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erected parapet beneath the renovated Town Hall. The Church of St. Nicholas reposed within sight of
the prisoners. The basilica's cupola and body glowered darkly, a Gothic corpse crying condensing mist.
The Mala Strana of Prague was silent. Spectators shivered in bundled groups, more alert to the
numerous Habsburg soldiery than another execution. The Vltava River, swollen with the thunder shower
and human refuse, could be heard hissing beyond the slick, mossy, chilly square. The two prisoners were
driven together, neither ever having known the other, and halted a body's width apart at the base of the
steps. Atop the bloodstained architecturally perfect breastwork a swordsman leaned on his dull
instrument. He wore an infantry uniform of Maximilian of Bavaria, the conqueror of Prague. There was
no drumroll, no dramatic tension. Beside the executioner another occupation officer read the official
orders while the subjects passively waited below, one in shirt sleeves, the other in monk's habit.
"On this day the twenty-fourth day of November this year of our Lord 1621, by the command of His
Most Catholic Majesty Holy Emperor Ferdinand, son of the House of Habsburg, this man Matyas of
Braunau and this man Vaclav of Moravia are obliged to pay the supreme penalty for crimes against
humanity and God. They shall not be denied a confessor of the One True Church."
A priest was already in intimate conversation with Vaclav. Matyas' sullen eyes guttered briefly as he
ignored the ministrations next to him.
"As the man Matyas of Braunau has refused the last Sacrament," he lowered the parchment, spoke
seemingly from his own conscience, "so may he be consumed by the fires of Hell alongside all else who
deny the True Faith.'' The officer's beard sparkled with wetness, moisture dangled and sprinkled from his
chin as his jaw worked. He coughed laboriously-the darkness picked up the sound and tossed it to the
surrounding marble, basalt and granite. He signaled the guards, stepped to the far side.
The prisoners ascended together at a steady, almost brisk pace. They were unfettered; their exposed
skin bore the marks of previous inducement. Level once again, they were herded toward the center. One
of the captors prodded Vaclav, separated him, pushed him and detained Matyas. An emaciated,
bearded figure, his blue eyes like incandescent windows, Vaclav knelt facing the stretch of Prague. He
did not pray. He appeared to be watching an unseen prompter.
The clean-shaven soldier roused, lifted the heavy nicked sword with assiduous nonchalance. He swung
the blade to full arms' length above his head.
There was a muted thud and sharp rattle. Vaclav instinctively twisted to observe-the weapon lay broken
beside its fallen wielder. The lithic surface seemed to shine more brightly. Deepened by underlying
blemishes, it seemed to glisten an accentuation.
"Witchcraft,'' he muttered. He rose, one hand kneading a knee.
Vaclav blinked vacantly, unable to focus on the event. Matyas smiled faintly. The officer tucked the
scrolled indictment into his belt, drew in breath with enough implication to reestablish the inexorable
course of their respective roles. He motioned the guards to retrieve the Moravian while he himself kicked
aside the shards of Imperial enforcement. Another round of hacking shook him, temporarily halting
proceedings. The executioner stepped away; plague was still rampant within the Bohemian domain.
Angered by his apparent show of weakness the officer barked a command across the plaza. Instantly a
young foot soldier bounded to and up the steps. The crack of his stride echoed fortissimo to pianissimo in
a web of noise.
The new sword was lighter, smaller, not meant for beheading. The Bavarian seemed content that this
would force a more agonizing demise.
Matyas was shoved and continued of his own accord to assume Vaclav's place. His guard knocked his
feet from under him with a grimy boot-he landed painfully.
Positions were resumed, order restored. A nod and again the weapon swept like a knife through the
leaden air. The climactic arc, the point posed upright and high; its tip abruptly began to blur, take on a
blue-purple then green aura. There were frightened gasps from the guards. Soldiers beneath shrank
backward. The officer goggled, his mouth forming soundless prophylactic syllables while he crossed
himself. Conversely, civilian witnesses straightened.
The dots of pair and triplet gatherings became illuminated with raised, wonder-filled faces. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]