Baldasarre Cossa, more commonly known as Pope John XXIII, leaned forward in his gilded carriage, annoyed that a herdsman with an unstable flock of sheep had blocked the road. “Driver,” he called, rapping on the roof of his conveyance with his walking stick, “run them over, do you hear? The man obviously has no idea who rides in this carriage. Run over the filthy beasts, and let the man count himself blessed that God’s representative has noticed him today.”
The crack of the whip rang out, the carriage jolted forward, and Baldasarre cursed softly under his breath as he was thrown off balance. What a lot of foolishness this council was. He hadn’t wanted to leave Rome. He had only agreed to this council because not agreeing would most certainly lead to his condemnation from afar. And though he didn’t know how they would evict him from his Roman palace, he feared that someone might try to do it by subtle means. After all, he had assumed the pope’s crown after feeding his weakling predecessor, Alexander V, a healthy dose of poison.
Uncertainty gnawed at his confidence. One could never be too sure which way the winds of fate might blow. In his lifetime, Baldasarre had been many things—soldier, scholar, pirate—and through all his journeys he had come to see that only one thing mattered: power. With power came money, renown, and women, all the pleasures that lightened a man’s soul, but without power a man was little more than the dust of the earth, as useless and worthless as peasants who worked the soil outside a nobleman’s estate.
And so he had cultivated power. Among the retinue of cardinals and bishops that followed him now in ornate carriages he had few friends; Baldasarre preferred to anchor his future to strongholds outside the church. He had paused in Tyrol to confirm his alliance with Duke Frederick of Austria, a genteel nobleman with no money and a great love for creative melodrama.
“Your Holiness!” A brightly uniformed servant rode up on horseback, bringing a choking cloud of dust into the carriage. Baldasarre bit back an oath and stared at the man.
“Constance is just ahead, Your Holiness. I thought you might like to know.”
There went that instinct again, seizing him by the guts and yanking for his attention. Fear blew down the back of Baldasarre’s neck, but he shook it off and hunched forward, gesturing for the servant to fling open the door of the carriage.
“Let me out!” he screamed, not waiting for the red carpets which were usually spread before he would descend. The princely procession had halted atop a hill, and below, in the valley, Baldasarre could see the city of Constance glittering like a jewel by the shore of the lake.
Despite his earlier apprehensions, his confidence spiraled upward. “’Tis a pit for catching foxes,” he proclaimed, holding up both hands in delight. As his bewildered bishops scrambled out to see what had caught the holy father’s attention, Baldasarre gathered his robes and climbed back into his regal chariot.
“Drive on!” he bellowed.
The route to Constance had taken Hus and his party through Barnau, the imperial free city of Nuremberg, and numerous other small towns. Everywhere they journeyed, even in the German territories, Anika was amazed and pleased at how well Jan Hus was received. Any and all suspicions the people might have harbored after hearing lies about the preacher from Prague vanished as the man himself won supporters with his earnestness and humility. By the time he left, the common people and humbler clergy felt that he fought for them.
At Nuremberg, their hearty welcome forced a delay of several hours, for the people were eager to see Hus and hold a public disputation. Priests, a doctor of theology, and several magistrates were assembled in the city hall, waiting for Hus. After a few hours of debate, public opinion had swung firmly to the reformer’s side.
That night Anika helped Hus pen a letter to friends in Prague. “I have not,” he dictated, “met a single enemy as yet.”
Reports of Hus and his speaking skills spread like wildfire through the country, and soon they had to stop and let the preacher speak at every village the procession passed through. In each place the priests and religious scholars engaged the Bohemians in theological discussion. In Biberach, Anika had to smother a broad smile when Lord John took so prominent and enthusiastic a part in the debate that the citizens believed him to be a doctor of theology. From that day forward, Hus jokingly referred to Lord John as “the doctor of Biberach.”
“Do not forget your own name, O goose,” Lord John replied, enjoying the gentle sparring.
On November third, not quite a month after leaving Prague, the Bohemians arrived at Constance. The picturesque beauty of the town stunned Anika. Situated on the south bank of the Rhine, the imperial free city normally boasted a population of fifty thousand. But now that the world’s attention had focused on the city, the population had doubled. The streets blazed with gorgeous color—red-robed cardinals moving among blue surcoats and bright gowns of women. Horses with waving plumes pranced in the streets, ridden by knights in polished armor trailing gleaming standards. The pope and the emperor would both join the convention, Anika reminded herself, and with each would come a numerous and dazzling array of officers and attendants.
In addition to all the invited participants, a throng of merchants, artisans, retainers and curious visitors jammed Constance, drawn by curiosity, the possibility of making money, and the probability of pleasure. Anika heard Lord John remark that this was the largest congress the world had ever seen.
Because the inns were full, booths and wooden buildings were hastily erected for the accommodation of visitors, while thousands more camped in the surrounding countryside. Lord John arranged a hasty encampment for his men, though he fully intended to remain at Jan Hus’s side for as long as possible.
Through an arrangement with the council, Hus himself was lodged in the house of a righteous widow named Fida. Her modest dwelling was not far from the episcopal palace where the pope and his entourage were headquartered.
After seeing Hus safely to his room in Fida’s house, Lord John turned to Anika and Novak, who alone had followed him into town. “With all respect to you, Mistress Fida,” John said, bowing deeply while the elderly woman twittered in pleased surprise, “my knights and I must report Master Hus’s presence here in the city. We will return, but if anyone gives you cause for concern regarding Master Hus’s safety, please do not hesitate to send me word.”
The woman nodded, a clump of white hair clustered in short curls around her heart-shaped face. “I will take good care of Master Hus.” She spoke in a tone filled with awe and respect. “You need not fear for his safety while he is here. The archbishop of the city has assigned a guard to my house at night; ’tis one of the safest in Constance.”
“Thank you, gentle lady.” With a gallant gesture, Lord John bent to kiss the woman’s plump hand, and Anika smiled at the blush of delight that rose to the woman’s cheeks.
The episcopal palace, home to the archbishop of Constance and now to Pope John XXIII, dwarfed Chlum Castle in size and majesty. Anika could not tell if the treasures inside the plastered and painted hallways had been brought in for the pope or resided with the archbishop, but either way she thought it unseemly for churchmen to indulge in such an ostentatious show of wealth. The church elders had gathered in Constance, after all, to discuss reform so that the common people might benefit from the church, and such a show of affluence only accented the great gulf which existed between the clergy and those they supposedly served.
They were kept waiting for the space of half an hour, then a pair of servants in bright red and gold livery opened a pair of gilded doors and admitted them into the presence of Christ’s representative on earth.
Standing beside Novak, a few paces behind Lord John, Anika stared at the robed figure seated on a gilded chair. Her first thought was that John XXIII was no servant of Christ—or anyone else. Aloof on his golden throne, he had an air of authority and the appearance of one who demanded instant obedience. Massive shoulders filled the spotless white robe he wore, and from the flowing sleeves two impatient hands tapped against the armrest of his chair. Thick, tawny-gold hair fell from the tonsure on his pate, and his square, florid face was shaped into lines and pouches of sagging flesh that suggested dissipation rather than age. He did not look capable of any pleasant emotion.
His square jaw tensed visibly as the trio approached.
“You are Lord John of Chlum, are you not?” the pope barked, not waiting for a formal introduction.
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
Anika watched with muted pride as her master bowed formally to the man who had no right to wear the crown of Christ. The correct form of address when speaking to the pope was “Your Holiness,” but her master had used the address reserved for cardinals. While others might think his greeting a mere lapse in memory or a fault in manners, Anika knew Lord John was making a point—a very sharp one.
The pope’s dark eyes flashed imperiously. “You have brought Jan Hus?”
“Yes.” Lord John nodded abruptly. “He is safely ensconced in the widow Fida’s house.”
“Bene.” The pope seemed to measure the three of them in a cool, appraising look. “It is my duty to reassure you that your friend is in good hands. No one will be allowed to molest him, and I myself will preserve his safety. His sentence of excommunication is suspended while he remains here, so the city will not be subject to interdict on his account.”
“How kind … and convenient of you.”
Anika was alarmed at a certain reckless note in her master’s voice.
Before Lord John could turn to leave, the pope lifted his jeweled hand. “All I require,” he said, eyeing them with a prim and forbidding expression, “is that you ask Master Hus to remain in the widow’s house. To avoid scandal, let him not attend public worship. He may receive guests as often as he likes, and the widow Fida shall, at my provision, supply all his needs.”
“What about mass?” Lord John asked, shifting his weight and folding his arms. “My friend is a pious man and would like to partake in Holy Communion.”
“He is a priest, isn’t he?” Sudden anger lit the pope’s eyes. “Let him say his own mass in the privacy of his room. It shall be enough.”
Anika bit her lip, half-afraid her master would return the pope’s contemptuous words with a few of his own, but after a half-second, her master inclined his head in a small gesture of thanks. “You are right, it is enough,” he answered, his voice pleasant. “Jan Hus has never needed any man’s help to reach the heart of God.”
As her own heart brimmed with pride, Anika stepped aside to let her master pass. Then she and Novak followed him from the pope’s pretentious chamber.
Cardinal D’Ailly ducked behind a statue as Lord John and his knights exited the chamber. He felt a sudden darkness behind his eyes and a chilly dew on his skin. John of Chlum’s presence could mean only one thing—Jan Hus had arrived in Constance. The schismatic who would destroy a thousand years’ work of refining religion would soon stand before them to have his heresy exposed.
D’Ailly took a deep breath to calm the erratic pounding of his heart. The fox was near the trap; he ought to be relieved, but doubts and apprehensions still clouded his brain. Hus had the luck of the devil; he had escaped their carefully laid snares before. And each time he had stolen souls from the church. Hundreds of men and women who had faithfully trusted in Holy Mother Church were now following the dangerous winds of dissension, riding first one current of heresy, then another. Hus claimed to interpret the Holy Scriptures and give them to the people, but common people could not understand the things of God. Only men who had studied the Hebrew and Greek could be trusted. Only men who had studied the laws of the church should be allowed to teach and preach.
Hus had become dangerous, and so had his friend, this John of Chlum. Fortunately, however, D’Ailly had one friend in Chlum’s camp—the chaplain. Though D’Ailly could not remember the little man’s name, he was certain the priest would soon appear.
Unlucky coins and impoverished relatives always turned up.
Swiveling his head to keep his master in view, Vasek waited until Lord John and the two knights disappeared. Then he skulked out of his hiding place and tugged on Cardinal D’Ailly’s sleeve. The cardinal ought to remember him, for they had met more than once in Prague.
“Cardinal D’Ailly, a word,” Vasek whispered, glancing left and right to be certain his master would not reappear. “I must see His Holiness.” He indicated the door with a jerk of his head. “My master has just left the pope, and I have news which may be helpful. I promise you, His Holiness will be pleased to hear from me.”
The cardinal stiffened and turned up his nose at Vasek as if he had caught a whiff of some vile smell. “What did you say your name was?” he asked, distrust chilling his hooded eyes.
“Vasek,” the chaplain replied, wiping his hands on his tunic. “Surely you remember me. I serve Lord John at Chlum Castle and have traveled for the past month with the one called Jan Hus.”
At the mention of Lord John’s name, the cardinal gave Vasek a fixed and meaningless smile. “What news have you to offer His Holiness?”
Vasek gave the man a tentative smile. “I know what the Bohemian preacher plans to say. I have heard him rehearsing his arguments. I know he hopes for a public hearing so he may further spread these heresies.”
“Wait here.” D’Ailly turned soundlessly and slipped through the double doors, then reappeared before Vasek had finished reciting the Our Father.
“His Holiness will see you,” the cardinal remarked, his eyes as hard as dried peas and his mouth drawn into a knot. “Make certain that your news is trustworthy, or you may regret having approached us today.”
As freely as a cascading waterfall, Vasek let all he knew of Jan Hus flow from his tongue. The pope listened silently, his heavy cheeks falling in worried folds over the stole around his neck. Three other cardinals hovered nearby, their beaked and surly features turned toward Vasek like hungry birds of prey.
When Vasek had emptied himself of all the information he thought useful, he lifted hopeful eyes toward the pope. Silence settled upon the group, an absence of sound that had almost a physical density. Vasek found himself struggling to breathe the strangely thickened air.
Then Cardinal D’Ailly spoke. “Why have you come to us?” he asked, his eyes cold and polished as obsidian beads. “You are a servant of Chlum. How do we know this is not a trap?”
“It is not; by my honor, it is not,” Vasek explained, thrusting his hands forward in an open gesture. “I am disturbed, Your Eminence, Your Holiness, by what I see happening in my beloved country. The old ways are under attack. The priests are overthrown and tossed out of their churches. I have seen bishops’ houses ransacked and their treasures taken out and given to the poor. The nobles who once sided with the Holy Mother Church in all things now follow Master Hus.
I love my master, but I believe Hus has infected his soul with heresy. I only want to restore greatness and truth to the house of Chlum before its nobility and strength disappear.”
“I think,” the pope said, a thin smile on his lips, “a more apt question might be what you expect of us. What do you require of us, Vasek of Chlum? If we accept your help in this matter, what do you expect in return?”
Vasek paused as the question hammered at him. He had come for noble purposes only. He certainly had not intended to achieve material gain, but if the pope was offering something, he might be a fool to refuse. If he appeared greedy, however, His Holiness might show Vasek the door and expose his disloyalty to Lord John.
He lowered his eyes in what he hoped was a humble expression. “Your Holiness, I am a servant of Christ’s Holy Church. As God is my witness, I came here with no thought of personal profit.”
“But if you do us a service, you deserve recompense.” The pope’s voice was like velvet lined with steel. “Do not be foolish, Vasek. Do not even the Scriptures say that a servant is worthy of his hire? Even so, if you aid us, God will reward you. We are pleased to be his hands and his mind in this matter.”
Vasek looked up, hope lightening his heart. “I am only a servant of Christ’s Holy Church,” he repeated, “but since I will be unwelcome at Chlum Castle if Master Hus is discredited through my efforts, I had thought that I might like to take charge of one of the churches in Prague. There is a nice church on the south side of the city whose priest died last summer—”
“A mere priest?” A smile crawled to D’Ailly’s lips and curved itself like a snake. “You are a humble man, Vasek. Why not wish to become a bishop? Archbishop of the city? Such things could be accomplished, you know. And perhaps God shall work in this way. Everything will depend upon the service you render to Christ’s Holy Church.”
“What more can I do?” Vasek cried, groping through a haze of feelings and desires. He hadn’t expected this. He had thought he would tell what he knew and be done with everything.
“We need to arrest him,” another cardinal said, interrupting Vasek’s thoughts. “And we cannot do it without cause since the Holy Father has given his word that Hus will not be molested. We need a cause, Vasek. We need you to entice Master Hus to do something for which he can be arrested and taken into our custody.”
Vasek lowered his gaze in confusion. “He is a godly man. He has no faults, no vices for which you could arrest him.”
“Find something,” D’Ailly urged, stepping closer. “Use your imagination. Has he a fondness for women? For gold? Perhaps among his papers you could find a copy of that heretic Wyclif’s writings. That would be grounds for arrest. All you must do is report to us, and we will take care of the matter. No one else need ever know of your part in it.”
Vasek stepped back, momentarily rebuffed as a war of emotions raged within him. Why, they spoke as if he were about to commit some sort of shameful act! Why should he be ashamed of helping them expose a traitor and schismatic?
Pope John held out a soothing hand. “My son,” he said, his voice losing its steely edge, “we will support you in whatever you do. We know your heart is loyal to the Church, and we are confident that God will give you opportunity and wisdom.” He folded his hands and gave Vasek a disarming smile. “Go in peace, my son.”
Vasek felt his heart fall. Was he to be dismissed so soon?
“If you think of anything which might aid us,” D’Ailly added, with no expression on his face, “come again. You will be admitted.”
Vasek gathered the rags of his dignity and bowed to the Holy Father. As he turned to leave, he congratulated himself on keeping his honor and his wits firmly about him.
Two days after the Bohemians’ arrival in Constance, Lord Venceslas of Duba brought the safe conduct from Sigismund. Hus, Lord John, Novak, and Anika gathered around to read it:
Sigismund, by the grace of God, King of the Romans, etc.:—To all princes, ecclesiastical and lay, and all our other subjects, greeting. Of our full affection, we recommend to all in general, and to each individually, the honorable man, Master John Hus, bachelor in theology and master of arts, the bearer of these presents, going from Bohemia to the Council of Constance, whom we have taken under our protection and safeguard, and under that of the empire, requesting, when he arrives among you, that you will receive him kindly and treat him favorably, furnishing him whatever shall be necessary to promote and secure his journey, whether by water or by land, without taking anything from him or his, at his entrance or departure, on any claim whatever; but let him freely and securely pass, sojourn, stop, and return; providing him, if necessary, with good passports, to the honor and respect of the imperial majesty. Given at Spires, October 18, 1414.
“Well.” Hus thrust his hands into the pockets of his cassock, well pleased with the document. “I suppose we should be glad we did not need the safe conduct on our journey. But it will suffice to get us home, no matter what the council’s decision.” He looked at Anika and Novak and smiled in earnest. “I know you were looking forward to using your swords in my defense, so I am sorry to disappoint you.”
“Do not tease us, sir,” Anika whispered, unable to return his smile. “Have these men not lied to you before?”
“Sigismund does not want to alienate Bohemia and her people,” Hus replied, turning now to the nobles seated at his table. “Surely you, my lords, understand that this parchment is an honest promise.”
Venceslas of Duba nodded, eager to agree, but Anika saw a shadow of doubt upon her beloved master’s face. “We will wait and see,” Lord John said, his eyes moving to Anika’s as if he, too, shared her misgivings. “Time, my friend, will tell the tale.”