House of Bathory(57)

Then there was silence.

Zuzana waited until she heard the hinges whine on the chamber door, and the shuffle and tap of footsteps as the Countess and her dark companion descended to the dungeon for the night games.

The moonlight shone at the edges of the heavy velvet curtain. Zuzana moved toward the writing desk near the west window. Surely this was the desk to which Vida had referred. Zuzana had never been in the bedchamber before.

Her finger grasped the drawer pull. It resisted stubbornly.

“It’s locked,” came a voice from the corner of the room.

Zuzana whirled around, gasping. From the shadows long white fingers extended toward her and grasped her shoulder.

“What are you doing in this room, Nocny?” It was the witch Darvulia. She peered closely at Zuzana’s face. “You are forbidden to cross the threshold of the Countess’s chamber.”

Zuzana began shaking uncontrollably.

“The ledger,” Darvulia said. “Of course. You fool. Don’t you think the Countess takes the precaution of locking up her valuables?”

Zuzana looked at the witch’s eyes.

“Please do not tell her I have entered the room, I beg of you!” said Zuzana, her voice a hoarse whisper.

Darvulia lit a candle, tipping the flame up near her face. Zuzana could see words forming on her lips as she composed a reply.

“Do you know the Countess shuns me?” said Darvulia. “She keeps company now with a man years younger than she.”

“I know nothing about the stranger, only gossip from the handmaidens. I have never seen him.”

“The others were toys to her,” said Darvulia, apparently not hearing Zuzana’s answer. “They meant nothing. But this one is different. To let such an evil man, so foul a man, into her bed.” She made a noise deep in her throat, a combination of disgust and despair.

Zuzana looked on, terrified.

“See that she is damned, handmaiden. See that she is damned!”

Darvulia, weeping, made her way to the alcove. Zuzana heard the turret door creak open and listened to the retreating steps of the witch descending the winding staircase.





Chapter 42

ČACHTICE CASTLE

DECEMBER 22, 1610





The black-clad stranger disappeared the same night Darvulia vanished from Čachtice Castle. The witch was never seen again. Some said her heart was broken, and she wandered the forests mourning.

But others said The Dark One had murdered her so she would never share the Countess’s bed again.

Brona, the cook, muttered a prayer. Hers was a different belief. “See, Zuzana. The two evil ones have left. There must be a Taltos amongst us—”

“A Taltos?”

Brona pulled the girl closer, whispering. “Witches sense when a Taltos is near. The Ancient Ones drive away evil spirits. If they are strong enough.”

Zuzana stared at the wrinkled lips of the old cook, smelling the garlic and bacon grease in her gray-streaked hair. Another wild superstition, thought Zuzana. Vampires and Taltos in eternal battles, ghosts and witches floating through the air. To the Slovaks, every moment could be supernatural, the world filled with spirits and sorcerers.

Zuzana knew she was the last one to see Darvulia, in the Countess’s bedroom, and she knew well the reasons for Davulia’s leaving Čachtice Castle—the witch had been cast aside for another lover.

Zuzana did not say anything to Brona to dissuade her from her hope for a beneficent Taltos. Any helpful spirits were welcome. The true evil one was still right there, her bloodlust insatiable. The castle still smelled of blood and carnage, despite the strong perfumes the Countess wore and the frankincense she burned.





That evening, Countess Bathory, suddenly without either of her lovers and confidantes, was unapproachable. Her black mood terrified everyone in the castle.

“Your creams and potions do nothing for my complexion!” the Countess screamed at Zuzana. “Look at me! I am wrinkled and haggard as an old peasant.”

Zuzana folded her hands, as if in prayer, beseeching her mistress.

“Madam, you are beautiful. Look again in the mirror, I beg of you.”

“You ugly charlatan! Why did I ever show you mercy, you poxed curse!”

The Countess threw a silver hand-mirror at the girl, who dodged the flying weapon. It shattered with a tinkle of splintering glass.

“There is only one cure to restore my youth,” said the Countess, gathering her skirts as she rose from the vanity chair. “And it cannot come from a lowly peasant!”

The Countess swept out of the antechamber, her stiff gown swishing. She slammed the bedroom door, leaving Zuzana kneeling on the floor, picking up the slivers of glass.





Janos was summoned.

“The Countess commands your company at dinner,” said a tall manservant. “She expresses deep concern over her horses.”