to be his hands and his mind in this matter.”

Vasek looked up, hope lightening his heart. “I am only a servant of Christ's Holy Church,” he repeated, “but since I will be unwelcome at Chlum Castle if Master Hus is discredited through my efforts, I had thought that I might like to take charge of one of the churches in Prague. There is a nice church on the south side of the city whose priest died last summer—”

“A mere priest?” A smile crawled to D'Ailly's lips and curved itself like a snake. “You are a humble man, Vasek. Why not wish to become a bishop? Archbishop of the city? Such things could be accomplished, you know. And perhaps God shall work in this way. Everything will depend upon the service you render to Christ's Holy Church.”

“What more can I do?” Vasek cried, groping through a haze of feelings and desires. He hadn't expected this. He had thought he would tell what he knew and be done with everything.

“We need to arrest him,” another cardinal said, interrupting Vasek's thoughts. “And we cannot do it without cause since the Holy Father has given his word that Hus will not be molested. We need a cause, Vasek. We need you to entice Master Hus to do something for which he can be arrested and taken into our custody.”

Vasek lowered his gaze in confusion. “He is a godly man. He has no faults, no vices for which you could arrest him.”

“Find something,” D'Ailly urged, stepping closer. “Use your imagination. Has he a fondness for women? For gold? Perhaps among his papers you could find a copy of that heretic Wyclif's writings. That would be grounds for arrest. All you must do is report to us, and we will take care of the matter. No one else need ever know of your part in it.”

Vasek stepped back, momentarily rebuffed as a war of emotions raged within him. Why, they spoke as if he were about to commit some sort of shameful act! Why should he be ashamed of helping them expose a traitor and schismatic?

Pope John held out a soothing hand. “My son,” he said, his voice losing its steely edge, “we will support you in whatever you do. We know your heart is loyal to the Church, and we are confident that God will give you opportunity and wisdom.” He folded his hands and gave Vasek a disarming smile. “Go in peace, my son.”

Vasek felt his heart fall. Was he to be dismissed so soon?

“If you think of anything which might aid us,” D'Ailly added, with no expression on his face, “come again. You will be admitted.”

Vasek gathered the rags of his dignity and bowed to the Holy Father. As he turned to leave, he congratulated himself on keeping his honor and his wits firmly about him.

Two days after the Bohemians' arrival in Constance, Lord Venceslas of Duba brought the safe conduct from Sigismund. Hus, Lord John, Novak, and Anika gathered around to read it:

“Well.” Hus thrust his hands into the pockets of his cassock, well pleased with the document. “I suppose we should be glad we did not need the safe conduct on our journey. But it will suffice to get us home, no matter what the council's decision.” He looked at Anika and Novak and smiled in earnest. “I know you were looking forward to using your swords in my defense, so I am sorry to disappoint you.”

“Do not tease us, sir,” Anika whispered, unable to return his smile. “Have these men not lied to you before?”

“Sigismund does not want to alienate Bohemia and her people,” Hus replied, turning now to the nobles seated at his table. “Surely you, my lords, understand that this parchment is an honest promise.”

Venceslas of Duba nodded, eager to agree, but Anika saw a shadow of doubt upon her beloved master's face. “We will wait and see,” Lord John said, his eyes moving to Anika's as if he, too, shared her misgivings. “Time, my friend, will tell the tale.”

A
lone in his regal bedchamber, Baldasarre Cossa wrestled with the sheets on his elevated bed and struggled to sleep. Too many thoughts crowded his brain, too many fears and doubts, too many misgivings. The misdeeds and sins of his past rose up in the dark like vengeful ghosts waiting to accuse him, and no matter how he turned and squirmed, they would not go away.

He didn't fear them—his conscience had been too thoroughly seared by time and hate. What he feared was loss—the loss of his power, his position, his abundance. He had already lost much of his wealth, for on his way to Constance he had doled out heaping bags of gold and priceless treasures to countless nobles, cardinals, and bishops. He had bestowed bribes as freely as a dog shares fleas, and he fretted that his endless wealth had been diminished … all because of Jan Hus.

There were others, of course, who knew of Baldasarre's indiscretions, but no one else had pointed them out as openly as the preacher from Bohemia. And none but this preacher had the purity to withstand the moral pressure Baldasarre tried to apply in return. A humble man without unconfessed sin had cast the first stone, and to Baldasarre's endless surprise, the world had paid attention.

Something would have to be done. Frustrated officials from Bohemia had plagued Baldasarre for months, frustrated by their inability to rid their own kingdom of this revolutionary. The pope alone, they cried, had the power and authority to send a man to hell, but even excommunication had not silenced Hus's battering tongue.

Perhaps this council, already decreed to be of higher authority than the pope, could rid Christendom of this troublemaker … as long as the beast did not turn on its own head.

Baldasarre shifted on his bed and pulled the sheets to his chin, breathing heavily. The sworn enemies of Hus had already begun to arrive in Constance. Foremost among them was John the Iron, Bishop of Litomysl. A notorious simonist, he had made a vast fortune selling indulgences and heavenly pardons until Hus's ravings caused the people to reconsider the validity of man-made forgiveness.

Michael de Causis, Stephen Palec, Lord Laco of Lidice, and a dozen other Hus-haters had also visited the episcopal palace, pledging their allegiance and efforts to aid the pope and the council, to do whatever must be done to destroy Hus. With funds donated from clergymen throughout the region of Bohemia, they had engaged a network of informers and spies.

The anti-Hus crusade had already begun. Within two days after Hus's arrival in Constance, his enemies placarded him on church doors as the vilest heretic. The publication, Baldasarre had heard, reported that Hus was a dangerous mind reader who could divine the thoughts of those who attended his services, thus explaining why so many leaped up to proclaim their sins at the conclusion of his preaching.

With the bitter fidelity of fanatics, the enemies of Hus buzzed through the chambers of cardinals, archbishops, and prelates, demanding that something decisive be done. But what could Baldasarre do? He, like Hus, might find himself under investigation in the Council hearings, and though he had more money with which to defend himself, he sorely felt the lack of the Bohemian preacher's strongest asset: a clear conscience.