The Silver Sword (34 page)

She raised her eyes to find Lord John watching her. Did he resent her, this man who would be her master for days to come? She had exchanged father and guardian and mentor for his protection, and she would like to believe that he at least thought fondly of her.

His dark brown eyes seemed to soften. “Do you wish, without reservation,” he asked, gentleness in his voice, “to become my servant?”

“I wish it.” Her voice was shakier than she would have liked.

He bent forward then and pressed her hands between his own, then lowered his head until it hovered just above hers. “I seal your vow this day,” he said, his own voice simmering with emotion, “with a kiss.”

She closed her eyes as his warm lips lowered to meet hers. Her first kiss. Her heart slammed into her ribs as an unexpected tremor shook her. She felt a rush of pink stain her cheek—would he see it?

Leaving her breathless and shaken, Lord John straightened and motioned to Novak, who stepped forward with Kafka's sword.

“Swear,” Novak demanded.

Anika struggled to remember the words of the oath she had committed to memory: “I promise by my faith that from this time forward I will be faithful to Lord John of Chlum and will maintain toward him my homage entirely against any man, in good faith and
without—” her gaze flew upward, meeting Lord John's, “without any deception.”

He knew who and what she was. And still he accepted her.

Taking the sword from Novak, Lord John handed it to the chaplain, who murmured a blessing in Latin, then returned it to the master.

Lord John held the blade aloft for all to see, then lightly touched Anika on the right shoulder, then the left.

The bond was forged.

The chaplain stepped forward, a silken blue surcoat spread across his upturned hands. Anika fastened her eyes on the gold cross emblazoned in the center of the garment and felt her heart soar.

John took the surcoat, held it up for all to see, then dropped it over Anika's head. As the silky fabric fell around her, she lifted her gaze again to her master's.

“Go now, fair knight,” he called, his voice ringing with command. “Be brave and upright, that God may love you.”

As her heart pounded in an erratic and joyous rhythm, Anika stood, bowed to Lord John and Novak, then flew off the carpeted platform toward the stallion waiting just outside the knights' circle. As the others cheered, she mounted the war-horse, caught the lance Lev tossed her, and made a mock run toward a dummy someone had strung up on a pole.

It was all in show, good fun for men of war, a chance to show off all she had learned. As she lowered her head and spurred her horse, she knew many of the others were thinking that she might never use these skills again. After all, the knights of Chlum Castle had enjoyed peace for over twenty years.

But they were ignorant; they gave no more thought to the current state of affairs in Bohemia than to what they would eat for dinner. They had not listened to the supper conversations of Lord John and Jan Hus; they had not read the papal bulls and Hus's appeals.

They did not know, as she did for a certainty, that war loomed beyond the horizon.

Jan Hus

A
nd seeing the multitudes,” Anika whispered under her breath, “he went up into a mountain. And when he was set, his disciples came unto him. And he opened his mouth, and taught them saying, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit.'”

“What are you mumbling about?” Lev asked, looking up at her with frank admiration. Ever since she had passed her test and earned the blue and gold surcoat of a knight of Chlum, he and the other squires had treated her with a reverential deference.

“Look at Master Hus,” Anika said, jerking her chin toward the place where the preacher stood. “Denied a church, he will make a temple of the fields and flowers themselves. And throngs gather to hear him, just as they surrounded our Lord during his ministry.”

“They are curious, that's all,” Lev dared to contradict her. “They want to see the great preacher of Prague for themselves, the teacher who dares to defy an order of excommunication.”

“It's more than that,” Anika answered softly. “Look at their faces, observe their eyes, see the deep affection they hold for him. He cares enough to come and call them from their homes, fields, and workshops, and they are listening and learning. No matter what their reasons are for coming, they will not forget the truths they have heard here today.”

Lev did not reply but ambled off to find less lofty conversation. Anika crossed her arms and let her eyes rove over the crowd, watching for trouble. For weeks she and the other knights had been
accompanying Hus on these excursions into Husinec, Hus's birthplace, and other small villages of southern Bohemia.

When he was not preaching, Jan Hus closeted himself in a small chamber of Chlum Castle and called for Peter Mladenovic, Lord John's private secretary. With Peter's help Hus wrote long letters to both his friends and his opponents, patiently explaining his views, extolling the virtue of the Scriptures, and encouraging those who sought the truth.

Lord John and other sympathetic nobles urged the indefatigable preacher to rest, but Hus seemed not to know the meaning of the word. When the wet spring weather prevented him from venturing out to preach, he applied the pen to his thoughts, scribbling in a hasty shorthand on a wax tablet, which Lord John's secretary transcribed onto parchment.

Hus's constant employment of Lord John's secretary brought an unexpected opportunity into Anika's life. With Peter Mladenovic unavailable, Lord John found himself in need of a secretary, so Kafka was summoned from the garrison to handle her master's correspondence and recordkeeping. Lord John also brought her copies of Hus's latest letters, asking her to translate them into French or Latin, depending upon the parchment's intended audience.

Anika felt a silken cocoon of euphoria wrap around her when she picked up a quill again. She loved to write and was thrilled to help further the cause of reformation. As she penned the preacher's words, she saw herself as a tiny spark that would help ignite a much-needed revolution.

Any and all customs,
Hus wrote,
which have been introduced contrary to Christ's law are naught but man's law and should therefore be put down. Christ has presented the light of his truth to the apostles, but for nearly one thousand years men have systematically clouded that light with legalistic rules, unscriptural doctrines, and false teachings.

At the lord's dinner table—where Sir Kafka was now invited to sit—Anika heard from visitors that a literal war of words was being waged in Prague by the two opposing parties. Books and pamphlets
flooded the streets and the university, and citizens were quick to take sides. The reformers sympathetic to Hus were known as “Wyclifites,” because Hus's teachings were similar to Wyclif 's, while the opponents of reform were unflatteringly dubbed “Mohammedans,” because they supported their man-made doctrines with violent actions.

“Support of our cause is on the rise, and I believe we shall prevail,” Lord John recently told his dinner guests. “A royal decree from King Wenceslas has just instituted a new method for making appointments to the Council of Prague. For the first time the council shall consist of Bohemians, not foreigners, and those who attempted to destroy Bethlehem Chapel will be silenced. Our people will finally be encouraged to hear the gospel in their own tongue, without the trappings of Romanism.”

Yes, Anika reflected, the future looked bright for their cause. Favoring Hus, King Wenceslas listened to complaints from the Roman clergy with a bemused smile. The majority of Bohemia's barons now sided with Hus, and in recent days even the common people had come to treasure the preacher from Prague as a national prophet.

Now, as she watched, half a dozen yellow butterflies circled the preacher as if he were a gift from heaven, while behind him a brilliant sunset blazoned the western sky. The crowd would soon be begging him to stay through the night, but Lord John had expressly forbidden any overnight journeys. Hus took his life in his hands every time he ventured from the safety of Chlum Castle, and Lord John was not willing to risk either his knights or the preacher in order that a few more words might be shared.

Insects whirred from the tall grasses around Anika, and she looked up, startled by Hus's silence. The preacher had stopped speaking and bowed his head, lifting his hands to bestow peace upon the dozens of people who clustered around him. From the corner of her eye, Anika saw Novak give the signal to move forward. They would politely escort Hus to the master's carriage and set him back on the road to Chlum, and all would be in order.

Anika exhaled a long sigh of contentment as she moved away
from her post. Bohemia loved her son, Jan Hus. And Hus loved Bohemia enough to win her people to Christ.

The next afternoon, as the procession from Chlum made its way to the castle of Lord Venceslas of Duba, Anika deliberately let her horse slow until she rode abreast of the preacher's carriage. Hus sat within, his eyes glued to a copy of the Scriptures in his lap, his finger running quickly over the pages of script.

Anika pulled slightly left on the reins, willing the horse to move closer. Was Hus reading one of her own copies? She thought she recognized the writing.

The preacher must have sensed her presence. “Is that you, Sir Kafka?” he asked, not lifting his eyes from the page.

Anika felt an unwelcome blush creep onto her cheeks. She was not yet accustomed to hearing the other knights address her as “sir,” and the name sounded particularly odd coming from her father's friend.

“Yea,” she murmured, keeping her voice low.

Hus turned just enough for her to see the suggestion of a smile on his newly tanned face. “Do you know what I am reading?”

“The Scriptures, sir.'

“Not just any Scriptures, my friend. These were copied by a most unusual girl I knew in Prague. Her name was Anika.” He lifted his face then, his dark eyes piercing the distance between them. “I am surprised you have never heard of her. She was a most talented young woman, as skilled in languages as you are. And, like you, she was quick with a pen.”