House of Bathory(56)
“Is she as beautiful as they say?” asked Countess Zichy. She was dressed in a robe for bathing—white linen that enhanced the pallor of her skin.
She looked to Zuzana like a white lamb for the sacrifice.
Zuzana steered the conversation away. “Drink some wine. It is good for your blood, Countess.”
The girl’s nostrils pinched in agitation. “Answer my question, servant.”
“Yes, madam. The Countess Bathory is the fairest beauty in the Kingdom of Hungary. I have traveled with her to Vienna and compared her to the finest ladies of the court. There is no one more beautiful.”
The Countess drew a deep breath. She took a sip of the wine, a wan smile warming her face.
“Her beauty must be matched with her goodness and generosity to allow me to learn the social graces of a Bathory.”
Zuzana nodded and swallowed. “As you say, Countess.”
“I could not believe my good fortune when my mother received the letter with the Bathory seal. An invitation to visit the illustrious Countess Erzsebet! My mother and father would move heaven and earth to give me such an opportunity. And—”
“I beg of you, Your Countess. The water will cool. Please, come.”
“I do not want to catch a chill,” said the girl, looking frightened now. “These Slovakian climes are cold, barbaric. The coach driver said there are hundreds of hungry wolves in the woods.”
“Yes. You will hear them at night, howling.”
The young Countess opened her eyes wide. She allowed Zuzana to lead her to the brass bath.
The messenger from Vienna arrived, his face and clothes splattered with mud. He had ridden nonstop from Hofburg Palace carrying a letter in his leather pouch. “Messenger from the King!” he shouted in response to the sentry’s challenge.
Guard Kovach recognized the horse and rider as he looked down from the castle’s battlements.
“Let him enter,” he bellowed.
The rider dismounted, rubbing his aching back.
“Sentry Damek,” said Kovach, “fetch the royal messenger a draught from the well. Order food be prepared in the barracks.”
The messenger bowed in gratitude to the head guard. He took the wooden cup from the sentry and drank deeply.
“Come, I will accompany you to deliver the correspondence to the Countess,” said Kovach.
The rider wiped his mouth, leaving a dark smear of grit and mud on his jacket sleeve.
“The letter I carry is not destined for the Countess.”
Kovach wrinkled his brow.
The messenger continued. “Will you take me to Horsemaster Szilvasi, if you please?”
Chapter 41
ČACHTICE CASTLE
DECEMBER 21, 1610
Zuzana remembered the ledger.
She could still feel the young horsemaster’s firm grip on her shoulder. It made her skin tingle to remember the weight of his hand resting there.
You know we have to do it.
Word had come that two other young noblewomen would arrive within the next two fortnights. Already the handmaidens were busy, cleaning and preparing the guest rooms, snapping freshly laundered linens in the air and floating them down on the feather mattresses, beating the rugs, finding flasks for water and wine for the bedside tables.
Brona the cook prepared sweetmeats and wine cakes, worrying that her cooking must compare favorably to all other kitchens in the kingdom of Hungary.
Zuzana thought about the ledger. Would a new name soon be entered there? Would the Countess dare to write the name of the Countess Zichy of Ecsed in her curling handwriting, evidence of her murder?
Did the ledger still exist?
Since the appearance of the dark stranger, Countess Bathory no longer lingered in the dressing room, writing names, inclining her head only slightly as the quill scratched the vellum, the ink soaking into the thirsty page.
The scratching of the quill had made Zuzana shudder, and only once had she been able to steal a glance at the names listed there.
Perhaps the dark stranger had persuaded Erzsebet to be more cautious. The ledger was probably locked in one of her drawers or in a coffer.
You know we have to do it.
She heard Janos’s words again and knew he was right. She had to do what she could.
Long after the other maidens had drifted asleep, Zuzana crept from her straw pallet. As she entered the turret staircase with its cold rush of air, she shuffled her feet to scare away the rats in the darkness.
She opened the servant’s door to the dressing room slowly, avoiding a sudden draft that might be felt in the Countess’s bedroom. She stepped carefully, knowing her way so well she could avoid even the faintest creak from the floorboards.
But there was noise from the adjoining room. The bed creaked, and the Countess moaned and howled. Squeals of what could have been pain as easily as delight filled the air, the thrashing of limbs and stiff bedclothes brocaded in gold thread and pearls. The smacking wet sounds of lovemaking, sucking, panting, and groaning reached a crescendo.