“MY LORD!” ŽITO called out early one morning. My master was just kneeling to say his prayers.
“Peace, Žito,” Václav said, holding up a hand to prevent the guard from speaking. “I am sure your message is important, but my appointment with God is even more so. Come and pray with Poidevin and me, and then I’ll hear your message.”
“But, my lord! This is urgent ...”
Václav silenced him with a look and bowed his head again.
Žito grumbled but did not try to argue further. I stifled a laugh at the sight of the burly warrior meekly kneeling beside me.
After a few minutes of silence, in which I asked for wisdom (Václav had taught me it was proper to ask for this), the three of us silently rose and went back to the bedchamber. Žito delivered his message.
“A duke of Moravia, Radslav of Kourím, claims to be ‘the true Prince of the Čechs’ because he advocates war with Saxony rather than submitting to the Fowler’s tribute,” Žito said, barely reining in his anger. “My scouts report that he is gathering an army. He intends to attack Praha, kill you, and proclaim himself Duke of Bohemia.”
Václav appeared unconcerned while I fastened the many ties on his formal robe. “I have heard of this Radslav of Kourím,” my master replied calmly. “My father fought with him in one of the battles against the Magyars. He judged him a valiant warrior, although lacking good sense, especially where the lives of others are concerned.”
“But, my lord, he is raising an army!” Žito said.
My master paused. “It’s a pity that ruined Moravia has brought Radslav to this folly. If it is true that the Duke of Kourím marshals an army against me, then I fear many will suffer for his foolishness.” He turned to me and waited while I settled the gold coronet on his brow. “I will pray for wisdom in this matter.”
I couldn’t help but smile, and Václav raised his brows in question. “What is it, Poidevin?”
I shrugged. “I just thought it curious, my lord, how I have been asking God for wisdom this morning at the same time you are searching for it.”
My master nodded. There was a twinkle in his eye. “Thank you, Poidevin. Once again you have anticipated my needs.” Then he turned to his bodyguard.
“Come, Žito, break your fast with us. This morning we will be joined by many peasants from the Moravian frontier. They have come to ask for our help. Now I understand why they need it. Perhaps some of them will have more information about Duke Radslav and his plans.”
Žito followed with a grim expression.
Our meal of cheese and black bread was shared with a group of haggard-looking families, refugees from the border area. Václav greeted the peasants as if they were as important to him as King Henry the Fowler. After he exhorted them to work hard and be of good cheer, he asked God’s blessing on the meal. The poor wretches, especially the children, gobbled their food and were eager for more. Václav let them eat their fill and directed servants to take the women and children to the kitchen and provision them for their continuing journey.
He turned to the men and began to ask them questions about the duke and his army.
“They burned us out, Your Grace,” said a man with dark circles under his eyes. “Duke Radslav said that anyone who refused to bow the knee to him would be hanged.”
Václav looked thoughtful. I could tell he was more worried about the innocent people and their suffering than he was about any threat to him personally.
He stood and his gaze met Žito’s. In his embroidered robe and gold coronet, Václav looked like an avenging angel.
“Inform the guard that this morning’s court is canceled. Have the battle commanders meet me in the tower as soon as possible.”
Žito stepped forward and bowed. “As you will, my lord.” As he strode from the hall, Václav turned to me.
“Come, Poidevin. We have an army to prepare.”
I held my head high as I followed him, feeling the eyes of the displaced villagers upon us. It was difficult not to feel superior to them as we passed by, but I tried to remember what my master said about pride and its inevitable fall. After all, it had not been so long ago that I was a wretched orphan in rags.
Early the following morning, I rode beside Václav and Žito at the head of a small army, all those who could be called on short notice. We headed east, toward the Moravian border where Duke Radslav and his men had last been seen. My master felt it would be best to show our resolve by meeting them head-on, rather than waiting for them inside the castle.
Each time we stopped to water the horses or camp for the night, I felt a twinge of fear about not offering to the spirits of the forest. But I recalled my master’s words, how the gods of the old religion were not true gods and not even worthy of notice. I hoped that as my faith in the one true and living God increased, I could one day banish all my fears.
We caught our first glimpse of the enemy army on the third day out from Praha. Though they seemed a great multitude, in reality they did not have many more men than we did. When we stopped, Václav beckoned me to his side.
“I must pray alone now. Come and inform me when my things are unpacked.”
“Yes, my lord.” I took the reins of his horse and watched him go apart a little way and fall on his knees.
We camped across a wide valley from Duke Radslav’s army that evening. As soon as the soldiers finished erecting Vaclav’s tent, I approached him. When he did not notice my footsteps, I cleared my throat before interrupting his prayer.
“My lord, all is ready.”
He opened his eyes and stood. After we reached his tent, he directed me to take out his writing implements.
“What do you wish to write, my lord?” I laid out ink, quill, and parchment on a camp table.
“I’m sending a message to Duke Radslav,” he said as he dipped the quill in the ink.
I leaned as close to the table as I dared, trying to read Václav’s careful script, but looking upside down I could only decipher a few words, and they meant nothing to me. The message was not long, and by the time my master signed his name at the bottom, the ink near the top was almost dry. I brought him the box with the ducal seal. He blew on the parchment, folded it, dripped hot wax onto it, and pressed the heavy ring with the flaming eagle emblem onto the wax.
“Here.” He handed me the message. I was careful not to touch the still warm seal. “Take this to Žito and have him send a messenger to Duke Radslav’s camp.”
“Yes, my lord.” I bowed and hurried from the tent, almost colliding with Žito.
“Here,” I said, giving him the parchment. “Our master wishes you to make sure this gets to Duke Radslav.”
Without a word, Žito headed toward the horses. I knew he would deliver the message himself. He trusted no one where Václav was concerned.
As I opened the tent to return to my master, I realized that Žito had not questioned me about the message. If I’d had any doubts about where I stood in Žito’s estimation before, I could rest them now. He trusted me.
We did not have long to wait before Žito returned with Radslav’s answer. The message had been a challenge from Václav to meet this Duke of Moravia in single combat. Radslav had accepted.
Zito’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You cannot do this, my lord,” he said. “I do not trust this pretender to fight fairly.”
Václav looked up from Radslav’s reply. “He has agreed to my terms: no interference from either side. If I win, his army returns to Moravia. It’s the only way to prevent great loss of life on both sides.”
Žito did not voice the obvious question: What would happen if Václav did not win?