I DID NOT SLEEP well that night, but kept dreaming about the Archangel Michael. I saw a resolute look on his face as he wielded a flaming sword of justice. It was hard to imagine that he would help dying souls into the afterlife. From the first time I’d heard of him, he seemed so fierce to me. But perhaps, like Žito, the outward ferocity masked a tender heart.
At first light, Václav and I awoke and dressed for early Mass. I started to put my dagger on my belt, but my master stopped me.
“We should not arm ourselves to enter the house of God,” he said quietly. “I will leave my sword here and you must leave your dagger.”
I bit back my protest and simply nodded. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but the time for words had passed. We left our rooms and headed down to Boleslav’s new stone church.
We approached as the building glowed, awash in the rays of the rising sun. All the hairs on my neck stood on end. But when I glanced around, I saw no one at all. Even this early, I thought, there should be servants about.
I turned back to my master. Václav met my gaze, his face lit with peace and a smile. I was warmed by his continued hope and faith and at the same time troubled.
When we reached the heavy door, it was locked. That, too, was odd. Suddenly, I heard the muffled stamp of feet behind us. I whirled around, my hand reaching for the dagger that was not there.
“Brother,” Boleslav said in that sneering voice of his. He was accompanied by a dozen men wearing hooded cloaks to conceal their identities, and perhaps their weapons. My heart pounded in fear for my master.
Václav slowly turned. “We are well met at the house of God,” he said, holding out his hands as if to embrace his brother.
In answer Boleslav pulled out a sword from under his cloak and slashed at Václav’s unprotected head. My master held up his hands in a warding gesture, and the deflected blade cut his head in a glancing blow that left a gash in his scalp. Strangely, no blood gushed forth.
Boleslav gasped and stepped back. Some of his men paused as they drew swords or daggers.
“He does not bleed!” cried one of the hooded figures.
Václav looked at me then with such sadness that tears filled my eyes. I quickly wiped them away, knowing that his sadness was not for himself, or even for me, but for this wretched brother he still loved, even now.
I angrily turned on the nearest man and wrenched his dagger arm. Caught by surprise, he loosened his grip long enough for me to wrestle the blade away and plunge it into his neck. His blood fountained over my hands and arms, and his dying body fell to the ground. I only wished it had been Boleslav.
Strong hands pinned my arms behind my back, and others held my head, forcing me to watch. Václav clung to the brass lion handle of the church door, bleeding from several wounds. Then an enraged Boleslav raised a bloody blade.
“I forgive you, Brother,” Václav managed to say, before Boleslav plunged the dagger into his back.
My beloved master slumped to the stones. Two of Boleslav’s men laid out his lifeless body. When Václav’s face came into view, I saw that his sadness had turned to peace once more.
Tears ran unashamedly down my cheeks. I cried, not just for Václav’s cruel death, but because I had allowed my anger to betray his goodness at the end. I found myself praying that my master had not seen how I’d taken my own vengeance and killed one of Boleslav’s men.
They dragged me to the bowels of the castle and clapped me in irons. The priest we had seen at the church the day before was allowed to visit me. I confessed the murder I had committed and the weakness of my faith in God. Then I asked for one more thing.
“Could you bring me parchment and a quill and ink, Father?” I requested with a heavy heart.
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “And what purpose would those items serve to one of your position, my son?”
“Do you know Father Pavel at Praha?” I asked. The desperation in my voice would have been apparent to the dullest of men. The priest nodded. “I must write something down for him. It is urgent, Father.”
I could not know how long they would keep me in this dungeon. I had days, perhaps, but more likely hours before they hanged me. If they had wanted me to live, they would have brought food or at least water.