DARKNESS GRIPPED BOHEMIA, an evil born of fear: Fear of the goddess Morana and her demand for human sacrifice; fear of the nomadic Magyars who had destroyed Moravia on our eastern border; and fear of the mighty Germanic army to the west.
During those dark days, I bathed my mother’s burning face with my tears and listened to her incoherent mumbling until the fever consumed her. For three days and nights I sat beside her, until she followed my father in death. As soon as her body lay cold in the ground, I was sold into bondage to pay my father’s debts.
Eight years ago ... I was only twelve winters old and small for my age. Nonetheless, a soldier shackled my right ankle and joined me to a chain of other slaves. The rough metal scraped at my skin with every step until I felt a warm trickle of blood.
I did not look at the other slaves or the soldiers. I concentrated on putting one bare foot in front of the other as the dirt road carried me far from my village, the only home I’d ever known. The other slaves never spoke to me. I suppose they were as afraid as I was to draw the attention of our captors, especially when we passed a sacred grove with an idol protected inside a wooden shrine. As the smallest of the captives, I would be the one to be sacrificed, had the guards felt the need to appease the local god.
But on the third day of our journey, as we stopped for the night, I heard the oldest man among us say, “We will see Praha tomorrow.”
Praha! My parents sometimes talked about the Duke of Bohemia who lived there. He had been killed in a recent battle with the Magyars, so now his wife, the duchess, ruled in his stead. Why were we going to Praha? I wondered. What would we do there?
The following day I laid aside my grief. While I still ached for my mother, I knew I could not bring her back, not with all the tears in Bohemia. I had to be ready to meet my fate. My heart filled with dread at my first sight of the fortress on a hill above the walled city of Praha. The wooden castle appeared massive enough to house all of Bohemia’s gods.
I climbed the winding road up the hill with the other slaves. Our escort of soldiers whacked us with the shafts of their lances whenever we slowed down. As we reached the top, I stumbled, and one of the soldiers growled and jerked me to my feet. A vile stench reached my nostrils, and I glanced up to see rotting heads and skulls on pikes along the castle wall. My empty stomach heaved.
What demons lived here? Was I purchased to be sacrificed to one of the gods?
We entered the castle yard, and the soldiers lined us up for inspection. A nobleman looked each of us over, as if we were horses for sale.
Stables, he said, pointing to an older man. Laundry. He indicated a young woman. Kitchen, to a boy not much older than I.
The nobleman grabbed my chin with one gloved hand and pushed back my shaggy hair with the other. He turned my head first one way and then the other. Then he forced open my mouth and checked my teeth. “This one,” he said, “is for the duchess.”
My heart skipped a beat, for I was certain the duchess would use me for a sacrifice. But a woman took me to a room where I was given a plain but nearly new tunic made of soft fabric, a rag, and a small basin of water.
“Wash,” the woman commanded. “Then dress and report to the steward in the hall.”
I did so, trembling as I entered the hall. The high ceiling and the lack of windows made the room seem like a cavern. Torches burned in brackets set in the walls. Their flickering light made every shadow dance.
Another man, wearing a fine embroidered tunic, stepped toward me from the shadows. “Boy,” he said, straightening my own shorter tunic. “I will present you to the duchess. You must bow to her, not speak unless you are spoken to, and do whatever she bids you.”
“Yes, sir.” My whisper was barely audible. My legs felt like water. I followed the steward to the other end of the hall where an elegant woman sat at table with several richly attired noblemen. I stopped when the steward did and tried not to stare at the men and woman as they conversed. I hoped the fact that they’d just given me a new tunic meant that they would not offer me as a sacrifice. Unless they wanted their sacrifices clean and well fed first. ...
“Your Highness,” said the steward with a bow. He slapped my shoulder and I fell to my knees on the rush-covered flagstones. “I bring you a new servant, just arrived.”
The steward did not move, and neither did I, so I could not see the duchess’s face.
“A new servant? What was wrong with the old one?” Her voice was husky and conveyed disdain. The noblemen chuckled at her words.
I heard the rustle of her skirts as she stood and walked around the table. Into my field of vision came a length of heavy fabric with the toes of two slippers just visible at the hem.
“Stand up, boy, and let me look at you.”
I swallowed and struggled to my feet, though I would not raise my head. The duchess jerked my head up by a hank of hair. I gasped as she gazed into my eyes. Hers were black and cold, serpent’s eyes.
“He’s small,” she said to the steward. “Will he work or will he end up like that insolent wretch you brought me last time?”
“Your Highness, the boy will grow. And upon my life he will work for you.” The steward bowed even lower.
The duchess turned away. “Take him to my rooms and have him clean them.”
The steward led me up a narrow staircase to the duchess’s spacious rooms. The disorder I found there seemed at odds with her personal appearance. Someone had scattered dozens of embroidered cushions. Goblets and platters littered the floor, along with spilled wine and food.
“What happened to the last servant?” I managed to ask.
The steward threw a menacing look at me. “His head greeted you at the gate.” He indicated the mess. “Get to work.”
Thus began my service to the widowed Duchess Dragomíra. From the other servants I discovered that she was not Čech, but the daughter of a chieftain from the north. She was cruel, they said, like her father. Having seen the grisly row of heads outside, I had no trouble believing it.
Though the servants whispered to me about the duchess, always glancing over their shoulders before doing so, they also spoke of Prince Václav.
“He is coming back to Praha,” a scullion said about a month later as we scrubbed the floor of the great hall. We were to make it ready for the Feast of Midsummer.
“Who is he?” I asked.
The boy scowled as if only I could be so dense. “He is the duke’s heir, once he comes of age.” Then he leaned closer. “Prince Václav scorns the gods of Bohemia and makes no sacrifices of blood.”
“What? Does he not fear their wrath?” I stopped scrubbing for a moment, shocked at the boldness of this prince.
The boy shrugged and wrung out his rag. “They say he worships only one high God, but the duchess has outlawed his religion.” He lowered his voice. “Have you seen the heads?”
I nodded, swallowing. They haunted my dreams.
“They were followers of Václav’s God.”
I shuddered and applied myself to scrubbing the floor.