The Silver Sword (9 page)

A scowl flitted across Petrov's lined face. “Master Hus had better be careful. Palec is not without influence.”

“Neither is truth,” Ernan remarked gamely. “And I find I must agree with the preacher. For how can a man receive pardon of his sins
from a pope, a bishop, or a priest? Scripture says that God alone can forgive sins through Christ, and he pardons the penitent only.”

Anika brightened, recognizing words she had recently penned. “Master Hus has asked us to set forth his convictions on placards for church doors,” she explained, glancing up at Petrov, “for he intends to debate anyone who would say it is permissible for the Holy Father to sell permission to sin.”

“Anika, you must be fair,” her father remonstrated, lifting his hand. “The Church does not regard indulgences as giving a soul permission to sin. In theory, indulgences are to be granted only to the repentant and are to cover only the element of penance which requires good works.”

“But people do not make such fine distinctions,” Anika argued. “They see the indulgences as covering all the elements of repentance and penance. They want to give their money to the church, then live like the devil and experience no consequences for their behavior.”

“Your daughter's tongue and mind are as sharp as my sword,” Petrov remarked, a gleam in his faded eyes. “She looks like a woman but talks like a monstrosity, Ernan O'Connor. Women should not debate such matters! Did Hus not tell you the girl would be better served by learning to cook and sew than by reading and writing?”

“A friend does not gloat,” Ernan answered gruffly, slipping his arm around Anika. “Especially when he is right.”

“Father!” Anika cried, feigning disdain.

Bending down, her father planted a loud kiss on her cheek. “And though I may have erred, I'll take a bright and literate daughter in place of an idle and foolish one any day. I would place odds on Anika in a debate against the archbishop, for she has learned all that Master Hus teaches, having copied most of his books and sermons herself—”

At that moment the sound of galloping hooves and a shouted warning cut through the hubbub of the street. A carriage barreled through the narrow boulevard, scattering women and children, men and servants. Petrov flung out his arm to shield Anika, nearly knocking her from her feet. A few paces beyond her the carriage lurched
into a puddle in the road, throwing up a mud shower. Much of the grime, Anika noticed in dismay, flew into her father's face.

Anika had often been impressed by the power of her father's temper; in him dwelt a white-hot rage that harmlessly expended itself after a few blustery moments and then vanished without leaving a trace or bearing a grudge. His temper erupted now, flaring toward the occupants of the offending carriage. Later, looking back, she would think that if a hundred carriages had passed them, ninety-and-nine would have continued without stopping, heedless of the cries and calls of the common folk in the street. But this was an unusual carriage and its owner a most notorious nobleman.

The vehicle had not gone twenty paces past them when the groom pulled the horses to a halt. The restless team pawed the ground, unable to understand why they had been halted during what should have been a routine trip through a street of tradesmen, a small row of shops shuttered to observe a holy Sunday.

Anika shivered, but not from the cold. A window blind in the carriage rose and a pair of dark eyes peered forth.

“Ernan,” Petrov warned in a dark voice as he wiped mud from his sleeve, “perhaps we should return home by another street.”

“I'll not be backing down when I've done nothing wrong.” Ernan said, lifting his chin. He strutted forward a few steps. “'Tis a bit odd, don't you think, that a man and his daughter can't even walk down their own street without nearly getting run over?”

“Father,” Anika called, her adrenaline level rising. “Sir Petrov is right. A book I want to read is waiting at home. Let's be away now.”

Oblivious to their cries, Ernan O'Connor strode forward like David to meet Goliath. With mud still clinging to his face, he stalked to the side of the carriage and planted himself by the doorway, his hands on his hips, his eyes snapping with righteous indignation.

“Never fear, child,” Petrov murmured, placing his hand on Anika's shoulder. “Your father can handle himself.”

To Anika's horror, the carriage door creaked and opened. At once Lord Laco's imposing figure filled the opening, while in the two windows
Anika recognized the faces of Cardinal D'Ailly and the obstinate youth she had seen weeks ago at Bethlehem Chapel.

She felt a sudden chill. Surely the bloody events of the past week had conspired against them. These men, especially the cardinal, would be in no mood to hear protests from a man known to be Jan Hus's ally.

“Have you something to say to me, sirrah?” Lord Laco's stentorian voice echoed through the street. “Why stand you gaping up at my carriage?”

“I should think you have something to say to
me,
sir,” Ernan answered. Despite her fear, Anika felt her heart swell with pride. What Ernan O'Connor lacked in stature and wealth, he more than made up in boldness and courage.

“You have urged your groom to drive the horses at a dangerous pace through the city,” Ernan went on, pounding the air with his broad fist. “Last week two children were struck by a reckless carriage just like this one. Now my face bears witness to the proximity of your carriage wheels. How could I be bathed in mud if your driver wasn't reckless? You must caution him—there are ladies and children on this street.”

“Ladies?” Lord Laco's thick lips twisted into a cynical smile. Pointedly, he looked directly at Anika, then returned his gaze to her father. “I see no ladies. I see only an ignorant peasant girl, a broken-down old man, and a heap of Irish scum. So if you take care to remain out of my way, we shall not impede your progress any longer.”

“Father—” The youth who had humiliated Anika in church tugged on the nobleman's sleeve. Lord Laco retreated into the coach for a moment, then returned to the doorway. When he spoke again, his tone was almost contrite. “I beg your pardon, Ernan O'Connor. My son has just reminded me that I have good reason not to be harsh with you.”

“Me, sir?” Ernan frowned.

“Yes.” Lord Laco's tone became as smooth and sweet as butter. “You have a comely daughter, sir, who seems old enough for proper
employment. My son would like to hire her as a chambermaid. She will be well treated, of course, and housed on my estate.”

“Me daughter,” Ernan answered, drawing himself up to his full height, “will serve no man but her husband. She will remain with me until she is married.”

Lord Laco smiled benignly, as if dealing with an ignorant and temperamental child. “Better a chambermaid in a castle than wife to a peasant, my friend. I believe you are underestimating the honor I would like to bestow upon you. Half the fathers in Prague would surrender their daughters to me in an instant—”

“Then I'll be wanting you to count me among the half who would resist you,” Ernan interrupted, frowning with cold fury. “Me daughter will remain with me.”

Lord Laco shrugged slightly, then turned to the cardinal, who had watched the entire episode with an impatient frown upon his face. “Your Eminence,” Laco said, his smile oddly out of place on a countenance like his, “we seem to have reached an impasse. Since this is the Lord's holy day, I submit this situation for you to resolve.”

“I see here,” D'Ailly replied in a bored tone, his fat fingers curving under his chin, “a stubborn and rebellious father who would defy not only God, but his earthly masters as well. In this hour he has stolen your lordship's time, your energy, and your attention. He has also openly defied your authority …” the cardinal's eyes flitted toward the open windows where residents were watching with undisguised curiosity, “before a large section of the populace.”

Laco drew his lips in thoughtfully. “Have you a verdict, then?”

“Yes.”

For the first time, Anika felt the cardinal's eyes fall upon her, and at the touch of his gaze she felt an instinctive stab of fear.

“We know this girl's father associates with Jan Hus. You would be committing an act of mercy to take her from his polluting influence. In your house, she would be safeguarded by the true Church.”

Icy fear twisted around her heart as the cardinal's dark eyes smiled at her.

“My verdict is that you have every right, even a duty, to take the girl.”

“No,” Anika whispered in a small, frightened voice. Surely this was a dream, it could not be happening—

“So be it.” Lord Laco turned toward a pair of knights who rode behind his carriage. “Take the girl from her father, and bring her to the castle. If you encounter resistance …” at this he looked directly at Anika's father, “use your swords.”

“You can't do this!” Anika heard her father roar.

Laco eased himself back into the carriage, then leaned across his son and gave Anika a dry, one-sided smile through the window. “If you find the cardinal's judgment unfair, call a magistrate.”

Laughing, he fell back into his seat as the carriage lurched away.

L
aco's words seemed to come to Petrov through strangely thickened air.

Use your swords.

His sword! It hung by his belt as always, a symbol of his knighthood and his skills in warfare, but how many years had passed since he unsheathed it for anything but training or an empty bluff?

The sound of dear Anika's cry propelled him forward; his hand reached for the instrument that years ago had completed him, made him whole. The hilt felt cold and foreign in his hand, and when had the blade become so heavy?

There was no time to wonder. The two knights riding behind the carriage had spurred their stallions at their master's command; the closest was already closing in upon Anika, his arm extended to sweep her up across his saddle.

“You shall not do this!” Petrov's blade sliced through the air, striking the knight squarely on the forearm, right at the point where the heavy leather gauntlet joined the metal vambrace that protected the arm. The blow did little more than startle the knight, but it gave Anika time to whirl away.

“Run, Ernan, take Anika!” Petrov yelled, turning to brace himself for the second man's attack.

“I will not run,” Ernan answered, pulling a dagger from his belt. “I am within me rights to resist.”

Petrov shook his head, his blood rising in a jet. “Can you not see that they intend to have us? This is no debate, Ernan—it is war!”

The first knight, cursing his injured arm, wheeled his mount around and trotted slowly toward a hitching post. The second slipped from the saddle and drew his sword, advancing steadily toward Ernan.

Petrov glanced behind him. In his younger days he would have taken on two men without hesitation, but he had seen sixty-five summers and was no longer the warrior he had once been. Ernan was a man of books, not the blade, and might prove to be worse than useless in a fight. Behind them lay the winding streets and alleys of Prague, a veritable maze if they should choose to escape. But they would have to run
now,
for the knights were coming closer, as confident as cats intent upon a pair of sag-bellied rats.

“Ernan, listen to me,” Petrov commanded. “Take your daughter and run through the alleys! I will meet you later.”

“No! I am not willing to let this lord take me daughter or me honor, and both must be defended. If Lord Laco wants a fight, by heaven above, I'll give him one!”

Like a fool running for gold, Ernan let out a yell and charged the knight Petrov had wounded. The knight, grinning as his quarry sprinted forward, waited calmly until the last possible moment, then drew his sword. With a quick parry and thrust, he ran Ernan O'Connor through.

Staring in horror, Petrov watched his dearest friend clutch the raw edges of the knight's blade with both hands, then spin in a half-turn. He caught Petrov's eye and offered the older man a trembling smile. “'Twas not the fight I hoped for,” he whispered, glancing down to see blood on his hands. His eyes lifted to Petrov's for a moment, a look of intense and clear longing filling his gaze. “I've been a wee bit unwise today. Take care of Anika, Petrov. Live—and take care of me daughter.”

Petrov scarcely had time to nod before the second knight commanded his attention. Half-blinded by hot tears, he managed a reasonable defense of himself before tripping backward over a planter some well-meaning housewife had set out to beautify the street. Laco's knight, chuckling at his helpless quarry, stood ready to
dispatch Petrov's soul to heaven, but a summons from his comrade broke the silence.

“Leave the old man, Oswald; he's nothing. The master wants the girl, and she's vanished.”