time she was aware of her surroundings, she was turning the car into Hambolt village, about a mile from the cottage. The council had installed traffic-calming measures, and she had to wait for a car approaching. On either side of the road stood two massive limestone blocks, once part of a megalithic tomb. She could feel, under the blanket of sedation and obedience the woman was weaving, the dark energy seeping from the stones. As she moved the car forward she mentally reached for it, feeling energy like icy water washing through her. She gripped the steering wheel tight with hands that felt numbed with cold. Gathering her will in the moment when the enchantment was weakest, between the stones, she stamped on the accelerator. The car jerked forward as she slammed into another gear and concentrated on the moment of clarity. The woman was jolted back into her seat, breaking the spell further. Jack tore through the village and wrenched the wheel at the first turning, into the church car park. Floodlights picked up the motion and snapped on, almost blinding her. Every nerve burned as her limbs throbbed back to life, and she smashed the car into the wall of the churchyard.
Chapter 16
‘They say that wealth lays beauty upon a woman, but I believe it is rather power that does so. She could have had, at a whispered command to any of a hundred nobles and servants, my death. It was this that impressed me when I met the Lady Erzsébet Báthory, despite her mortal weakness, because I could not take my eyes off her.’
Edward Kelley
20 November 1585
Niepolomice
After the noon bell, we were summoned to our audience with King Istvan in his own quarters. These were a set of large rooms in the new wing of the castle, and the panelling, tapestries and generous glass windows were akin to one of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth’s minor palaces. A polished black table ran down the middle of the room, big enough for a score of people. Only four high-backed chairs were occupied, and I bowed to the king and Lord Miklós. My master was shown to a padded stool and offered wine by a silent servant. I was gestured to a bench beside him, and also given a cup. A dozen guards stood around the doorways, out of earshot.
‘Doctor Dee.’ The king inclined his head with slow courtesy. He indicated the powerful man beside him. ‘Count Nádasdy, commander-in-chief of my armies.’
Up close, the man was in his late twenties or so, and dressed more regally than the king. His eyes flickered over Dee and focused on myself, sneering at us both. My attention was then drawn to the remaining person on the left side of the king.
She sat straight in her chair, and at first I thought she was a child. I had never seen that colour on a living person, her skin as bloodless as a corpse. Her blue eyes, deep-set into the emaciated face, burned with an unnatural light and seemed to scorch as her gaze swept over me on the way to Dee. She stared at him with the rudeness of royalty. Her dress was embroidered and so stiff with metal thread and jewels that it seemed to hold up the shrivelled body within.
The king waved a hand at her. ‘And this is Count Nádasdy’s wife, my niece. Countess Erzsébet Báthory Nádasdy. As you would say, the Countess Elizabeth Báthory.’
She nodded to Dee, and then to me, dropping her eyes for a moment.
Dee stood and swept a courtier’s bow. ‘My lady. Are you comfortable in Latin?’
‘In Latin, German, French … but not in English, I regret.’ Her voice was low, and I leaned forward to hear. Despite her frailty, her blue eyes were keen and flicked over us. Her voice had more power than her weak body would suggest, even as she steadied herself against the table. Despite the early hour, the room was dark and the servant set a branch of candles on the table. She wavered her other hand to her eyes and the servant moved the candelabra further away.
The king waved and the door closed with a soft clunk. Barring the servitor with the
Chapter 16
‘They say that wealth lays beauty upon a woman, but I believe it is rather power that does so. She could have had, at a whispered command to any of a hundred nobles and servants, my death. It was this that impressed me when I met the Lady Erzsébet Báthory, despite her mortal weakness, because I could not take my eyes off her.’
Edward Kelley
20 November 1585
Niepolomice
After the noon bell, we were summoned to our audience with King Istvan in his own quarters. These were a set of large rooms in the new wing of the castle, and the panelling, tapestries and generous glass windows were akin to one of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth’s minor palaces. A polished black table ran down the middle of the room, big enough for a score of people. Only four high-backed chairs were occupied, and I bowed to the king and Lord Miklós. My master was shown to a padded stool and offered wine by a silent servant. I was gestured to a bench beside him, and also given a cup. A dozen guards stood around the doorways, out of earshot.
‘Doctor Dee.’ The king inclined his head with slow courtesy. He indicated the powerful man beside him. ‘Count Nádasdy, commander-in-chief of my armies.’
Up close, the man was in his late twenties or so, and dressed more regally than the king. His eyes flickered over Dee and focused on myself, sneering at us both. My attention was then drawn to the remaining person on the left side of the king.
She sat straight in her chair, and at first I thought she was a child. I had never seen that colour on a living person, her skin as bloodless as a corpse. Her blue eyes, deep-set into the emaciated face, burned with an unnatural light and seemed to scorch as her gaze swept over me on the way to Dee. She stared at him with the rudeness of royalty. Her dress was embroidered and so stiff with metal thread and jewels that it seemed to hold up the shrivelled body within.
The king waved a hand at her. ‘And this is Count Nádasdy’s wife, my niece. Countess Erzsébet Báthory Nádasdy. As you would say, the Countess Elizabeth Báthory.’
She nodded to Dee, and then to me, dropping her eyes for a moment.
Dee stood and swept a courtier’s bow. ‘My lady. Are you comfortable in Latin?’
‘In Latin, German, French … but not in English, I regret.’ Her voice was low, and I leaned forward to hear. Despite her frailty, her blue eyes were keen and flicked over us. Her voice had more power than her weak body would suggest, even as she steadied herself against the table. Despite the early hour, the room was dark and the servant set a branch of candles on the table. She wavered her other hand to her eyes and the servant moved the candelabra further away.
The king waved and the door closed with a soft clunk. Barring the servitor with the
Similar Books
