The Silver Sword by Angela Elwell Hunt Page B

of Chlum,” Petrov answered, his own voice thick and unsteady. “The son of my old master.”

    Jan Hus buried Ernan O’Connor in a subdued ceremony at noon the day following the council’s ruling. Anika herself had asked for the quiet funeral. It seemed the only decent thing she could do for her father, the only good opportunity that remained in her life. In six days, unless God worked a miracle, she would be on the road to Lidice, ready to offer herself in the hellish service of Lord Laco.
    Standing beside her father’s open grave, she took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump that lingered in her throat. Her mother, her father, even God had apparently deserted her. Justice had vanished from Bohemia, a kingdom that once prided itself on its love for freedom and truth.
    The afternoon seemed to sleep under a heavy, dove-colored sky. Weariness enveloped her as she tried to concentrate on the words of the funeral service, but too many scattered thoughts assailed her brain. She had found no employment in Prague. Lord Laco must have published the news that he wanted her at Lidice, for jobs that should have flourished like weeds for a strong and willing girl had vanished overnight. No one wanted to hire the daughter of a murdered man, especially when a powerful nobleman expressed a keen desire that she fail in her quest for work. At the end of the week she would have to submit to the council’s decree and travel to Lidice—what else could she do?
    â€œDominus vobiscum,” Master Hus concluded, his hands gently cradling his prayer book. “The Lord be with you.”
    â€œEt cum spiritui tui.” Anika gave the response in a dull, flat voice. “And with your spirit.”
    No great crowd had appeared to mourn the copyist, only Petrov,Anika, and Master Hus, who now knew the entire story of the ridiculous mock trial. At the conclusion of the service, Petrov remained behind to help the gravediggers complete their work while Master Hus took Anika’s arm and gently led her away from the open grave.
    â€œI am concerned, Daughter, about your health and safety,” he said, giving her a careful smile. “What will you do when the appointed day arrives? You cannot submit and go to Lidice, but I could argue your case before the king.”
    Anika stubbornly shook her head. The magistrates were the king’s men, and ever since the martyrdom of the three students she had trusted neither the king nor his subordinates. She and Petrov had presented their case, they had appealed for justice, and those who represented authority had turned a deaf ear and a blind eye to the truth.
    â€œThank you, Master Hus, but no.” She covered his hand with her own and breathed an exasperated sigh. “My father is gone, and nothing can bring him back. As you were silent after the students’ execution, so I will be silent in the face of my father’s murder. If God is just, he will work vengeance for me. Do not the Scriptures say that God will avenge?”
    â€œAnika, I did not remain silent in hope that God would punish the evildoers.” Hus’s brown eyes darkened with emotion. “The Scriptures are quite clear—we are not to pray for our enemies’ destruction. We are to bless them that spitefully use us, to pray for them—”
    â€œPray for murderers?” She swallowed hard, trying not to reveal her anger. “Master Hus, can you honestly tell me you did not beg God to punish the guilty when those three men were beheaded? You went into seclusion—what were you doing in your house, praying that God would
bless
traitors?”
    The preacher’s gentle smile vanished, wiped away by astonishment. “Anika,” he said slowly, as if carefully choosing his words, “forgive me for again underestimating you. I forget that you are an unusual girl.”
    â€œI’m not a girl. I’m sixteen, well beyond the age of