The Silver Sword (54 page)

“I have brought you here,” he went on, staring now at his hands, “because I know your heart burns to take your vengeance. And so, if you must fight, I will release you from your vow of fealty.” He looked up and offered her a smile. “It was given under false pretenses, as I recall.”

She felt ice spreading through her veins. “You want me to leave?”

“No, I do not.” Rising fluidly from his chair, Lord John walked to stand in front of her, then took both her hands as he had on a moonlit night many months before. “I want you to forswear your vows of vengeance and remain here. I am sure knighthood is not as appealing as it once seemed to you, so leave this armor and become my scribe, Anika. Let the past be buried. Help me further Hus's cause by propagating the gospel through the written word. Together we can change the future.”

“The future?” He radiated a vitality that drew her like a magnet, but such an attraction would be perilous. He did not understand her past; he was asking too much—and yet not enough. He wanted her as a scribe, nothing else. Just another house servant, someone to do his bidding, to help him win the world. Even after she had worked at his side for nearly four years, he was not willing to let her into his heart.

“War
is
coming, Anika,” he whispered, tightening his grip upon her hands. “And I will need your help in the days ahead. Novak and the knights will protect Chlum, Vasek will pray that God will give us wisdom, Demetr will oversee the estate, Peter will help with my correspondence. I need you, though, to aid me with the translations of Hus's work.”

“The translations?” She closed her eyes, her heart aching. “Is that your only reason for wanting me to remain here?”

“Of course not.” He smiled, but a wall of reserve came up behind his eyes. “You knew Hus as well as I, and despite your youth, you have strength and knowledge. You are well read. And you have been a blessing to my sons. You were right; I should have shown them more affection, but you have been nearby to see that they lacked for nothing.”

Dropping one of her hands, he placed his fingers under her chin in an affectionate gesture of gratitude, and the touch of his flesh sent a warming flush through her. She pulled away, not willing to be drawn into his spell. If she was not careful, she'd surrender to the
temptation of his offer just to be near him, just to hear his voice and sit in the chamber where he worked every day.

“You will inform the other knights in three days?” she whispered, her voice strangled. She forced herself to look away. “I have until then to make my decision?”

“Yes.” His tone was now cold and exact.

“Then I will give you my answer in three days,” she whispered, backing out of the room.

A flash of loneliness stabbed John as Anika left his chamber. He should have known how she would react; for years his energies had been wasted against her granite stand. He could tell her that God himself had sent an archangel to deliver the message that Sir Kafka should vanish so Anika could step forth from that disguising armor, and still she would not believe.

Bela looked up at him, her brown eyes mirroring the sadness in John's own soul. “I tried, girl,” he whispered, reaching out to caress the dog's head. “But she is set in her ways. I don't think we can convince her to stay with us.”

Responding to his voice, Bela stood and came toward him, lowering her massive head into his lap. Why couldn't a woman be more like one of his dogs? Bela and Bilko demanded nothing; they were grateful for their food and shelter, happy merely to lie by his side or jog beside his horse. They asked only for his company and a loving touch every now and then.

The thought froze in his brain. Anika was a great deal more than a dog; perhaps his mistake lay in treating her as a pet. Frantiska, after all, had seemed content at Chlum, thrilled to sit beside him at dinner, satisfied to watch over his sons. And he had shown only as much appreciation as he dared. If he had been more open about his feelings and affection, she might have begun to make demands in that bizarre feminine language he did not understand.

Was that why he feared Anika? If he told her how much he cared, she would press him, and he would disappoint her, and she would be hurt. And if Anika were hurt, neither Novak, nor Lev, nor Svec, nor
half the knights in the garrison would ever forgive him. John would never forgive himself.

“It is better this way,” he whispered to Bela, his mind pulling away from his unsolvable dilemma. “She must choose. Either she remains with us as a scribe, or she leaves. But either way she is responsible for her own decision.”

Sighing in contentment, Bela snorted softly.

F
or two days Anika did not sleep or eat. She wandered among the knights, doing routine tasks in a routine way, while her heart and mind battled one another. Her heart yearned for the man who had taken her hands, the strangely vulnerable master whose outward charm and openness masked a very private man. Her mind decried the attraction, for it was obvious enough that Lord John of Chlum cared only for Anika as a scribe. For four years they had worked together, planned together, witnessed victories and defeats. And though she did not understand why he had decided to quit the Hussite League, he was right about one thing—her knighthood had lost much of its luster.

Anika walked to the well in the courtyard and sat down on the stone rim, turning to peer into its murky depths as if she could glimpse a picture of the future forming in the dark. Why wouldn't God just tell her what to do? She had sworn to serve him, and yet he had given her no clear sign … only yearnings. She was twenty years old, and her heart now yearned for softness, for quiet nights and companionable suppers, for the mewling of a baby in her arms. But her brain reminded her sharply that she would not find those things with Lord John. A great social gulf stood between them, widened further by her disguise and his indifference.

Between her heart and mind, like a solid stone fence, stood her will—and the vow she had taken. She could make no choices about her future until she had kept her vow and avenged her father, her
mother, Petrov, and now Jan Hus. But she could not do that if Lord John would not send his knights to the coming war.

“Kafka.”

She lifted her eyes. Novak stood before her, his hands on his hips, a probing query in his gray eyes. “You were supposed to teach Svec how to toss a dagger.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, uncrossing her legs. She was about to rise, but Novak pressed his hand to her shoulder, stopping her.

“Welladay, what's this worried look on your face?” His clear, observant eyes studied her. “You've worn this look for two days, and I'm beginning to worry about you.”

“Would that I could tell you,” she murmured, resting her elbows on her knees. “But I don't understand the problem myself. I only know that I must make a decision, and God has not yet shown me what I should do.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Has it come to that, then? Is it time for you to …”

His voice trailed off, and Anika knew he was afraid to finish the thought. “I don't know what I should do,” she whispered miserably. “Truth to tell, I am ready to leave this armor behind, but I've a vow to fulfill and nowhere to go. And I would miss you and the others terribly, Novak, were I to leave Chlum.”

“There, there, my friend.” Novak sank to the stone edge next to her and clasped his hands. “The garrison won't be the same without you.” He crinkled his meaty nose. “'Twould be a lot dirtier, and that's the truth.”

Anika smiled as a ripple of mirth touched her heart. “I would miss you, too, my mentor.” She clapped her hand upon his broad shoulder. “And I hope that at least I have taught you not to hate women. We are not all cats like Lady Zelenka.”

He laughed hoarsely. “I heard that she-wolf spent last week at Lidice, hoping to win Laco's son for a husband. Apparently she has given up on our master and thought to make that arrogant Miloslav an offer of marriage.”

“They probably deserve each other.”

“Aye, but I hear she didn't have enough time to win the rascal's heart. Cardinal D'Ailly and his retinue descended upon Lidice, and Zelenka's father called her home lest she spend the night under the same roof as that cursed man.”

“Cardinal D'Ailly?” Her drifting thoughts hurtled back to earth at the mention of that hated name. She drew herself up, swallowing to bring her heart down from her throat, and pitched her voice below the others in the courtyard. “The cardinal is in Bohemia? Is he still at Lidice?”

Novak's brow wrinkled with contemptuous thoughts. “That son of a snake is planning something with Lord Laco. I hear they are returning to Constance within a fortnight, but they are now plotting some sort of strategy for the Catholic League.”

Her answer came, not as a dazzling burst of mental illumination, but as a tiny pinhole of light. Slowly it widened, gathering strength and scope, until Anika knew exactly what she had to do. God had inspired this idea, and once her vow was fulfilled she could return to Lord John and be whatever he wanted her to be … if he would have her.

“Thank you, Sir Novak.” Anika placed her hand on the old knight's arm, then stood.

“You still haven't told me what troubles you,” Novak called as she began to walk away. “You will tell me, won't you?”

“Some day.” She threw him a smile over her shoulder and kept walking. “You already know too many of my secrets.”

“Kafka!” Leaping up, he dashed forward and caught her by the arm, spinning her to face him. Annoyance struggled with humor on his rugged face as he glared down at her. “You are not planning on visiting Lidice, are you? Laco is a powerful nobleman, and his knights are a fierce company.” He stepped back, examining her countenance. “What is this expression on your face? You look like a fox about to do something utterly foolish.”

“Foxes are never foolish, Sir Novak.” She smiled in exasperation.

“You are my friend, and if I need you, I will tell you. Now let me go; Svec is waiting for me.”

Novak released her arm but remained in his place, grumbling as she walked away.

She led Midnight out of the barn for a quiet afternoon ride. The guards saluted her without suspicion, and Anika let the horse move out at a relaxed canter until she knew she had moved beyond the tower guards' sight. Then she quietly turned the horse toward Lidice.

The answer, she saw now, was amazingly simple. Her imagination had been clouded by dreams of fighting in the coming war, but why couldn't she use Petrov's silver sword in one bold stroke? She could not single-handedly defeat the collective church council, but she could behead it. Cardinal D'Ailly was one of the council's most influential members; until they elected a pope he would probably be
the
most powerful. By killing D'Ailly she could both avenge her loved ones and make the corrupt members of the council suffer.