The blond man continued to move on toward the monastery.
Eva stared at the building she had been in maybe an hour ago and could not stop the tears.
Huddled in a mass beside the monastery were the nuns. They comforted one another and wailed. That’s where Zdenek’s friend went. Perhaps to ensure their safety.
Eva cried for them, too. For the injustice, for their loss, and for her inability to do anything to change their fate.
* * *
How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Karin did not know. One day passed into the other as the emptiness of her room and bed kept her restless each day and into every night. Wasn’t she stronger than this? Pavel had believed her to be.
Gazing at her journal, she was mocked by the empty pages staring back. She had sat for nearly an hour and yet no thoughts worth writing came. Not even the view of the countryside out the nearby window could divert her.
Pages turned behind her and she shifted so she could look at Pavel’s parents seated farther away by the fireplace. Though there was nothing burning in the hearth, the chair closest to it allowed Alex to have his back to the window, giving him more adequate reading light. Marketa worked her needle and thread not far away. She hummed. A bit loudly. But it did not seem to disturb her husband.
So Karin watched her new parents at leisure. They had gone to great lengths to make her comfortable. But it wasn’t the same without Pavel. She doubted anywhere would be.
Her heart ached for him, for his arms. And to know all would be well. As it was, she worried. Would he be safe? Would his injury lead him to become compromised in battle?
She sniffled as a tear escaped. Reaching up, she caught it before it made a trail down her face. But she found the baron’s eyes on her.
Offering him a small smile, she hoped to reassure him.
He nodded and returned to his book.
She spun in her seat and lifted the writing tool once again. It would be best if she could get her feelings out on paper. Then she might have some relief.
No sooner had she made an ink stroke on the clean parchment than the door flew open.
A manservant rushed in, followed by a man dressed for battle.
“My lord, our lands are under attack!” The manservant appeared flushed and harried.
Karin’s eyes were on Alex.
He rose as the soldier stepped past the manservant.
“My lord,” the soldier interjected, not waiting to be announced properly. “I am charged with taking you and your family to safety at once.”
“Yes, of course.” Alex waved at Karin and Marketa.
Karin stood on shaky legs and stepped toward the soldier.
As the three converged where the soldier stood, Alex spoke to the man, “We must get the women to a safe place, but I will stay and fight.”
The soldier’s eyes were hard on Alex. But as he studied the baron, his gaze softened. “As you wish, my lord. Your sword will be a great asset.”
Karin watched Alex’s features as they settled into a proud mask. When she glanced at Marketa, however, the woman was biting her lip. Did she want to speak out against it? If so, her restraint was admirable. For she uttered not a sound but took Alex’s hand as the soldier led them to the stables.
The manservant split off from the group. Was he not to go with them? What would become of the servants?
Before long, Karin sat in a saddle, prepared to go. She had not one possession with her. Marketa lingered in a moment of farewell with Alex. Karin averted her eyes, focusing on the horse beneath her. The light tan of its hair was soft under her hand and the black of its mane felt coarse in her fingers. Though the horse stirred under her, she trusted he had sure feet and good speed.
Marketa came up beside her, already in a saddle. But Karin saw moisture in her eyes. This was a lot to take in at once.
The manservant appeared with Alex’s battle garments and sword. He began fitting his master for war.
A loud voice disturbed her thoughts as the soldier cut off her view of Alex, walking his horse into her sightline. “Come, ladies, we must away.”
Karin nodded at the man who she supposed she should trust and urged her horse into a trot. The clomping of hooves behind assured her Marketa followed.
As they came around the front of the estate, more soldiers surrounded them. Unnerved, Karin almost pulled back on her reins. Were they friend or foe? Was this some kind of elaborate trap?
A glance around told her that resistance would indeed be a futile effort. So, she peered at Marketa’s paled face and held on as they pushed their horses into the night.
* * *
Zdenek’s thoughts were absorbed. Eva was here. She had defied his better judgment and come with the Taborite army. What was she thinking?
And now, because of the Taborite women, there was a great upheaval in the Hussite community. Perhaps not all was the fault of the women. There had been underlying unrest since the Taborites came to Prague. The Hussites in the golden city just weren’t as extreme in their beliefs. And the people of Prague led a more extravagant lifestyle, which the Taborites found to be rather . . . ungodly.
Zdenek still wasn’t sure what was godly. Who was God? What was truth? So, he wasn’t sure he should judge what was ungodly.
A meeting had been called. And here he was, seated in a rather large room, glancing about at the various representatives from the Old and New Towns of Prague as well as University Masters and representatives of the city’s allies.
As he watched on, the meeting was called to order and great discussion ensued. Zdenek always had a difficult time following these sorts of things. But a glance to his side at Radek and Pavel told him that his friends tracked the meeting just fine.
This did not bother Zdenek. It allowed his mind to wander where it longed to be—on Eva. When she came to him the other evening, he had wondered if she was a product of some fantasy. After his discussion with Pavel, he had needed a moment to think. He could never have imagined that when he returned, he would find Eva facing off with Radek.
But when she spun toward him, his heart had stopped. Though out of breath and bedraggled, she was striking. And in that moment, he pondered how he ever left her behind. But it had been for her own safety. Once he realized she was truly there, he became concerned about her presence. And a bit angry.
Though when she reached for him, pleading for his help, how could he refuse? All the while, he thought it best to let the Taborite women handle their own problems the way they saw fit. But how could he refuse her anything?
Then they were too late. He had nothing left to do but hold her. And he did until there were no more tears. By then other soldiers had come to the aid of their wives, the Taborite women. They took them into their camp and that was the end of it.
Until the Praguers started pointing fingers. The civil unrest increased. Now here they were.
Zdenek forced his attention back to the speakers. As he began to put together the happenings of the council, he gathered that they had just elected new city councils for both towns.
“There will be a full scale purge of all who remain in the city but are unwilling to accept communion in both kinds,” one of the new council members said.
“Yes, there are too many German Catholics who remain among us as traitors,” another council member spoke up.
“How shall we accomplish this?” One man raised his voice.
The man who had suggested the purge thought for a moment. “We shall go door-to-door and insist everyone sign a pledge to the cause of the Chalice. Whoever refuses shall be expelled from the city.”
Radek grunted.
Zdenek glanced at him. Did he disagree? It had not escaped Zdenek that Radek had been having some . . . hesitations. Still, he did not ask his friend about it.
The new council members went on to discuss and refine the fourth article of the stated Four Articles.
Zdenek tried to maintain his attention, as he knew this was important to the cause.
/> Radek crossed his arms and leaned his head back as if to doze. Was he no longer interested?
Then Commander Zizka stepped forward. “The military command structure needs to be reviewed.”
Zdenek leaned forward, and he sensed Radek raise his head as well.
Was Zizka stepping down? Or was he vying for more power? The military units in Prague were under different commanders. They didn’t operate as one. Perhaps that was what he wanted to change.
There was debate on the matter, during which Zdenek thought he saw even Zizka appear bored. Eventually, they elected twelve captains and named Zizka captain-general of Prague. Everyone seemed pleased.
Zizka gave a report about the recent goings-on in Tabor. There were skirmishes. Ulrich of Rozmberk had taken advantage of Zizka’s absence.
Pavel tensed beside him.
And Zdenek knew. His friend had left just before these things transpired. It haunted Pavel that he was not there to defend his wife, his parents, and their estate. He did not have to say as much for Zdenek to sense it to be true.
But, between the contingency sent from Prague and the small army left in Tabor, they had been able to defeat Rozmberk.
Zizka noted, with shoulders that seemed weighed down and an intensity in his gaze, that Rozmberk had taken several priests as prisoner. It was known that he sentenced them to be imprisoned and starved. And if Zizka had the chance, he would make Rozmberk pay.
Much of the remainder of the meeting was lost on Zdenek. There was nothing for it. His mind was elsewhere. As the monastery burned, sad as they had been, he and Eva had connected in a meaningful way. Yet his anger was not quelled. She had defied him. Now she was in danger.
And there was nothing he could do to prevent the crusade that was coming. None of them could. It was only a matter of time until the Royalist army arrived in full force. Prague, the prized capital of their lands, the crowned jewel of Bohemia, would be the focus of the entire conflict. It would all come down to this one city. And she was here. In the midst of it.
* * *
The wind blew past Lenka as she stood atop her balcony high above the rolled out landscape that seemed to move in waves. She always marveled at it—how it changed from day to night. When washed with the light of the sun it fairly glowed, springing forth with life. But as darkness fell, it took on more ominous movements. It teemed with shadows and glimpses of wild, untamed things.
These things sought her out this night. Just as the wind itself pierced through her, it searched out her very soul. Clasping her hands to her heart, she attempted to keep at least that one piece to herself. For she would not betray the hidden things there to the madness of the shifting wind. Nor, it would seem, to the probing of her husband.
She wondered anew why she had defended her secret-keeping. Why had she chosen distance over reconciliation? The cold wind beating against her howled its judgment upon her, but it could no more press guilt on her than she did so herself. For she was lost.
Had her dealings with Karin been right? Her heart spoke in the affirmative, though everything around her denied her succor. What was she to believe?
Should she stand her ground and await Petr’s change of heart? Or admit her wrongdoing and beg forgiveness for a grievance she wasn’t certain she had committed? Or was she?
At length, she drew her body away from the torment of the wind and inside the hall. Only then did she realize she heaved great breaths from her fight against herself. Her eyes took in the limited light in the hall as the moonlight crept in through occasional openings within the safety of her home. Had none of the servants thought to light candles for their mistress?
Her heart pounded as she stepped carefully into the darkness. Sure she could find her way to her room no matter the circumstance, she preceded, her footfalls slow as she made her way in the direction of the stairs.
Once up the stairs and to her room, she breathed a deep sigh. There would be no more of it tonight. No more war, no more struggle. Only her and her bed. She would ponder on what would become of Petr in the morning.
Her door had been opened and a candle lit within. So Sharka had not forgotten her. Pushing the door to widen the opening, she stepped into the room.
And her breath caught.
A figure sat, silhouetted by the lone flame.
She scrambled backward, hitting the door, slamming it shut. There was no escape.
The figure shifted, sitting straighter and raising its head toward her. “Lenka?”
The voice, soft in its delivery, concern belayed in its tone, was familiar. As he stood, she could discern his features. Petr.
Her whole body slumped. She wished to chastise him for the fright he had given her but could not find the words.
He stepped toward her, now only an arm’s length away. “Lenka, are you well?”
She nodded, her hand still over her heart, reassured by its pounding that she had not, in fact, died of fright.
“I have been here for near an hour. What has kept you?” There was no accusation in his voice. Only concern.
Part of her wanted to respond in harsh tones, biting at him for his earlier behavior. But she found she could not. “I was enjoying the night air.”
As the flame now sat behind him, she could not see his features. His nod was all she made out.
He sighed deeply. “I could not rest.”
She licked her lips, but did not move.
Petr let out a long breath and took another step toward her. “I cannot sleep when there is strife between us.”
Though she could not see his face, she felt his eyes upon her.
“What would you say, wife?”
She took several breaths before she spoke. “I know not what to say, my lord. I fear I cannot discern in my own heart whether to spurn my behavior or defend it.”
Her words were met with a long stretch of silence. When he did speak, his voice was much softer. “I cannot blame you for the whole of it. Nor can I absolve it.”
“Then what would you have me do?” She swallowed, placing her hands against the door behind her and lowering her head in submission.
Gentle fingers on her chin raised her face once again. “I would have you be true to yourself. And I would love you for it.”
Lenka could not hold back the tears that stung her eyes.
His arms surrounded her. Caught in the shelter of his embrace, she allowed the tears to come. In the emotion of the moment, his lips found hers. And all was well.
* * *
Marketa awoke from a restless sleep, itching. Slumbering on the ground did not suit her. Was it some bug? Or the grass? She reached for her leg and scratched through her skirts. How many nights had she endured such offense to her comfort? How many more must she yet?
The warmth on her back indicated the fire burned though she had not opened her eyes. And there were voices. Were the men still awake? She strained to hear. Only two, perhaps three, distinct voices were discernable. But their words were difficult to make out.
“What say you?” one man spoke a bit harshly, raising his voice to a level that made it easier to hear. Was his speech slurred?
“I don’t like it one bit,” another chimed in.
“Just look at them. So helpless. Like lambs.” Was it the first voice? Or a third?
“And here we are . . . like watching children. When we could be fighting,” the voice grated. Angry. At she and Karin? Marketa held her breath and stilled her scratching.
“ . . . nothing to show for it . . . ”
The words came in snatches. Were the men lowering their voices?
“Perhaps . . . we could . . . or . . . ”
There was a menacing quality to the voice. Did they plot ill upon her and Karin? Marketa’s eyes widened. She bit her lip to keep it shut.
Karin slept on, a short distance away. What should she do—wait for the men to seek sleep? Or would one remain alert for watch? Perhaps she should rouse Karin. But how to do so without raising suspicion?
; No, it was up to her. But how? And could she? A couple of things were certain: she could not overcome more than one soldier, and she had to find the courage to do this.
Refocusing on the men across the campsite, she strained once more to hear their voices. Minutes passed into an hour as she waited for them to subside. They finally did. Quieting her breath, she counted several more minutes away to ensure the other men were indeed asleep.
Now. It has to be now.
Rolling slowly onto her back, she gazed across the span of the camp and noted that the site was devoid of movement. Four of the soldiers were on the ground, sleeping. One slumped against a tree near the fire. Had he also fallen asleep? Perhaps from too much drink? Could she be so fortunate?
Sitting up, she narrowed her eyes and studied his form.
Nothing.
A noise nearby caused her heart to stop.
Jerking her head around she realized it was the snorting of the horses as they shifted. Marketa forced her breaths in and out evenly. Then she reached for Karin.
“Can I help you with something, my lady?” a loud voice said.
Turning, she lost her breath again. The man stood behind her. Was it her imagination or did he have a sneer on his face?
She forced her hand to loosen its grip on the fabric over her heart. Then it was all she could do to make words come forth. “I . . . need to . . . ” How was one to say it when the words wouldn’t come?
The man’s face relaxed and an eyebrow quirked. “You need your friend for that?”
“I . . . do not know these woods.”
“Afraid of the dark?” A crooked smile crossed his features.
Marketa twisted away as her face warmed. She could not lie. And she feared her eyes would betray her plans. Would she have the courage to do what she must? Her gaze cut to Karin. She had to.
“On your feet. I’ll take you.” The man sighed, as if it was the last thing he wanted to do.
Rising, Marketa did her best to avoid looking at the man. That would only make everything more difficult.
He held an arm out in the direction of the densest part of the forest. Did he expect her to go first?
The Lady And The Hussites (The Lady Bornekova Book 2) Page 19