The Silver Sword (10 page)

Still grinning, Petrov's assailant lowered his blade. “I'll not do you the honor, old man,” he whispered, his eyes glinting with malicious glee. “Old men should die in their beds, not flat on their bums in the middle of the street.”

Furious at his helplessness and vulnerability, Petrov pushed himself up, ready to charge the retreating knight's back, not caring if he was struck down. But Ernan's dying charge rang in his ears. Anika was still in danger, an orphan now and in need of his help.

Biting back his pride and anger, Petrov took one last look at Ernan's motionless body, then furtively shadowed his way into the alleys, searching for Anika and whatever remained of his wounded pride.

“Now she will never come willingly!”

Feeling restless and irritable, Cardinal D'Ailly turned from the impetuous youth's face and stared out the carriage window, bracing himself for yet another of Miloslav's temper tantrums. He had been Lord Laco's guest for only a month, but already he longed for the peace and quiet splendor of his apartments in Rome. No amount of gold or influence could compensate for having to endure this youth's constant yammering for attention.

“Shut your mouth, Son.” Lord Laco pressed his lips together in anger. “She would never have come with you; the girl has pride—a great deal more than you, from what I can tell.”

“Father!” The son recoiled from his father's hot eyes and tried on a smile that seemed a size too small. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Don't you?” For a moment Laco's eyes met D'Ailly's, and he smiled in apology. “Forgive us, Your Eminence, while we participate in a small family squabble. My son has no patience and no sense.”

“Father, you can't ruin this for me. I've wanted her ever since I saw her in the marketplace, so you'll have to get her. There's not another girl as pretty within miles of Lidice, and if she won't come willingly, you'll have to send someone to fetch her.”

Laco closed his eyes, opened his mouth—his signal that Miloslav had transgressed the bounds of human understanding. “I have heard, Son, about the knights you sent to follow the girl. And I myself saw her blushing in church that Sunday we went to Bethlehem Chapel. I can only imagine what you did to embarrass her so.”

The self-centered youth lifted a brow. “Nothing. I only smiled at her.”

“Nothing less than a glimpse of the devil himself could have put such fear and loathing into her eyes,” Laco answered, propping one of his heavy boots on his knee. “I warned you to stay away from her, but you would not.”

“You said I could have her.”

“I said you could
inquire
after her. But you approached her yourself and scared the maiden away. So now her father would rather die than allow her to come to us.”

“Is he dead, do you think?” Miloslav turned slightly in the seat and looked out the window as if he could look back down the road and see into Prague.

D'Ailly crossed his legs, wearying of the conversation. “I cannot imagine your father's knights letting him live,” he dryly inserted, offering his host a small smile of acknowledgment. “Nor can I imagine a father allowing his daughter to be spirited away. Yes, I would imagine he is dead, and probably the old knight, too.” He lifted his arm and rested it in the window frame. “The old knights are doggedly stubborn about such things as virtue and honor.”

“Then can I have the girl?”

D'Ailly looked at Miloslav and felt his stomach churn. He had seen many faces as hard, cruel, and pitiless, but rarely upon men so young. In the past month he had observed that the younger nobleman would commit almost any act to gain his father's attention; this was probably just another ploy to earn Laco's notice.

The Lord of Lidice wasn't watching even now; his cold eyes were fastened to the window and the passing scenery.

“Wait and see, Miloslav,” D'Ailly suggested, turning his gaze to the mountains outside. “Patience is a godly virtue, remember?”

Running, stumbling, sobbing, Anika ran through the alleys and streets, purposely taking a circuitous route to confuse anyone who might attempt to follow her. What had they done to her father? And what had they intended to do with her? She would have gone willingly with the loathsome lord's men if she had known her father's life would be at risk if she did not, but she had not been given a chance to negotiate. And now her father—a harmless
copyist,
for heaven's sake—remained behind, battling for her life and honor. Only God knew what would become of him and Petrov.

“Are you all right, miss?” A tall and richly dressed nobleman suddenly stepped out of a doorway, and Anika shrank from him as if she had seen a ghost.
One of them.
Trembling in every sinew, she turned and darted down another alley, confusing her already muddled sense of direction.

She walked quickly, her head down, not knowing or caring where she went. At least an hour passed before her heart steadied to a beat that allowed her to breathe normally. Crouching on the ground, she braced her back against a building and forced herself to think. Lord Laco had recognized her father, so he would know where the bookshop was located. She dared not return home, so she would have to go to Petrov's small house. The old knight lived alone, and she would be safe there. Her father
(God, I pray he still lives!)
would seek help immediately, taking his case before the magistrates
(Can they be trusted?)
or even King Wenceslas, and thus the matter would be resolved. Both the king and queen admired Jan Hus, so the preacher would eloquently plead her father's case in the royal court. In a matter of days the issue would be settled, and Lord Laco's vile threats would cease.

But what if Father has been hurt? What if Sir Petrov is captured? What if my father is wounded, lying unconscious somewhere, unable to
care for himself? Or, if Father has escaped and gone home, will he be safe, or will Lord Laco send others to look for me?

Her face burned as she remembered the keen probing eyes and mocking expression of the younger man. All of this trouble could be laid firmly at his feet, she decided, though she had no idea why he had chosen to turn his depraved attention upon her. Surely a nobleman's son could have his pick of Bohemia's beautiful maidens. If he truly wanted a chambermaid, he had only to visit the nearest inn, where women aplenty brazenly advertised the services they offered. And if he wanted more than a maid …

She shuddered, thinking of some of the stories she had read. At sixteen she was untried and inexperienced in the ways of the world, but she had read enough to understand that an amazing variety of people lived in it. She knew about liars, thieves, and murderers, cut-purses and cutthroats, pirates and pillagers. She knew what harlots sold and lechers bought; she understood the scriptural references against all sorts of fornication.

She did not consider herself a blushing maiden, and yet she had never done anything to spoil her own innocence. As a motherless child, she had traveled the world through the pages of the books she copied. In her vicarious adventures she had memorized poetry, thrilled to war songs, and giggled at ribald satires from the Monk of Montaudon who had regaled the king of Aragon one hundred years before. She had studied books of law and medicine. She had explored and questioned the philosophies of ancient Greeks and Romans.

But what good would any of that knowledge do her now? Grief welled in her, black and cold, and she huddled against the wall and pulled her knees to her chest, waiting for the sunset. When the cloak of darkness fell upon the street, she would venture to Petrov's house and pray that two precious people would be waiting there to greet her.

Alone in her misery and weariness, Anika lowered her head to her knees and slid into a fitful sleep.

Y
our mama has gone to heaven.”

Anika stubbornly shook her head. “My mama is asleep.”

“No, child, her neck's broke.” The innkeeper's wife dashed a tear from her soot-streaked cheek, then knelt and clasped Anika's hands. Her eyes darkened and shone with an eerie light as her damp hands squeezed Anika's fingers. “Your mama's dead, child, and it's all that cardinal's fault. Don't you ever forget it, you hear? As God is my witness, the Roman church and her meddling priests will be the death of us all.”

Anika did not understand, but she nodded until the woman released her. Not knowing what else to do, she stood silently as the woman rose to watch her home burn. In the distance she heard the ragged cry of her father's weeping.

The man in the red robe gathered his bundles and turned from the ghastly scene. Anika clamped her eyes shut, afraid to look upon the selfish man who would not surrender the ladder to her mother.

“Go away,” she murmured, afraid to open her eyes. “Go away, please.” She felt a tremor run down her throat and heard the gulp as she swallowed her fear. “Go away, go away, go away!”

“Anika! Open your eyes!”

Her eyes flew open, eager to see her father's broad face, but another face loomed before her, a face with eyes as wide and blank as black window panes, as though the soul they mirrored had long since flown.

The face belonged to Cardinal D'Ailly.

“No!”

Horror snaked down her backbone and coiled in her belly as Anika woke and stared into the darkness, trying to see the face that had slashed her sleep like a knife. In a rush of remembrance the features formed again in her memory, and her stomach churned and tightened into a knot as fear brushed the edge of her mind. A cold sweat prickled on her forehead, and she could feel her heart beating like bat wings.

Had Cardinal D'Ailly truly been at the fire where her mother died, or had the horrific events of the past day superimposed his face on the clergyman in her recurrent nightmare?

She clenched her hand into a fist and pressed it to her mouth, unable to make sense of the terror locked inside her dreams. She was as defenseless now as she had been on the night her mother died. Again she was alone in the dark, but she was no longer a child. Though an enemy might lie in wait for her, she could elude him.

Now that darkness had fallen, she would find her father. She rose to her unsteady feet, stretched her cramped muscles, then slipped through the alleys until she recognized Broad Street. Her father's shop was not far away, but she moved slowly and cautiously, lingering in the shadows, darting forward in silence. The curfew bells had already rung. She knew she would be questioned if the king's soldiers discovered her, but maybe her pursuers had withdrawn, not wanting to violate the king's curfew.

Or would they care? How powerful
was
Lord Laco?

After dodging splashes of moonlight and torchlight for nearly an hour, she crept into the doorway of Petrov's house and turned to study her father's bookshop across the street. No candle burned in the window; nothing appeared to move within. The window blinds had not been lowered for nighttime's approach.