The Lady And The Hussites (The Lady Bornekova Book 2)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  She picked up her skirt and made her way into the darkness. The sounds in the thick undergrowth unnerved her. But this man would protect her. And her heart dropped. How could she do this thing? Even if she could find a way? There was no way . . . it was not in her.

  After they had walked a short way, Marketa paused. “I think this will do.”

  All she could discern was his form silhouetted against the moonlight. It seemed that he nodded.

  She stepped off to the side.

  “Just remember, my lady, if you need help, I’m a soldier, not a chambermaid.” And he laughed.

  His grating voice reminded Marketa of the things said earlier. Images of Karin being harmed or dishonored by these men flashed through her mind. This would not happen. Not while she could do something about it.

  Bending down, she searched the ground. It took some moments, but she came across a good-sized branch. It would take all her might and all her nerve. But it was their best chance.

  Drawing it close to her body, she circled around the tree. Where had the soldier gone?

  “Looking for me?” The voice came from behind her.

  She froze. How did he know? Had she been so obvious?

  “Drop it.”

  She couldn’t, could she? This was the only chance they had. It was now or never. Closing her eyes, she swung.

  And fell when the force of her swing did not connect.

  Had he ducked?

  Marketa grabbed at her shoulder. Pain tore through her body and she fell.

  A booted foot nudged her onto her back, and she looked up at the moonlight-rimmed form of the soldier.

  “Now you’ve made me angry. I . . . ”

  A loud crack sounded through the night air and the man dropped to his knees. Another smack and his body thudded to the ground beside her.

  The form standing over hers wielding a large branch was definitely feminine.

  * * *

  Pavel repositioned his hands on the wooden beam, wincing as a wood shaving punctured his skin.

  “Something amiss?” Zdenek grunted, leaning down and taking on most of the plank’s weight.

  “Nothing.” Pavel refocused his attention on their work and ignored the stinging sensation in his hand.

  Together, he and Zdenek maneuvered the beam into place and relinquished it to the growing pile, which was beginning to resemble a wall as the wooden fort took shape.

  Pavel took a moment to scan the area. A large portion of Prague was visible from atop Vitkov Hill. Surely he could see for miles. But what he saw did not put him at ease. For there, in the distance, he could just make out the edge of Sigismund’s camp. Thousands, even tens of thousands, of soldiers lay in wait, prepared to strike.

  It gave him pause, and he sent up a silent prayer. His hope was not built upon the reasoning of man. God had proven He could deliver the Hussite army against overwhelming odds before. Pavel had seen it. And he had faith that God would do it again. Why shouldn’t He?

  Zdenek’s heavy breathing nearby alerted Pavel that his friend had come up behind him.

  “Intimidating, no?”

  Pavel drew in a breath. “Not from where I stand.” He caught Zdenek’s eyes.

  Confusion was written on his friend’s face.

  Raising his arms, Pavel indicated the men, women, and children bustling about them, busy preparing the hilltop for the battle that was sure to come. “We are strong of heart and spirit. God will prove us the victors.”

  Zdenek offered Pavel a blank stare, but said nothing.

  “And General Zizka is prepared. He has thought out every possibility. Surely you must agree that Vitkov Hill is what it comes down to.”

  Wiping his brow, Zdenek nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Then we are fortifying the right places.” Pavel stepped to his friend and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You shall see. All will be well.”

  “And we, my friend, had better get back to work.” Zdenek’s brow rose.

  Pavel nodded.

  They made their way down the hill, stepping around those who were digging the moat and dirt wall, which would be reinforced with rocks before it was completed. As they continued toward the southern slope, they passed the old watchtower. This building, once useful for guarding the vineyards on this side of the hill, would become part of their plans as well.

  Zizka would place thirty men in each of the two forts. In the event of a surprise attack, they would be able to hold off enemy soldiers until reinforcements arrived from the main city. The landscape had changed in these last days. Trees and houses that impaired sightlines had been removed. They were preparing for the inevitable.

  Prague was nestled in the bend of the Vltava River, running along the west and north sides of the city. Across the river to the west was the Hradcany, held by the Royalist army, which also allowed them to hold all roads to Prague’s north and west. To the south, Prague was hemmed in by the Vysehrad, also under Royalist control. Giving them the southern routes as well.

  Vitkov Hill remained the last avenue the Hussites had in and out of Prague. If they lost it, they would be choked off and would lose the great city. They might as well surrender if that were to happen. The events of the next few days would determine the course of the future of their country. It was that important.

  Not long after their preparations neared completion, they saw the tents and soldiers appearing across the Spitalske Pole, the plain to the north of Vitkov Hill. Pavel was certain that, while these Royalist soldiers had been promised forgiveness of their sins and escape from purgatory for their service, many were simply mercenaries. And they wanted nothing more than their share in the plunder that lay within the city. This is where the lines were drawn. The Hussites did not fight for blood or money, but for freedom, for God, for country.

  The Royalists had numbers, and they would not show mercy. No, any Czech caught would meet certain death, Hussite or not. These soldiers were intent on killing every man, woman, and child within Prague’s walls. And so, for Pavel, it was up to him, his men, and those that fought with him to ensure their safety and the safety of every Hussite living in Bohemia. For he was certain these mercenaries would not stop here.

  * * *

  Sounds of rushing water were ever present. But it did little to assuage Stepan’s overheated condition—he couldn’t remember a summer so hot. He had already stripped down as far as he dared. The other men in camp were likewise dressed down. Still, his clothing clung to his body, soaked with sweat. It seemed the stream served merely to taunt him.

  Stepan came to camp two days ago and was appalled at what he saw. The Royalist army was massive, at least 80,000 strong. Little hope remained for the Hussites. They must know that. As surely as he could see Prague beyond the Vlatava River, they must have eyes to see this army. Would they raise a white flag? Would it matter? Many of these soldiers were bloodthirsty and would not be dissuaded.

  They bid their time, waiting for the Emperor to give the signal that would bring an end to the Hussite movement once and for all. Stepan did not mourn the coming end of these heretics. Yet he could not deny the sick feeling that settled in his stomach at the thought of the slaughter he would be party to.

  He turned his attention back to his sword. As he ran the whetstone against the edge of the blade, he found comfort in the scrape of the metal. His sword had not failed him. And as God was his witness, it would not.

  Movement to his right startled him, and he shifted his sword in that direction without thinking. His eyes followed, only then discovering who had come upon him.

  “Calm yourself.” Dominik held his hands up. “A bit skittish, are we?”

  Stepan pulled his blade back and continued sharpening it, shrugging. “It is best not to sneak up on a man with a sword.”

  “Perhaps so.” Dominik took a seat next to Stepan, pulling at the front of his tunic to fan himself. He glanced around and leaned in toward Stepan. “How do you find camp?”

  Stepan shrugged again. “
Hot.”

  “Dreadfully so.” Dominik then lowered his voice. “I meant the Germans, the Bulgarians . . . ”

  Meeting his gaze out of the corner of his eye, Stepan gave him a hard look. “We are a stronger army together.”

  “But do you not consider what it means to have Germans in our lands? Perhaps obliterating Prague? What do they care of our grand city? Or perhaps occupying Prague? What of that? Maybe they won’t stay there. Perhaps they will not be satisfied but will spread. Even to our estates.”

  Stepan refocused on his blade. “You concern yourself unnecessarily.”

  “Do I?”

  Though he wanted to believe Dominik’s words were nonsensical, Stepan could not deny they had taken root in his mind. His hands slowed their work, and he shifted to face his friend again. “What would you propose?”

  “There are many of us who believe it should be Czechs alone who handle this Hussite issue. That would eliminate the concern of these foreigners destroying our lands or taking what they want for themselves.”

  “But Sigismund has already recruited these men and promised them the spoils. And forgiveness from their sins. What of that?”

  “He must be convinced to release them.”

  Stepan stopped his work altogether. “And just how do you imagine to do that?”

  Dominik lowered his voice even more. “Do you not remember what I spoke of earlier? There is a faction that intends to offer Sigismund the crown of Bohemia.”

  “Aye. I remember. But you forget yourself. It is not that simple. The country is not unified, they will not be behind him.”

  “Who truly holds the power in Bohemia if not the nobility? I think he will accept it if offered.” Dominik’s face became serious.

  Stepan thought on that prospect for a moment. Which side would it serve him best to be on? It was becoming a political game. And he did not wish to be caught on the wrong end of anyone’s sword.

  * * *

  Karin flung the branch to the ground as she shook. What had she done?

  “Karin? What are you . . . ?” Marketa’s voice faded into oblivion as Karin wrestled with what must be done. They must act. Now. If they were to escape.

  “No time for that.” Karin bent down and took Marketa’s hands, pulling her to her feet. “We must go.”

  Marketa nodded.

  Karin gripped Marketa’s hand and led her through the darkness toward the distant firelight. As they approached, they slowed.

  What were they going to do? How to get out of there without waking the soldiers? How long would the other soldier remain unconscious? Would he be all right?

  Karin paused.

  Marketa bumped into her.

  Reaching for the sturdy trunk of a nearby tree, Karin attempted to maintain her balance.

  One of the soldiers stirred.

  Karin froze.

  He shifted onto his back and commenced his snoring.

  She pivoted, gripped Marketa’s hand, and with the other, pressed toward the ground twice. Would the baroness understand that Karin wanted her to stay where she was?

  As Karin moved off, Marketa remained.

  Stepping toward the group of horses, to the far right of the dwindling fire, Karin ensured careful footfalls. As she neared the animals, she placed a gentle hand to the backside of the closest horse—a gray mare. Flinching initially under Karin’s touch, the horse stilled as Karin spoke soothing words in soft tones. Then Karin moved forward, careful to keep her hand on the horse’s side. Spooking the horse would create unnecessary challenges.

  Touching the horse’s mane, she rubbed the animal’s neck as she drew closer. Moments later, Karin was nuzzling the horse’s nose. The dark brown horse next to the mare became interested. Karin lifted a hand to touch its soft muzzle as well.

  A horse not far away in the cluster became agitated.

  Would it wake the soldiers? Could Karin hide here among the horses? Would her and Marketa’s absence be noted?

  Thankfully, the horse quieted and no other sounds could be heard. Karin waited several moments more to ensure no one awoke.

  As the minutes passed and no one moved, she let out a breath.

  Taking the reins of the two horses, she urged them forward while she worked at the knots of the ropes securing them to the tree. When at last they were free, she walked them to where she had left Marketa.

  To her relief, she found the baroness still settled by the same tree.

  Karin extended a hand toward her mother-in-law.

  Marketa’s hand was trembling when it made contact.

  Giving it a slight squeeze, Karin hoped to reassure the baroness. But could she? They were not safe yet. Still, there was naught their worry could do but create risk.

  Karin passed the reins of the gentle gray mare to Marketa and led them, on foot, deeper into the forest. As much as she ached to mount and gallop into the night, it would be safer for them to create distance between themselves and the camp before doing so.

  The minutes passed into an hour or more before Karin paused. Had the soldiers awakened to find them gone? Was it safe for them to take flight upon the horses? The sun had already begun to light the horizon. If not now, when?

  Nodding to Marketa, Karin gripped the saddle and pulled herself up.

  It was not long before Marketa sat atop the gray mare.

  Once Karin assured herself that her mother-in-law had control of the horse, she dug her heels into the animal underneath her and they took off.

  If they pushed the horses, they would arrive at the Krejik estate before nightfall.

  * * *

  The sun rose high in the sky. Zdenek fought a wave of tiredness as it threatened to overtake him. Sleep had been difficult to come by, situated in a fort on Vitkov Hill. Each man and woman was ever on alert though it might be his or her time for rest. The sounds of the enemy army taunting them throughout the day haunted him at night.

  “Ha, ha! Hus, Hus! Heretic, heretic!” They would chant.

  All day long it would go on. At night they would stop for sake of their own rest, but their voices never seemed to leave him.

  It was not the words they spoke that bothered him, but the force of their voices together. It told of how strong their army was. A glance at the horizon could inform anyone of the general size of the camp. There were far too many tents for his liking. But when the men stood together and shouted, it was if the walls of Jericho would crumble again. They were, indeed, a force to be reckoned with. If their goal was to intimidate, they had succeeded.

  Zdenek did not have Pavel’s faith. How could he when facing such odds? The best they could hope for was a quick and painless end. But he would not run. He would stand and fight with these men and women he had come to know. And he would do all he could to protect Eva.

  Chancing a glance across the tight space within the confines of the fort, he met her eyes and quickly turned away. Nothing had been settled between them though she had done everything she could to explain herself. But how could he help this tightness in his chest when he thought about how she had lied to him? She had taken her life in her own hands and rejoined the misfit band of Hussites to come here and, what, die? And for what? What had she gained?

  He let his head hang. There it was—the painful constriction around his heart. But was that all of it? Or was there part of him that ached for something more? For a chance to marry, have a family? Yes, there was this too. And in the dimness of the enclosed space, he met her eyes again.

  In that moment, when their eyes locked, he saw hers glisten. Had she regrets as well? He longed to close the small distance between them and pull her into his arms, whispering that somehow, someway they would be together. The urge overwhelmed him, and he shifted to stand when the soldier next to him put a hand out to stop him.

  “Shhh . . . ” the man called into the din of voices.

  All became silent.

  Zdenek’s heart thundered in his ears, but even so he heard it—the soft thundering of horses’ hooves
on the hillside.

  This was it.

  Bodies scrambled in the tight enclosure, preparing weapons and vying for the best view out of the makeshift windows.

  Zdenek stood his ground though bumped and shoved from varying angles.

  There was no mistaking the Royalist colors topping the slope and coming toward them.

  “At the ready, men!” a voice shouted.

  As they watched, the Royalist soldiers crossed the moat and took the watchtower without much effort. They were helpless but to stand at the ready.

  Zdenek wished for better weaponry. Why had they been left with merely stones and lances?

  “How will we defend ourselves?” one of the younger men worried.

  “Take courage, lad. We have God on our side. What more do we need?” a gruff voice replied.

  Zdenek shifted to look at the cowering young man. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen years old. Had he seen battle? Moving to where the young man crouched by the earthen wall, Zdenek became aware that he had emptied the contents of his stomach nearby.

  “Take heart. We are in this together.” Zdenek placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  Wide brown eyes stared up at him, untrusting.

  “We have nothing left to do but fight. For our country, for our lives.” Zdenek walked to the pile of stones and grabbed one. He returned to the shaking young man and handed it to him. “Your life is worth everything. If anyone tries to take it from you, do your best to aim this at his face or chest.”

  The man did not stop trembling but nodded at Zdenek, taking the rock in uneasy hands.

  Zdenek paced back to his place of vigil by the opening and fought every instinct within him. There was a big part of him that wanted to run, to save himself. But he would not. He reached for a lance and nodded at the men to his right who stood at the ready.

  The Royalists were almost in range. And they would not show mercy.

  His eyes sought out Eva. She stood with her friend from the monastery. They were prepared with stones as well. As he watched her, Eva’s face inclined toward his. Her mouth was set, but her eyes betrayed her fear. How he longed to tuck her under his arm and keep her safe there. But he could no more provide that assurance to her than he could to the young man behind them still clinging to the back wall.