The Silver Sword Read Online Free Page B

voice was second only to that of King Wenceslas.
    Her father opened the door, and the archbishop’s coolly impersonal tone broke the stillness of the copyist’s shop: “Grace and peace to all who dwell herein.” Anika took one quick look downward to be certain Master Hus’s tablet
and
her book were safely hidden, then pasted on an innocent smile as her father stepped aside and bid the archbishop enter.
    Anika fought inward revulsion every time she saw the stiff and starched Archbishop Albik in her father’s bookshop. Some high personage in Rome had appointed him to serve the city of Prague, and, like his predecessor, Albik seemed more intent upon solidifying his position and power than serving God’s people. Lately, in fact, he hadproved himself a devout enemy of all who loved and sought the truth of the gospel.
    â€œGood day to you, my children,” Albik said, regally inclining his tonsured head as he entered the room. He extended his bulky gold ring for her father’s kiss, and Anika glanced down at her desk so she wouldn’t have to watch her father kneel and genuflect. Why wouldn’t the archbishop leave them alone? Weren’t there other copyists in the city for him to harass? But none of the others were close to Jan Hus.
    The archbishop glanced about the small work space as her father stood and politely clasped his hands before him. “To what happy occasion do we owe this honor, Your Grace?”
    â€œWhat use would I be if I did not see to the welfare of the souls in my care?” the archbishop answered, his countenance completely immobile. His eyes flashed over the room, taking note of the rolled parchments, the bottles of ink, the precious books safely stored in chests at the back of the small shop. “I see you are busy.” The holy hand lifted in a limp gesture and indicated the collection of wax tablets in a basket near Anika’s writing table. “I did not know our fair city housed so many writers. Of all the copyists on this street, your shop is by far the busiest.”
    â€œWell, naturally, the students and teachers at the university keep us occupied, thank God,” her father answered, bowing his head in respect. “And me daughter is skilled with a pen and ink. By the grace of God and with her help, we are quick, and we are pleased to present our customers with fine work. They bring us their books and lessons, don’t you see, and we are also able to rent out several of the books we keep in our library—”
    â€œWhat are you inscribing here, Ernan O’Connor?” The archbishop walked over to the writing board where Anika’s father had been working. His quill lay on the desk, the ink-filled ox horn remained uncovered. A large parchment lay flat on the board, a pumice stone holding it in place.
    â€œAh, I was readying this parchment for writing,” her father explained,a gleam of relief in his eye. “I had not yet begun to copy anything.”
    â€œBut you were ready to begin.” Archbishop Albik gestured toward the wax tablet near the edge of her father’s writing table. “What will you copy today? More scribblings from students at the university? Or perhaps one of the masters’ lessons.” He casually stroked his chin. “None of these tablets would contain a sermon from the preacher at Bethlehem Chapel, would they? Or the words of the heretic Wyclif?”
    â€œI would not allow heresy over the threshold of me house.” Anika’s father straightened his shoulders. “I am ever mindful of me daughter, Your Grace, and would not endanger her immortal soul by allowing heresy to enter her thoughts. We are a God-fearing household; haven’t I said so?”
    Albik gave him a brief nod. “See that you remain so, Ernan O’Connor.” When the archbishop lifted his hand, Anika lowered her head, more to duck the blessing than to humbly receive it. She felt no love and