The Blood Confession, page 12
"I'm sorry, you can't see her," she told me, securing the door behind her.
"I know." I found myself unable to look away from the blood.
"You don't need to be afraid," she told me. "It's just a little bleeding. The doctor prescribed it—he said it might balance her out."
I nodded, feeling foolish that the sight of the blood should so bother me. Had I not been bled by doctors myself? I glanced at my hands suddenly, remembering the blood of the deer speckling my skin. I was relieved to see only my clean white hand holding the jar. I stepped forward and showed it to the servant.
"This is for the countess," I said, and put it in the pocket of the servant's apron. "It's only a silly potion—to aid her rest."
"Thank you, Erzebet." The servant bowed slightly, careful not to tip the dish in her hands.
I could not help but look again at the dish of blood as the servant passed. Blood is a sacrament, and sacraments keep us all safe. The words of the old woman, on the day of the deer's slaughter, came back to me, unbidden.
XV
The countess had been correct in predicting the count's return, for he soon arrived at Castle Bizecka, bringing with him a cool and rainy spring. Though still disgusted by his secret deal with the Turks, I could not help but take extra care in preparing for my audience with him. I had grown into a young woman in the years since his last visit. His appreciation of my beauty was the only form of approval that I could hope to receive.
Once sufficiently painted, perfumed, and jeweled, I swept into the portrait chamber in a dramatic wave of scarlet. I had chosen the color for the particularly vivid contrast against my pale skin. The count was sipping from a goblet of wine as I entered.
"Erzebet," he said, not taking his eyes off my face. I did my best to conceal my pleasure with his reaction. He stepped forward and took my hand.
"I think this new portrait I've commissioned will be the finest one yet, now that you've grown." His eyes passed across my face as though appraising a work of fine art. His own face looked drawn and rather sharp; the count was looking more hawk-like as the years passed.
"Have you brought an artist with you?"
"I have procured his services and he will be here shortly, perhaps in the summer, when the weather is best for travel. He is Hungarian born but lives in England. Right now he is in Vienna painting portraits of the members of court. You will be fitted for a new gown for the portrait; I've already procured the fabric and I've spoken to the mistress of your wardrobe." No matter how many gowns I owned, my mind still danced at the thought of a new one—what better way to rediscover and display my beauty?
"I would also like you to wear this." He extended his hand to show me a curve of gold wire with a teardrop-shaped ruby suspended in the center. It was a beautiful piece, and I turned to the mirror over the mantel to watch as he placed it upon my crown of curls. The ruby felt like a cold fingertip pressed upon my forehead.
"Quite nice," he said approvingly, but his expression was cold.
I felt as though I were a piece of art, already, to him. I bowed graciously and thanked him.
"There is another important matter I must discuss with you," he said, stepping closer. "I've been told that you've befriended a peasant girl—the daughter of a farmer living in Novoe Mesto. Am I correct?"
I stared dumbly at the count for a moment.
"Is this true?" he asked, shifting his cloak. I could see the scabbard upon his belt glimmer in the firelight; it blinked at me like an eye in the darkness. My voice seemed stuck in my throat. I had never been so intimidated by the count before. In the midst of my panic, a voice entered my head, a low, rich voice that I instantly recognized: You have more power than you realize.
"I do have a friend," I said. "She lives by the border, near the forest. They've had trouble with the Turks—"
"Listen to me, child: the daughter of a count does not spend her time with peasants. Unless that peasant is bent over, scrubbing the floor." A sickly smile made his thin lips twitch. "I hope never to see that wench in my castle, or else you will both face the consequences."
"Yes, my lord," I barely uttered, bowing quickly before I was dismissed.
***
I waited nervously for Marianna's appearance in the garden that afternoon. I would simply cover her in my cloak and bring her up to the tower before the count could see her. I began concocting a plan to keep her secret and rehearsed it over and over in my head as I waited, considering every request I would need to issue to Rowena. So busy was I with planning and pacing that I was surprised when the sun began to set, and Marianna was nowhere to be seen.
I returned to my chamber for my dinner, and after dinner was called to the count to recite for him my lessons. I acted the role of dutiful daughter, but as soon as I was dismissed I donned a black cloak and went to wait by the garden gate.
Surprisingly, I was just in time: Marianna was waiting by the gate for my arrival, but this time she was not alone. A cloaked figure stood beside her.
"Erzebet, this is my father," she told me as soon as I reached the gate. The man lowered his hood and bowed low before me, nearly collapsing to his knees. I noticed that Marianna's cheeks and lips were very pale. Her father's face looked pasty white in the moonlight, in contrast to his wiry black hair.
"Lady Bizecka, I beseech you to help me and my family," he began, his voice breaking as he spoke. I looked to Marianna for a clue as to what was happening, but she averted her gaze from mine. Her dark eyes were raw and red.
"You've been so very kind to my daughter already, I hate to ask you for another favor. But we are desperate, my lady." He wrung his cloak in his hands as he spoke.
"You know that I will help Marianna in any way that I can," I said, placing my hand upon his. "I can promise you that."
"It's the Turks," he said, and crossed himself at mere mention of the word. "They came for their portion of our goods today. We hide part of our produce in order to protect it, you see, but whatever they see, they want to take. We've never had such a problem until tonight. But you see, they've seen my daughter. And they want to take her."
He glanced warily at Marianna as he said this, his hand squeezing her shoulder. The gesture was so tender I felt my heart might burst. It took me a moment to comprehend the meaning of his words.
"The Turks... want to take—you?" I asked her, but she could only bite her lip.
"Yes." Her father nodded. "I'm afraid so. Unless we pay them, and I'm afraid that we simply do not have enough."
"I will pay them for you."
"I admit that is exactly what I prayed you would say. But I'm afraid there is more I must ask you. I don't want them to see her again, you see. I want to be certain that she is safe. I cannot keep her safe. Not the way things are now."
"Then she will stay here with me," I told him. I pulled every ring off my fingers and closed them in his palm. I thought to take the ruby circlet off my head, but knew that the count would notice its disappearance.
"Take this now. You can get a good price for these pieces in town. I will send more to you by messenger as soon as I can." As I said this I opened the gate to allow Marianna's entrance.
"I will bring you provisions myself, as soon as it is safe," Marianna told him.
"No, my dear, you are safer here. Now go." He urged her beyond the gate, his eyes squinting as though in pain.
"Do not fear," I told him, shutting the gate. "Your daughter will be safe with me. You'd best hurry home; it's quite late."
Marianna grasped her father's hand once more through the gate. When she released it we ran to the kitchen entrance of the castle. I pulled her black hood low over her face and we scurried down the hallway, close to the wall. I turned for a moment to grasp her hand in mine when I saw her eyes grow wide with fear.
Our path was blocked by a tall man with a black beard, a mop of wild dark hair upon his head. He smelled of beer and sweat and dirt, so strongly that we could have toppled from the pungency alone. Marianna gasped sharply.
"Little countess!" he shouted, and bowed comically low at my feet. Suddenly we were surrounded by soldiers; they reeked of beer and smiled at us with rotted teeth. Their black-haired leader ushered us into the dining hall as if he were welcoming us to his own home. I released Marianna's hand and nudged her, hoping that she would run from the room, but she grasped my arm and remained huddled at my side.
"Little countess, you have come to celebrate with us," he said, withdrawing his sword from its sheath, "our first victory in battle!"
Cheers rang out through the hall. The faces lit by the orange flames of the fire were purple and black with bruises and bloody wounds.
"Victory in battle? Then the fighting has begun?"
"Defending Novoe Mesto from the encroachment of heathens," the soldier explained. "They dared come too close to the center of town for my liking, tonight. And there we were, ready to strike."
The other soldiers laughed in response as the soldier with the sword bent before me. When he looked up, his dark eyes met mine and he smiled. He laid his sword on the floor at my feet—its silver tip was red with dried blood.
"This war is a blood sacrifice to God," he said, his rough palms turned upward. The soldiers crowded around us murmured in response. He reached into his dark vest and pulled free a bloodstained dagger. His smile flashed at me again as he grasped a goblet of wine from the table and swirled the bloody dagger into the cup.
"To drink the blood of the enemy is to consume the enemy's power!" he crowed, lifting the goblet above his head. "With all that we kill, the stronger we become!"
As the cheering around us reached a crescendo, the soldier tilted back his head and gulped the blood and wine. Lowering the goblet, he licked his lips, his eyes burning like flames. He offered the goblet to me.
"Don't take it!" Marianna whispered into my back, her voice muted with fear.
"There is no offering more holy than this!" he told me, urging the goblet of bloody wine into my hand; I gazed into the goblet, hesitant, unwilling to show my fear.
"Does it bother you to look at it?" he asked.
"No," I muttered, though my small voice was swallowed by the noise.
"You must be used to the sight of blood," he roared, and began to laugh. "All women must become used to the sight of blood!"
Their laughter shocked me out of my stupor and forced me into a run. Marianna and I raced down the hallway, the laughter behind us like the mad baying of wolves. We did not speak until we reached the tower and bolted the door shut. Not until we were in the tower room did I realize I still had the goblet gripped in my hand, my fingers sticky and red with wine.
"Brutes!" Marianna cursed, crossing herself. "How dare they frighten us in that way—how dare they frighten you, the daughter of the count! Killing has made them beasts and not men."
She stood facing the wall, fiddling with her cloak, agitated.
"Marianna," I said soothingly, my hand upon her arm. "The Turks are the brutes you speak of, not these soldiers. They are here to protect us."
"They're here to protect you," she snapped, "not me. They may protect a countess, but they do little to protect the peasants in this country. They did nothing when the Turks took our food; they told us there was nothing they could do. And these soldiers steal plenty of the peasants' crops and livestock—just as the Turks do. Soldiers such as these are feared as much as the Turks in the village."
"But it's God's will, this war. It's not their fault that they're willing to fight it, Marianna."
"But they did nothing to help us—they fight for their own glory and little else," she said, wringing her dress in her hands.
And for the count's glory, I thought, but could not say aloud. These soldiers would pay for my father's deception in blood.
"Doesn't this war frighten you?" she asked, a bit accusingly.
"Of course I'm frightened," I told her, for I sought to comfort her, "but these soldiers are merely instruments of God, here to protect Hungary and the Catholic Church. You've told me yourself that we can't change the role God wants us to play."
"I don't want to see them again," she told me. "I've heard what soldiers do to women, especially when they are drunk."
I bent my head solemnly and sat upon the divan beside her.
"Don't worry, Mari," I told her. "Not about the soldiers, or about the war. You're safe here, with me. You shall remain here until we are sure the Turks have moved on."
Though my voice was soothing, she began to cry.
"My parents are not safe," she said, her voice thick with tears. "If the fighting has truly begun they'll be in danger—all of our crops will be in danger as well. I must go back to help them."
"The best thing that you can do for them is to stay here, where they can be sure that you're safe."
"But what about your father?" she asked, her eyes glistening.
"What will he do if he finds me here?"
"He won't find you here, as long as you stay in this tower. Only Rowena will know of your presence, and she will tell no one."
She looked around the tower chamber for a moment, her eyes wide. I saw her shoulders tremble and she lowered her head.
"I was so frightened, Erzebet." She began to cry. "When I saw the way they were looking at me. I have never been so frightened before. I don't know what we would have done without you, Erzebet. I feel so—ashamed."
"Don't, my dear. There is no reason for you to feel ashamed."
"We were so helpless. You've saved my life."
They wanted her for their harem. I couldn't stop myself from thinking it. I had learned a great deal about the Turks from Pugrue, as well as from gossiping servants. The pasha the count had met in his chamber no doubt had a host of wives and mistresses waiting to cater to his every need. Had her parents been unable to pay for her safety, Marianna would have gone to live in a harem, in the company of those other wives. These were the type of men my father made deals with, men who would steal a child from her father's own home to make her an unwilling bride. I lifted my hand to smooth her hair, but when I did I saw the red stain upon it again.
All women must become used to the sight of blood! The soldier's vulgar words echoed in my ears. I rested my hand upon the back of the divan so as not to touch Marianna with it.
XVI
We were cautious with Marianna's safety all that spring and into summer, which cast dreary, anxious shadows over the days of sunshine. I took occasional walks in the garden, alone, so as not to seem so absorbed in my tower room that it inspired suspicion. Only Rowena knew that Marianna lived in the tower, and she supplied us with the necessary garments and food to keep her comfortable. The other servants were so distracted by the demands of brutish soldiers that they didn't notice anything amiss.
I began to allow Kyzoni to stay in my bedchamber for companionship. I tried to bring him to the tower as a much-needed diversion, but Marianna refused.
"He is a wild animal," she reminded me. "It's bad enough that I can't leave this room; I refuse to share it with that beast."
From then on, I made sure to order Kyzoni to my bedchamber whenever I walked the spiral steps to the tower.
"I think that wolf has replaced me as your companion," Marianna told me one day, a tinge of sourness in her voice, "now that I'm encaged in this tower."
I shivered at her words. We did not usually spend the warm months cooped up inside, and the tower chamber seemed to retain its wintry chill in spite of the balmy summer outside its walls. I tended to the fire and to Marianna's every earthly need, but I seemed unable to relieve the chamber of its inherent iciness.
Two months into her captivity, Marianna had lost interest in our book of spells, and the tower was littered with abandoned embroidery samples. I made a habit of reading the Bible to her on a daily basis, as she could not attend church, and she insisted that we both kneel upon the flagstone floor to pray.
Despite my efforts to distract her, Marianna often spoke of returning home to find if her parents were still well and to see if there were any provisions that could be offered to help them. Each time she mentioned such a visit I reminded her of the risk involved. From servants' gossip I learned of the dangers the peasants of Novoe Mesto faced, threatened by the Turks and by marauding Hungarian soldiers willing to take advantage of those they had sworn to protect. I never broached the subject with Marianna, hoping that staying with me in Castle Bizecka would offer her a new life and she could leave the old one behind.
Late at night, I dreamed about the tall, dark-haired soldier. He greeted me in the dining hall and took my hand, the sheath of his sword visible behind the folds of his great black cape. He led me to a table heavily laden with platters of roasted goose and boar and deer, great pots simmering with stew. He smiled at me from across the table and lifted his glass to drink. I reached forward to lift the silver lid off the nearest platter, only to reveal Marianna: white as a corpse, lying on the table before me.
From this dream I would wake in a frenzy, biting the palm of my hand to suppress my screams.
***
Marianna and I were treated to a much-needed diversion at the arrival of the artist, that summer. I began to exert even more than the usual efforts in preparation for the portrait sessions: milk baths for my face, neck, and arms, scented oils applied to my skin, and special herb pouches soaked in water and placed upon my eyes.
Though Marianna was my closest friend, I still felt sheepish about the spells and potions I had begun to employ. Perhaps she thought me merely vain, but I knew it was imperative to preserve the youthful beauty of my face. If I could only keep the aging process at bay, then perhaps death could be kept at bay as well. I sat at the dressing table in the tower room, inspecting my reflection and taking notes on my latest treatments in the book of spells. Marianna eyed me quizzically in the mirror.
