The Silver Sword (36 page)

She stopped before a new structure that had been built upon blackened foundation stones. The fresh wood gleamed bright and new, a startling yellow against the dingy gray of the other weathered buildings. She lifted her visor to stare unimpeded at the bit of earth she had once called home.

There was nothing left. Not a single monument or sign or indication that her father and she had lived in this place, slept over these stones, dreamed beneath this section of sky.

She turned slowly, almost afraid to look over at the small structure that had been Petrov's house. To her surprise, she found that it had not changed. The door hung partway open, and the shutters wore a patina of dirt, but at least something remained of her previous life.

As if moving in a dream, Anika walked toward the tiny house. There was no light or movement within, but a rectangular sign advertising a tobacconist hung over the door. The memory of a similar sign ruffled through her mind like wind on water, and she walked forward and turned the sign over. On the other side a proud hand had written:
Ernan O'Connor, Copyist.
The paint had weathered and the letters faded, but at least this sign had survived the fire, probably knocked loose when the fiends set her father's bookshop ablaze and destroyed a lifetime of work. A pain squeezed her heart as she thought of her father hunched over his table, a pen in one hand, a straight edge in the other. He had taught her so much about books, and books had taught her about the world.

“I thought you might be here.”

More surprised than frightened, she looked up to see Lord John standing behind her. She dropped her lashes quickly to hide the hurt in her eyes, then turned back to the sign, returning it to its new position. “This was my father's sign,” she whispered through suppressed tears. “'Tis all that remains of him in this place. I had hoped there might be something more.”

“Do not expect to find your father here,” Lord John answered, coming a step closer. “He lives on in your life and your future, Kafka.” His voice, without rising at all, took on a subtle urgency. “Leave these things behind, and forget the past. You are needed now at Chlum Castle.” Amusement flickered in the dark eyes that met hers. “I could no longer imagine life without you among us.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips, searching anxiously for the
meaning behind his statement. He had spoken so tenderly she might have believed his words to be a proclamation of love—or at least concern. But he was her lord, and she his sworn servant. Surely that was all he intended to imply. And he was here, not because he was concerned for her, but because one of his knights had disappeared from an assigned post.

His next words confirmed her thoughts. “Why did you leave, Kafka? Novak came to me because you could not be found, and we feared mischief from one of our enemies.”

“You should not trouble yourself on my account,” she said, forcing herself to look at him again. “You have made certain that I can handle myself. And the knights of Chlum are so esteemed no one would dare attack one who wears your blue and gold.”

“All the same,” he said, extending a hand, “I wish you would join us again. I would be more at peace if you were with us.”

The expression in his eyes brought the color rushing into her cheeks. She forced herself to look away and ignore the hand stretched out for her comfort. “Of course, my lord. My work here is done,” she said, moving stiffly past him to the street.

As Lord John checked his long stride to match her own on the walk back, Anika tried not to think of his closeness or the expression in his eyes when he had announced that he'd come looking for her. Why had he come? If Novak had reported her missing, Novak should have sought her.

She tucked the question away, unwilling to waste her time considering impossibilities.

Three months later, as the bitter January winds pierced the tapestry-lined walls, Anika entered the castle and climbed the stairs to her master's chamber, obeying a summons. Lord John's two mastiffs, Bela and Bilko, looked up as she approached but did not growl.

From inside the chamber, Lord John glanced up from his desk. “Sir Kafka,” he called loudly, aware that others in the hallway might
hear, “come in.” He gave her a wry smile and in a lower voice added, “They did not growl at you, but they growl at every man who approaches. How do you explain it?”

Stepping forward, Anika paused to scratch each dog's ears. “I am certain you alone know the answer to that, my lord. Perhaps they know I love animals. Or it may be they know that I am no threat to you.”

“'Tis more likely,” John murmured, turning his attention back to the parchment on his desk, “they know you are no man. But no matter. I have brought you here to describe our work in the months to come. Of all my knights, you are the best suited to help us accomplish our aims.”

Anika stood, astonished at the sense of fulfillment she felt at his words.
Of all my knights…
He had not only accepted her; he had come to value her.

“While Master Hus travels, preaches, and writes his letters,” Lord John explained, “negotiations are being conducted for the meeting of a general church council to discuss the reforms we sorely need. Among those calling for the council is King Sigismund of Hungary, who has now been elected to imperial power. This Sigismund is astute enough to realize that being emperor of a divided kingdom is tantamount to not being emperor at all. He wants to rule Rome, but he does not want his life complicated with three popes and a confused people.”

“The people of Bohemia,” Anika inserted when Lord John paused to gather his thoughts, “care little for this man who calls himself emperor.”

“They should.” Lord John stroked his chin. “As King Wenceslas's brother, Sigismund is also heir to the throne of Bohemia. Wenceslas has no son, and upon his death Sigismund will be our king.”

Anika waved the information away. “Who cares about kings and emperors? They are a secondary evil. We must have reform because the Church is not to be endured in its present state. The vices of the priests are a rank odor before heaven. They commit murder, they
steal, in broad daylight they perpetrate acts which cannot be spoken without shame.”

“Some
of them,” Lord John corrected. “But you are right, the time has come to halt their evil. The best minds in the world are calling for a meeting, and Master Hus has heard rumors that they will agree that a council of the entire church is superior to any single member of it, even the Roman pope himself.”

Anika caught her breath as she realized the significance of his statement. “A council can overrule the pope?” She regarded her master with somber curiosity. “Truly?”

The suggestion intrigued her. This was what the church needed, and surely this was what Master Hus wanted. If that vicious Pope John were deposed, the entire Roman hierarchy could be reformed. Perhaps then truth could enter the ranks, and light could throw back the shadow of boundless iniquity that had shrouded the church for so long. The other antipopes were not nearly as powerful as John, and in time their influence would fade away.

“Your face!” Lord John murmured, breaking off her train of thought. “How like a mirror it is. I can see into your very soul, my friend, and the earnestness of your convictions puts me to shame.”

“Tell me more,” she breathed, kneeling on a cushion beside his chair. “What would you have me do? I stand ready and willing to serve, even if you would have me crawl to Rome on my hands and knees to beg this Sigismund to convene a council.”

“My request is nothing so difficult,” he answered, a trace of laughter in his voice. “But it is not without possible danger.” His smile diminished slightly. “Pope John, of course, is not eager for this council of cardinals to convene.”

“Cardinals!” The word flew from Anika's tongue like a curse as the rotund face of Cardinal D'Ailly rose to her mind. What would a gathering of vulture-like cardinals accomplish except to peck out the eyes of Truth?

Frowning at her interruption, Lord John continued: “I am certain that this pope has met every proponent of the council with
bribes or threats, whichever will work to his favor. But the emperor has already set the time and place—Constance, in October of this coming year. And Sigismund, who now looks at Bohemia like a prospective bride, will not take a heresy-stained kingdom into his bosom. He has commanded that Jan Hus shall appear before the council, that Hus may prove false the rumor that Bohemians are sons of heretics.”

Anika silently considered this information. Master Hus would consider it his duty to appear before the council, but if it were composed only of cardinals, the calcified backbone of the church, what hope had they of true reform? The cardinals were not popes, true, but living one heartbeat away from infallibility and nearly unlimited power tended to create a mass of power-hungry and ruthless men. Perhaps there were some high-ranking clerics who honestly sought the heart of God, but Anika could not forget that Pope John had once been a cardinal.

“A delegation from Sigismund will arrive here on the morrow,” John answered, lowering his voice. “They will undoubtedly speak Latin, which many of my knights do not understand. I want you to remain at my side, listening with your sharp ears, and using that delightful sense of intuition you possess to note impressions I would miss. And if Master Hus elects to undertake the journey to Constance, I want you to go with us.”

She stared at him, amazed that he would find it necessary to ask. She was his to command; as his knight she was sworn to obey his slightest wish. “Of course, my lord.”

“Know this,” he said, his tender voice almost a murmur. “There may be an occasion when I will ask you to remove your armor and venture out on our behalf in women's dress. It has occurred to me, and to Novak, that it might be advantageous to have a spy in Constance. It may well be that a woman may go where an armored knight cannot.”

His suggestion both excited and aggravated her. She was thrilled to think she could provide a special service for her master, but
something in his manner irritated her. Did he seek to spare her from what could be a dangerous undertaking? During her year at Chlum she had asked for neither mercy nor special treatment, and she did not want to receive either now.

But, on the other hand, if she could serve him in some way the others could not—her heart fluttered at the thought—she could not refuse him.

She inclined her head stiffly. “I will do whatever you think necessary, as long as it will help Master Hus's cause,” she answered, her voice harsher than she had intended.

“You are angry.” He folded his hands and regarded her with inquisitive eyes. “Why, pray tell? Why should it bother you to become what you are meant to be? You know that one day you must resume your woman's garments. I cannot deny that your disguise has worked thus far, but it will not always shield you, my Kafka. When the younger squires begin to grow beards and speak with the voices of men, do you not think they will wonder why you remain unbearded and speak in a woman's voice? I know Master Hus believes God has brought you to this place, but even he does not think you can continue many more months like this.”

“I can!” she cried, gulping back her frustration and a horde of unspoken emotions. “At least until Master Hus is vindicated. I swore to serve you as long as you serve Master Hus, and you are still active in that service.”

He leaned back in his chair, probably as exasperated with her as she was with him, and Anika bit her lip. She had also agreed that she would relinquish her vow whenever he asked her to, but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving him.

If Lord John asked her to leave, she'd beg for more time. Maybe he would agree to give her separate quarters in the stable, where she'd be removed from the other knights. But she couldn't leave Chlum Castle, at least not yet. Not while her vow remained unsatisfied … and Lord John remained unmarried.

If he married again, she would have to go. She wouldn't be able to abide the sight of another woman by his side at dinner. A wife
would read to him after supper. She would answer his correspondence and listen to him discuss the affairs of king and country … all the things Anika had been doing for over a year.

“I can remain as I am for some time to come,” she repeated, forcing herself to concentrate on the matters at hand. “I am quiet. The other knights don't notice me because I spend so much time copying for you in the castle. And you may place your full trust in me.”

She turned on her heel and walked from the chamber, nearly bumping into Vasek in her haste to retreat.