The Silver Sword (48 page)

“He wouldn't go.” Lord John emphatically stabbed the air with his knife. “He will not leave Constance until his trial is done, I promise you. He believes God has brought him here for the purpose of publicly setting forth his views and having them judged as right or wrong. It would be easier for him to die than to resign this task. He will persist until the end, whatever end that may be.”

His bold statement took Anika's breath away. “Does he want to die?” she asked, remembering the somber look in Hus's eyes when he
told her that God's will could be found in surrender. Surely he didn't want to surrender his life!

“Why should he die?” Novak spoke up. “I thought the council's purpose was to reform the church. Master Hus is a reformer. Why can't they work together?”

“They hate him,” Anika answered, meeting her mentor's open gaze. “They want reform only so long as it enables them to keep their petty powers. Master Hus wants the church to return to the ideals set forth in the Scripture. He values the Word of God over the traditions of men and the liberty of conscience over the tyranny of authority.” She leaned toward Lord John, resisting the impulse to place her hand over his. “My lord, we could take him out of Gottlieben. There is no need for him to die. He can speak from Bohemia, and the world will hear his message through copies of his sermons! He can live in peace, even if he must minister as an itinerant evangelist.”

“He would love that life,” Lord John answered, his eyes gentle and contemplative. For a moment Anika saw an almost hopeful glint in his eyes. Then he shook his head. “No. Jan Hus has come to his moment of accounting, and he would rather die than deny what he is,” he said firmly, his eyes boring into her soul. “We should all be as true to ourselves and God. Do you agree,
Sir Kafka?”

Anika sat back, stung. None of the others understood the subtle emphasis of his words, but his meaning was clear enough to her. Once again he was chiding her because she had chosen to live as a knight. But she
was
being true to herself! Why couldn't he understand that she would rather die than deny her vow? He understood Jan Hus readily enough, but he would not grant her the liberty to reach her goals.

“Excuse me, my lord,” she replied, stiffly rising from the table. “I think Lev and I could use some practice with the sword. I'm afraid we may sit here too long and forget how to fight.”

The morning of June 5 dawned hot and clear. Restless and irritable in the unseasonable heat, Vasek paced outside the Merchants'
Exchange, the rectangular stone building which served as the council's official meeting place. A few nights before, Hus had been transferred from Gottlieben to a Franciscan monastery in Constance. His jailers were allowing him to write again, and letters to and from the Lords Duba and Chlum had flown back and forth with increasing regularity as Hus prepared for his long-awaited public hearing.

Yet another gilded carriage pulled up outside the council's meeting place, and Vasek bowed automatically to the cardinal who stepped out. The council members had begun to arrive even before the sun crested the horizon.

The plan to meet early in the morning had been Vasek's idea, born of necessity and prudence. “If you tell the preacher June 5, but do not tell him what hour, he cannot say you were negligent if you meet early,” Vasek had suggested. “I know Master Hus. He will rise early on that day. He will spend hours in prayer, he will study his notes, he will read the Scriptures, and then he will make ready to come. If you call upon him to speak and he is not in attendance, you can progress with your work.”

The cardinals proclaimed Vasek's idea a stroke of genius. Though he had been hailed as a hero and promised a bishopric for his help, the council's promises did nothing to lift Vasek's heavy heart. Guilt avalanched him now, pressing him down with its weight.

He had been disloyal to Lord John.

He had been disloyal to Jan Hus, who still called him friend.

But most unpardonable of all, by arranging this hasty hearing so that Hus would be condemned before he even arrived at the meeting place, Vasek felt he had somehow been disloyal to his calling. This was a liar's trick. Only people like Baldasarre Cossa resorted to such low tactics.

Another carriage arrived, churning up the gravel in the street. Vasek watched a cloud of dust rise, then lazily drift toward the ascending sun.

Following his heart, he lowered his head and lengthened his stride, praying he would not be too late.

“They have already prepared the document,” Vasek panted, trying to find the courage to look Lord John in the eye. “They planned to satisfy Sigismund by holding a public hearing, but in Hus's absence. The document will be read to all assembled in the hall, and condemnation passed. If Hus is not present before they pass condemnation, the cardinals can truthfully say they held a public hearing, but the accused did not appear to speak.”

“Snakes!” Lord John muttered, tossing his shirt over his head. “Lower than snakes, that passel of vermin! Whoever could have put this idea into their heads? 'Tis an invention of the very devil himself.”

An image rose in Vasek's mind: Adam and Eve in the Garden. Eve had tasted the forbidden fruit in order to be like a god; Vasek had done it in order to be a bishop. Surely their hearts were much alike.

“My horse!” John called to a servant. “And my knights! Have all who are dressed mount up and ride with me at once. We go to inform Sigismund that those crafty cardinals seek to circumvent his intention. We ride at once!”

“Hurry, my lord,” Vasek murmured as Lord John blazed past him. “I wish you Godspeed.”

“We were successful,” Lord John reported later that night as Anika and the other knights gathered round the campfire to hear his news. “The emperor halted the hearing until Master Hus could be brought from his cell.”

“We tried to join you,” Novak growled, jabbing his dagger into the soil. “But they said no armed men could enter the assembly hall. They must fear our swords.”

“I think,” Lord John answered, his eyes meeting Anika's, “they feared your brave hearts more. Having you there would have greatly encouraged Master Hus. You might have given him the courage to silence his opposition.”

“Is all lost?” Anika asked quietly, a heavy feeling in her stomach. “Is Master Hus condemned?”

Lord John shook his head and smiled. “No. He will have his public hearing, though I doubt it will be all he hoped for. They allowed him to address only the council and a few observers, when he had hoped to give an extended address to a great congress. After his arrival, one of the cardinals read articles of accusation from
De Ecclesia.
Hus declared that if there was anything evil or erroneous in his writings he was prepared to amend it, but then his accusers brought statements of false witnesses to accuse him.”

“They dared to lie before God?” Manville's face flushed with honest fury.

Lord John nodded grimly, his countenance like gold in the flickering firelight. “Hus attempted to reply to the falsehoods, but their loud cries interrupted him. He was obliged to turn first toward one cardinal and then toward another to answer those who argued against him. He tried to explain how he had been misquoted and misrepresented, but they screamed at him and demanded that he reply only ‘yes' or ‘no.' Finally, when he followed the example of our Lord and fell silent, they exclaimed, ‘Behold, you are silent; you have admitted your errors!'”

Lord John picked up a stick and silently stirred the fire, sending a volcano of sparks into the night sky. “They worked themselves into a rage like wild boars. If they had been animals—and I am not certain they were not—the bristles on their backs would have stood on end. They lifted their hands to their brows and gnashed their teeth, yet amid all the confusion our friend the goose was not dismayed. When the pack of accusers finally grew silent, he remarked, ‘I supposed there would be more fairness, kindness, and order in the council.'”

Anika felt her heart melt when Lord John looked at her again, his eyes seeking comfort. “I took satisfaction in seeing that at least some council members were shamed by his remark. To save whatever remaining honor the council had, they requested that the meeting be adjourned until the day after the morrow.”

Lord John looked around at his men, appreciation and affection gleaming in the depths of his dark eyes. “To each of you who have
remained beside me and our friend Master Hus, I owe thanks,” he said, his voice husky and deep. “I know you have sacrificed wealth to remain here, and some would say you have sacrificed even your honor. I cannot but believe that our travail here is drawing to a close. Master Hus's trial will be concluded soon, and we shall be going home in victory. And now,” he said, smiling again as he rose to his feet, “I suggest that you all retire to your beds and get some sleep.”

Anika waited until the circle of knights broke up, then hurried forward in the darkness, following her master. She found him outside his tent, standing alone in a stream of moonlight that poured through a gap in the branches of an oak. “My lord,” she called softly, daring to use her woman's voice as she drew nearer, “will they really release Master Hus? You sounded so optimistic—”

He turned to her then, and in the darkness she could not see his face. “What do you think, Kafka? Would you be happy if Master Hus were released?”

“Of course,” she answered, surprised and hurt by the question.

“But you do not think he will be.”

Anika cast about for words, lifting her open hands in the darkness. “From what I know of these prelates, my lord, I do not believe them capable of such a noble act. They are evil. Do I want to see Master Hus restored? Yes. But do I believe these men capable of such righteousness? No. War is the devil's madness, and yet these men are pushing it toward us. They will drive us to revolution—”

Lord John turned slightly, moving into the light. “This mystery will never cease—the priest promotes war, the warrior, peace.”

“What, my lord?”

“A poem I learned in childhood.” He paused for a moment, then extended his hand to her. “Please—come into the light where I can see you.”

Hesitantly, Anika gave him her hand. He pulled her toward him until they stood facing each other in the dazzling light of the moon. “Anika of Prague,” he said, taking both her hands in his own, “What a thorn you are in my side! Your heart is as resolute as thunder, your
mind as quick and nimble as a panther. You are courageous and beautiful, and yet you have set your heart on an obstinate path.”

“Not so, my lord,” Anika protested, feeling the chasm between them like an open wound. “I have set my heart to serve you.”

An inexplicable look of withdrawal came over his face. “If you would serve me, Kafka, knight of Chlum, forswear this foolish quest of vengeance. Put aside your armor and sword and become Anika again. Be content with your womanhood and with whatever the morrow brings.”