ONCE MY MASTER took the power from Dragomíra and Boleslav, I expected that our late-night sessions would come to an end. After all, Duke Václav had a kingdom to rule and more important things to consider than the education of a servant. Yes, I had accompanied him and Žito to meet with the Fowler. Yes, he had requested that I be his personal servant and take up residence in the tower with him and Žito. But somehow I did not think that this would include further lessons, especially since I had already learned how to read.
One day Václav and I were silently poring over a passage in the Psalms describing God’s creation when a question I had wanted to ask for some time escaped my lips.
“Master, how do we know that our God is real?”
Václav’s eyes blazed with fervor. The intensity of his gaze compelled me to want to understand. After a few moments, he spoke.
“Do you remember the storm last summer? The one with torrential rain that caused the river to overflow its banks?”
I nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
He smiled. “And do you remember the lightning, the thunder, and the strong winds?”
“Yes, my lord.” Ashamed, I also remembered my terror. I had cowered under a table, listening to the howl of the raging wind.
“Did you see the wind, Poidevin?”
I nodded and then frowned in puzzlement. “I suppose not, my lord. But I saw the roofs blown off the cottages and large trees pulled out by their roots.”
Václav’s eyes grew merry. “You saw the evidence of something invisible, evidence of something with great power. It is the same with God, though his power is far greater than even the most powerful windstorm.”
My frown deepened. “So God is greater than the wind because he made the wind?”
“Yes,” said Václav. “God made the sun, the moon, the stars, the forests, the mountains, and every creature that lives and breathes. But there is more.”
Understanding dawned, much like the first rays of sunlight peering over the castle wall each morning. “Because God made everything, we must worship him only and no other gods?” I asked the question because I was not certain I had spoken it correctly.
“Yes!” Václav shouted, gripping my shoulder. Then he laughed, a joyous sound.
His delight was contagious. I grinned, well-pleased that I had finally grasped a small part of the truth that my master had so patiently taught me.
Without Dragomíra and her younger son to worry about, I found a new distraction over the next peaceful months.
I knew it was inevitable that my master would notice Ana eventually. The manner of their meeting, however, caught me by surprise.
I accompanied Václav to St. George’s Basilica, to help him carry sacks of grapes. My master took great satisfaction in presenting the best grapes from his vineyard for making the wine that would be used by the priests at Mass.
“After all,” he said, “even King David did not want to make an offering to God that cost him nothing. A greater gift is a purer sacrifice.”
When we entered the quiet nave, first I thought the church was empty. There was no sign of a priest. We approached the altar bearing our offering. Our footsteps sounded hollow as they echoed.
Because my eyes were focused on the altar, I did not see the veiled figure kneeling at the rail until we were almost upon her. When she turned, I glimpsed a honey-colored braid beneath the dark veil.
“Forgive me for intruding on your prayers, my lady,” my master whispered. Then he and I left the grapes at the altar and turned to go.
I wanted to hurry him to the door, but he walked slower than I’d ever seen him, stealing glances until we stepped outside.
“Who is she?” he asked me, turning back with a thoughtful expression. “I’ve seen her before.”
I swallowed before a lie could escape my lips. I had never lied to him before, and I wasn’t going to begin then.
“She is,” I stammered, “Přibislava’s friend.”
“Oh, yes,” Václav said. “The daughter of Žibrid?”
I nodded, hoping the conversation would end there.
“Do you know her name?” His eyes meeting mine showed compassion for my unease.
My throat tightened. I had to force out the word. “Ana, my lord.”
“Ana,” Václav whispered the name as if it were a prayer. Hearing him speak her name like that drove a spike through my heart.
Just as we started to leave, the door opened behind us and Ana stepped out. She seemed startled to see us there. With a glance at me, she dipped in a curtsy.
“Your Grace,” she said, her eyes lowered.
“My Lady Ana.”
As she rose, the girl lifted her eyes and smiled. The effect was staggering to me. How much more must it have been to my master?
“Your Grace knows my name?” she asked.
“Well, my lady,” Václav said, and I could tell he was embarrassed, “I have just learned it from Poidevin here.”
Ana turned her gaze on me. I felt both pleased and angry—pleased that she would look at me, and angry that she was being so coy with my master.
“Poidevin is very faithful.” I wasn’t sure what she meant by that.
“Yes, my lady,” Václav said, pausing. I’d never seen him at a loss for words before. “Do you often come to St. George’s to pray?”
She pushed a stray hair from her eyes. “I try to come at least twice in the week, my lord.”
Václav glanced at me. “I am making plans to build a church within the castle walls, devoted to Saint Vitus.” He swallowed. “It will take some time, but you are welcome to pray in my chapel if something prevents you from coming here.”
Ana’s eyes shone, but I didn’t think it was because of Václav’s chapel. “Your chapel? Where would that be, Your Grace?”
“In the castle, in my ... my tower,” he stammered, and his face appeared to flush. “Of course, if you would send me word, I can make sure you are left undisturbed. My man Žito will make sure of it.”
“Žito? Is that your fearsome guard?”
Why, I thought, oh why did she have to look so appealing?
“Fearsome? I suppose so,” Václav said with a shrug. “He is gruff only because it is his duty to keep me safe. Of course, he would not have to worry about keeping me safe from you.”
While we accompanied Lady Ana back to the castle, I could only think how my master seemed to disregard his own safety. And while he and the girl talked and laughed together, forgetting my presence, my uncharitable suspicions about her grew. They were not based on anything untoward that she had said or done, but solely on my jealousy. I feared that Ana was about to steal precious time from me, time that I had hoped to spend in service to Duke Václav. My vague dreams of becoming something more to him, a soldier or a bodyguard, evaporated like the morning mist under the midday sun. How was it that a giggling girl could acquire such a stranglehold on my future?