The Silver Sword (11 page)

Her father was not home.

She whirled around to study Petrov's house. There! Through the shutters she did see a light burning inside, though 'twas only a small candle, not a proper lamp. Still, that single flame was a sign of life, and life meant hope.

Holding her breath, she knocked on the door. After a long moment she heard Petrov's husky voice. “Who goes there?”

“Anika,” she whispered, surprised that her lips had the power to speak at all.

A latch clicked, the hinges protested, then the door swung open. Petrov opened his arms to her, and Anika fell into his embrace with joy and relief. “Sir Petrov! I am so glad to see you! I was so frightened!” With her arms locked around his waist, she looked up. “Where is my father?”

“Hush, little bird.” The old knight's spidery hand rested on her head for a moment. Then he hurried her inside and bolted the door.

An odd coldness settled upon Anika, a fearful and darkly textured sensation, heavy and threatening. “Sir Petrov,” she asked, an unusual note of command filling her voice, “I must know. Where is my father?”

The old man's features went dead white. “With Master Hus.”

Anika closed her eyes and sighed. “Good. You are clever, my friend! Lord Laco would never dare to search for him at the church. Can you take me to him now, or must we wait until morning?”

The old man gave her a quick, denying glance, then lowered his bony hands to her shoulders. “Anika, dear one, your father truly is in heaven, for a more godly man I never knew.” His face seemed to crack; pain and sadness and regret poured forth from his eyes, his voice, even his quivering nose. “His body alone is with Master Hus; his spirit is with the Lord. And you cannot be with him now.”

Anika clamped her jaw shut and stared at nothing as the old feelings of abandonment tugged at her soul like a powerful undertow. Death had visited her again, and again it was somehow her fault. She had left her mother's side before the fire; today she had abandoned her father … and now he was dead, too.

She felt as though devilish hot hands gripped her heart, slowly twisting the life from it. The gypsies would say she was cursed, born under an unlucky star, destined to lose both parents through her own inattention …

“Anika, listen to me.” Petrov's voice still scraped terribly, but the
words began to come faster. “You cannot go back to your father's shop. It is not a safe place for you.”

“Why not?” she answered thickly, her sense of loss beyond tears. “What does it matter?”

“He died defending you, little bird. Lord Laco's son insulted you, and your father certainly knew enough of young men to see malice in the youth's eyes. If you return to your home tomorrow, Laco is certain to send someone to fetch you. And now you have no defender, save me.”

Defender.
She looked up at the old knight, suddenly not caring whether or not she hurt him. “Why didn't you save him?” Her breath burned in her throat. “You're a knight, Sir Petrov. You know how to fight. My father is not a fighter. He couldn't have prevailed against those men without your help.”

“I tried.” Trembling with sorrow, Petrov's hands fell from her shoulders. His gentle brown eyes overflowed with tears as he sank to a chair and lifted his eyes toward heaven. “God above knows I tried. Would that I had my youth, my strength, my ardor! But I am not what I was, Anika. I could not prevail. I would have been run through with the sword, too, but—”

“But what?”

Petrov hung his head, and his lips went as pale as his cheeks. His voice was low and controlled, but Anika could hear the undertone of desolation. “I was not fit to kill. There was no glory in it, so my opponent let me live.”

His misery was so overwhelming, so palpable, it was like another body in the room—a laboring, grieving presence. Anika sank to a low stool in the small and sparely furnished chamber. Why was she hurting the friend her father loved best? Petrov was staggering under a load of shame she could only begin to comprehend.

“Your father,” he went on, his voice fainter than air, “bade me live to look after you. And I am afraid I will not even be able to do that, for I cannot defend you against Lord Laco's knights. They will come looking for you on the morrow, for Laco is a determined man.”

“He is a brute.” She spat the words, choking on her anger. “He
deserves to die the death he decreed for my father. And that son with him. And that loathsome Cardinal D'Ailly.”

Petrov lifted his head, surprise written on his features. “Anika, you should not say such things. Perhaps you can be forgiven for saying them to me, but if you repeat those words and the report reaches Laco's ears, you will be in worse straits than now.” His brows drew together in an agonized expression. “I will take you tomorrow to Jan Hus. You can say your farewells to your father, and we will tell Master Hus all that happened today. Maybe he can find employment for you with a family in the city.”

“No.” She swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and boldly met his gaze. “The evil ones must pay for what they have done, Sir Petrov. And I intend to see that they do.” She looked away and studied the single candle burning on Petrov's table. “I had a dream tonight—a familiar dream, for it has visited my sleep many times. In my dream I revisited the place where my mother died, and Cardinal D'Ailly was there.”

“You cannot believe what you see in dreams,” Petrov countered, shaking his head. “The devil plants false ideas and feelings while we sleep.”

“If it was not D'Ailly, it was a cardinal like him; they are much the same.”

Petrov blinked at her in bewilderment, then loosely crossed his arms. “The cardinals are not
all
evil, little one. There are some who love God more than power or the pleasures of this world. Yet they wear the robes of cardinals, too.”

“Still—” She drew a long, quivering breath, barely mastering the passion that shook her. “I will not suffer them. No more. Not any longer.”

“And what will you do?” he asked, managing a half-laugh. “We all suffer them, little bird. There are some like Master Hus who dare to try to change things, but he is working from within the church. We do not know enough to challenge the churchmen. We are uneducated—”

“I am not uneducated,” she interrupted, cutting him off with a
glance. “And I do not know what I will do. But we will sleep on our problem, and if God is good, perhaps he will provide an answer.”

Petrov's answer, when morning came, was simple and direct. “We should work within the civil law as Master Hus works within the church,” he told Anika. And though she had her doubts about the wisdom of his plan, she washed her tears from her face, then took Petrov's arm and went to the town hall to meet with the council of magistrates. In the same council chamber where Anika had heard the magistrates falsely promise a fair trial for the three students, she and Petrov reported the events that led up to Ernan O'Connor's death.

The chief magistrate, a haughty man with craggy features, stared at Anika from across the table. “You are aware, of course, that Lord Laco and his son will have to be summoned to give their account of the incident,” he said, his mouth pulling into a sour grin. “If their stories do not mesh with yours, Cardinal D'Ailly himself might have to be consulted. And we have heard on good authority that the cardinal is en route to Rome.”

“Consult with whomever you have to,” Petrov answered gruffly. “Anika and I do not fear the truth. Master Hus will account for our characters. The girl, her father, and I have had many dealings with him.”

At the mention of Hus's name, Anika saw the chief magistrate's eyebrows slant together in a frown.
It was a reasonable idea, Sir Petrov,
she thought, silently following the knight from the council chamber.
But the chief magistrate's hatred for Jan Hus is a living thing, and it will consume us if we are not careful.

Before the day ended they received a summons to appear before the council the next morning. Anika felt her skin crawl with revulsion when she walked through the chamber doorway on Tuesday morning and saw Lord Laco, his son, and the two knights who had been in attendance on the day of her father's murder. One of the knights wore a thick bandage around his forearm, and bluish green bruises mottled the other's face.

“Sir Petrov, did you cause so much damage?” Anika whispered, staring at the other knight's puffy face.

“I only wish I had,” Petrov answered, a muscle quivering in his jaw. “The brute has been in a yard fight, or else he has deliberately punished himself to elicit mercy from those who will judge us.”

With a thickly beating heart Anika wound her way through the crowd of observers. Master Hus had volunteered to face the magistrates with Anika and Petrov, but all three of them knew his presence might only muddy the waters. And so Anika and Petrov stood alone before the magistrates and waited to hear the result of the council's investigation of their complaint.

The head magistrate glanced up at Anika and Petrov, then nodded grimly toward the bench where Lord Laco and his men sat. “We have spoken to this nobleman, his son, and his knights,” the chief magistrate said, eyeing Anika with a taut and derisive expression. “And their stories, told separately, agree in form and detail. According to them, their carriage was progressing through the streets when a shout from your father stopped the vehicle. When his lordship looked out and apologized for splashing mud on …”—he glanced down at his notes for a moment—“Ernan O'Connor, the copyist hurled curses and insults at Lord Laco. In an effort to further demonstrate his goodwill, the noble lord then offered employment to the daughter.” The magistrate looked up and studied Anika for a moment. “But this offer was proudly and scornfully refused. The lord and his party then departed, their business done, but the copyist and his companion savagely attacked two of the lord's knights. A fight ensued, and the knights of Lidice defended themselves and their master's honor.”

The magistrate nodded toward the wounded knights with a taut jerk of his head. “You see the injuries before you. In the attack, Ernan O'Connor was struck and killed, and the knight called Petrov fled away through the city streets, as did the girl.”

The magistrate and Lord Laco exchanged a subtle look of amusement. “Have I forgotten any detail, my lord?” the magistrate asked.

“No,” Laco answered in a tense, clipped voice that forbade any argument. “That is the entire truth.”

The magistrate nodded. “Then the council finds you, Sir Petrov, guilty of criminal mischief and fined a week's wages.” The magistrate's voice was stern with no vestige of sympathy. “And you, Anika of Prague, since you lack parents and a fit guardian, are charged with finding gainful employment so you will not join the other beggars in the street. If you cannot find a suitable place by sunset one week from today, you must accept employment from Lord Laco, if that nobleman is still of a mind to offer it.”

Anika's gaze met Lord Laco's for the first time. “I am still willing,” he said, his granite eyes locked on her. “As long as she pleases my son.” The smile in his eyes contained a sensuous flame. “As a chambermaid, of course.”

The magistrate wagged his head. “We are agreed, then. If you find no other employer willing to take you, you will report to the steward of the lord's estate at Lidice seven days hence, ready to begin service to your new master.”

Anika muffled her tears as a flash of wild grief ripped through her. Turning to hide from her enemies, she buried her burning face against Petrov's shoulder as the knight led her from the room. He shielded her as best he could, but as they passed through the vestibule, where a crowd of citizens stood silent and still, a tall man with dark hair and even darker eyes stopped them by slipping his hand under Anika's chin.

“I overheard your case,” he said, a strange, faintly eager look flashing in his eye as he turned from Anika to Petrov. “Is there anything I can do?”