ALL THAT FALL and winter I led a double life.
By day I served Duchess Dragomíra, throwing myself wholeheartedly into every task to offset my nagging fear that she would somehow discover I was learning how to read and who was teaching me. I earned fewer and fewer stripes, but I also became more observant, more perceptive. The court at Praha was divided: about half were pagan, loyal to Dragomíra’s policies to suppress by all means the followers of Václav’s God and their supposed Germanic influence; the others, less vocal, were loyal to Bohemia, but had no wish to see innocent people persecuted. Apparently many of them had worshiped the Christian God during the reigns of Václav’s father and grandfather. They seemed to dislike Dragomíra personally, but feared to say anything against her. Perhaps they were biding their time until Prince Václav could take over as duke.
By night I became Václav’s student, but in more than just Latin and Slavonic. His two priests, Pavel and Balád, had been disciples of Methodius, who many years ago had come bringing the Christian religion to Bohemia for the first time. I’d grown up with many gods and a healthy fear of them, so this concept of only one high God was not easy to grasp. But for now, Václav was content that I learn to trust him and to read the letters for myself.
At first I found it difficult to function on such little rest. My zeal during the first two or three days gave way to such exhaustion that I found myself falling asleep in very inconvenient places—behind Dragomíra’s chair or under the cook’s feet in the kitchen. But bruises and the threat of more helped keep me awake when necessary until my body adjusted to having just three or four hours of sleep each night. Besides, Prince Václav insisted that each seventh night, the night before his weekly holy day, be spent in prayer. As he and the priests said their silent prayers, kneeling with their heads bowed and their eyes closed, I soon learned how to doze for most of the night while on my knees. That helped me make it through the rest of the week.
Žito, the prince’s bodyguard, gradually came to trust me, too. After all, what had I to gain by telling the duchess that I studied Latin and Slavonic with her son every night? Žito must have known that I would suffer the same punishment as anyone else who consorted with the outlawed priests. Death.
I often wondered myself why I risked everything to go. Sometimes it seemed Václav had cast a spell on me, so strong was my devotion to him. But eventually I decided it was only his kindness, his genuine concern in a castle full of plotting, violent people that drew me to him. Where Bora the washerwoman was like a mother to me, Prince Václav became a father, the one who guided me and prepared me for the future, whatever it held.
Early that spring, not long after the first thaw, Dragomíra received a message from Arnulf, the Duke of Bavaria, to the south and west of us. I was serving her while she was in conference with her loyal voyvodes and courtiers.
“How dare he!” She threw the scroll to the table.
The voyvodes were accustomed to waiting patiently for an explanation to the duchess’s outbursts. They had learned it would come, eventually.
Dragomíra tapped her fingers on the table next to her goblet of wine. Her face grew red with anger.
“The Bavarians have spoken,” she said. “They demand our allegiance. They demand we pay an annual tribute to them as our rightful overlord, or they threaten to destroy us.”
The voyvodes murmured and shook their heads.
“What will your answer be, Your Highness?” asked Ladislav, the eldest among them.
Dragomíra smiled. “What do you think? Has Bohemia become soft since the duke’s death? Has my husband’s army grown weak since he defeated the Magyars last spring? The army that vanquished the Magyars can most certainly crush a few Bavarians!”
Shoving back their chairs, the voyvodes lifted their goblets in salute.
“To Bohemia!”
“We will fight to the death—their death!”
“The Bavarians are nothing!”
With much clanking and clashing of goblets, as well as the spilled wine that I had to clean up later, the voyvodes agreed that messengers should be sent throughout Bohemia to call the fighting men to Praha. Within ten days an army would be sent to meet the Bavarian forces under Duke Arnulf, before he could advance across the border.
That afternoon I watched, along with most everyone else, as the soldiers in the castle drilled under Prince Václav, whom Dragomíra had appointed battle commander. I sighed, wishing I could be out there with them, swinging a sword and hearing it clash against a shield. I was thirteen then, growing taller and stronger. Would I ever have the chance? Was it ever possible for a slave to become a soldier?
I straightened with pride to see the prince astride his black horse. Václav was clad in chain mail and conical helm, and he held a lance with a pennon of red and white, the royal colors. It was difficult for me to reconcile this commander with the same young man who spoke so earnestly of peace among men and loving his enemies.
Had Dragomíra and Boleslav any idea that he daily prayed for them? That he honestly did not hate them, even though he believed them responsible for the death of his beloved grandmother? I did not think so.
Could I ever pray for my enemies? I couldn’t imagine it.
A few days later the castle swelled to bursting with soldiers called from every village, and the surrounding countryside had filled with tents and camps. Václav gave the order to depart for the Bavarian border. I watched from the wall, crushed between women and servants. I waved as the army streamed away, screaming myself hoarse to be heard over the crowd. Prince Václav rode at the head of that legion. He appeared confident—trusting, as he told me the night before, that his God would grant him victory.
“But how do you know?” I had asked him. I wasn’t sure I believed anyone could be so certain.
He had placed his hands on my shoulders and snared me with his eyes. “I have faith, Poidevin,” he said. “I know my Master has a work for me to do, and this is only the beginning. He has never failed me, and he never will.”
I nodded, though I still did not understand.
And though I secretly feared war and bloodshed and the pain of death, I also fervently wished I could ride beside Václav at the head of that vast, fierce army.