To Kill a Witch

by Christopher Patterson

  “Tomorrow night,” Thaddeus replied.

  “I am not going,” Brant said.

  “Yes, you are,” Thaddeus replied. He squinted, knowing he was about to lie. “Count Stephen should be there. Don’t you wish to watch him?”

  “How?” Brant asked. “I am but a lowly servant.”

  “We must be at full strength tomorrow,” Thaddeus said, ignoring the thane’s sarcasm. He didn’t want to give away the fact that they were following a witch, but if they encountered her, and she became hostile, they may need Brant’s sword.

  “There is only so much of your bullying I am willing to take,” the thane said. “You can pretend to be some noble, but you are not. Think on that as you try to force me to go to this banquet.”

  Brant stormed out of the cell.

  “It may not be a bad idea to leave him here,” Gunnar said, speaking in Greek so Alden and Jarvis wouldn’t understand him.

  “Either way,” Thaddeus said, “he is creating problems.”

  †

  When Thaddeus returned to the dormitory that afternoon, he saw Rowan, the man who had sought asylum in the abbey, sitting by himself.

  “You stay confined in here,” Thaddeus said in Frankish, “and yet, it is a beautiful day out.”

  The sun had dared to peak through the clouds, and the colors of the flowers in the garden of the cloister looked extra brilliant, swaying in a gentle breeze and reminding Thaddeus of the rich fabrics—with all the colors of the rainbow—vendors sold from their market carts in Egypt.

  Rowan had been sitting with his back to Thaddeus, and he spun quickly, Thaddeus’ voice startling the man. He saw Thaddeus, and his eyes went wide for a moment, and then he turned back around.

  “There’s nothing beautiful about the days here,” Rowan said.

  “Why do you say that?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Aren’t you a lord?” Rowan asked. “Why are you talking to me?”

  “There is no one else here to talk to,” Thaddeus replied.

  Rowan shrugged.

  “Why do you say this place has no beauty to it?” Thaddeus asked.

  “I am a wanted man,” Rowan replied. “Where can I go? I have to stay here, in this abbey, until the sheriff retrieves me. I am only prolonging the inevitable.”

  “Are you worried? If you are innocent, you will be acquitted of your crime,” Thaddeus said.

  “Not in this place. There is no acquittal here, you’re a guilty man, no matter what. But I’m not innocent …” Rowan said, slowly turning back around and staring at Thaddeus. “I’m a murderer.”

  “So, you are using the House of the Lord,” Thaddeus said, straightening his back, “to simply prolong your trial and execution.”

  “Given my situation, I figured this would be the best place to hide in the time being,” Rowan said.

  “Your situation?” Thaddeus asked.

  “A church is the best place I could be,” Rowan said. “The people who want me dead can’t find me here.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean,” Thaddeus said, although Rowan’s eyes seemed to darken, and the corner of his mouth turned up into a slight smirk.

  “It’s nothing,” Rowan said, turning around again.

  Thaddeus stared at the man for a moment, watched him just stare at the wall and breathe.

  “You killed one of her servants, didn’t you?” Thaddeus asked.

  Rowan didn’t answer, but his head dropped as he sucked in a long breath and then slowly let it go. After a moment, Rowan looked at Thaddeus over his shoulder, his eyes downcast.

  “No,” Thaddeus said, “no, you served her.”

  Rowan slowly nodded.

  “Do you know who I am?” Thaddeus asked.

  “I do now,” Rowan said. “We were warned.”

  “What do you mean to do?” Thaddeus asked.

  “If you are asking if I am going to try to kill you,” Rowan said, standing and turning so that he faced Thaddeus, “then the answer is no.”

  Thaddeus just stared at the man.

  “The man I killed was also one of the witch’s servants,” Rowan said.

  “You had a change of heart?” Thaddeus asked.

  “You could say that,” Rowan replied.

  “If you wish to pray …” Thaddeus began, but Rowan cut him off with a laugh.

  “You Christians,” he said, still laughing, “you think that just because I don’t want to serve a witch, I want to be like you. To be honest, I don’t believe in a god. I think it’s foolishness. Tall tales to comfort children and dying men.”

  “Then why can’t the witch enter the abbey grounds,” Thaddeus asked, “if it’s all rubbish?”

  “Maybe she’s just never tried,” Rowan said with a shrug. “Maybe it’s some sort of magic. I don’t know, and I don’t care. I just know she can’t come here, and she won’t send her lackeys to come get me, lest she raise the ire of the king and the church. So, for now, I wait.”

  “Then why leave the witch’s employ,” Thaddeus asked, “if you don’t believe there is a god?”

  “This may come as a shock to you,” Rowan replied, “but you don’t have to be a Christian to think that wanton rape and murder and the slaughter of innocent children are wrong. I was … am in over my head. The promise of money and a woman has always got me into trouble. This was no different.”

  “Who was the man you killed?”

  “My friend,” Rowan said, looking at the floor.

  “You said he was a Norman,” Thaddeus replied.

  “He was. So am I. At least, my father was,” Rowan said. “We were sitting in an alehouse when I told him I meant to flee. I wanted him to come with me, of course. To him, it was as if I had lost my mind. He lost his and attacked me. I had no choice but to defend myself.”

  Rowan opened his hands, palms still dirty and stained with old blood.

  “Abbot Robert has granted me an audience,” Rowan said. “I mean to tell him what I’ve seen … what I’ve done. Maybe he can tell the king. No one else will listen to me.”

  “I will listen,” Thaddeus said.

  “She is going to be at some banquet,” Rowan said. “I don’t know how, but she has somehow wormed her way into William Rufus’ confidence. Probably offered him her cunt.”

  “I knew she was going to be at the banquet,” Thaddeus said. “When I return from there, we will talk. The noose or stake is the least of your worries, although I can help you avoid those, as well.”

  Rowan stared at Thaddeus, eyes squinted.

  “You crossed a witch,” Thaddeus said. “The noose or stake might seem like good alternatives to what she can do to you, especially this one. If you help me stop her, I can protect you.”

  Thaddeus extended his hand, and Rowan took it. He rifled through a belt pouch and retrieved a coin. He handed it to Rowan.

  “Ask the monks if they would draw you a warm bath,” he said. “They will say no, but give them that, as an offering. They are always kinder to those who donate to their cause.”

  “Err … Thank you.” Rowan stood and bowed.

  “They will also feed you,” Thaddeus added, “more than the brown broth.”

  Rowan nodded again.

  “Make sure you stay here and stay safe,” Thaddeus said, “until we have a chance to talk.”

  Brant walked into the dormitory as Rowan was leaving, and Brant made the man walk around him. When Rowan had gone, Brant walked up to Thaddeus and grabbed the man’s arm as if to pull him away from the door. Brant was a tall and lean man and had the muscles that most well-trained soldiers had. But even though he was a fraction taller than Thaddeus, the Greek was thicker and wider, years and years of training and fighting behind his strength. He stood his ground and looked down at the thane’s grip with a cocked eyebrow and flat lips and the Saxon immediately let go.

  “I am not going to the banquet tonight,” Brant said. He sounded like a pouting child. “I cannot stand to be around so many Norman nobles. I don’t care if Count S
tephen is there or not. If you ask me, we should ride back to Chesterfield and tell Prince Harold the Count is vacant from Richmond.”

  Thaddeus was about to protest, but then he stopped and thought for a moment.

  “Fine,” he replied. “And I am not asking you. We will stick with the plan.”

  “What?” Brant said, a look of disbelief on his face. He had expected an argument.

  Thaddeus didn’t trust Brant. He was a callous, bigoted man, but his mission—for the most part—was the same as Thaddeus’: To help the Saxon people, even if he was most concerned with the well-being of the Wessexers. Each had an extra goal, of course, and Brant’s was returning the Godwinsons to the throne while Thaddeus wished to kill a witch and rid England of her presence. But their course was still the same.

  “I don’t care ...” Thaddeus said, but now he grabbed Brant’s arm and pulled him close. He smiled, slightly, as the thane struggled against his grip, failing to release himself. “... but you will stay here. In the abbey.”

  “Where else would I go?” Brant asked.

  Thaddeus just shrugged and let him go.

  “The man who sought asylum here. He has a part to play in our mission too,” Thaddeus said.

  Brant stared for a moment, his eyes squinted, and then he shook his head, clearly dismissing such a fanciful thought.

  “What part could he play in all this?” Brant asked. “He’s a murderer. And, by the looks of him, a Norman. He spoke Frankish.”

  “He has something to do with the atrocities being committed to your people in Richmond,” Thaddeus explained, “knowledge of what is going on with the House of Renne and King William.”

  “What is he doing in an abbey, then?” Brant hissed. “We should throw him out and burn him at the stake.”

  “Listen,” Thaddeus whispered. “He is trying to flee the …”

  Thaddeus almost said the word witch but managed to stop himself. He looked at Brant, watched his eyes.

  “Trying to flee the what?” Brant asked.

  “The Normans,” Thaddeus replied.

  “Clearly,” Brant said. “He killed one of them.”

  Thaddeus continued to watch Brant, who seemed weighed down by his gaze. He turned away, eventually staring at his feet.

  “There is something much bigger happening here,” Thaddeus said. Did he chance to tell the thane? Perhaps, if he knew what they were really doing, he would be more helpful.

  “What?” Brant asked.

  “This mission is more than just trying to regain the throne of England for the Godwinsons. Or overthrowing the House of Renne or William.”

  “What is it then?” Brant asked.

  “A witch,” Thaddeus said, keeping his voice low.

  “What?” Brant asked, jerking his head back, his mouth and eyes glaring back in disbelief. “Do you take me for a fool? Some peasant who believes in fairy tales?”

  “It’s no fairy tale,” Thaddeus said. “A witch has been poisoning Count Stephen—and Alan Rufus before him—and now she seeks the mind of King William.”

  “So, you could care less for the Saxon people and their plight,” Brant said, stepping forward defiantly. “You think you can simply lie?”

  “I do care,” Thaddeus said. “Listen to me you …”

  “Lies,” Brant said, staring eye to eye with Thaddeus.

  “It’s no lie,” Thaddeus said.

  “If anyone serves the Devil,” Brant said, “it’s you.”

  “The man Rowan; his eyes tell the truth,” Thaddeus said. “I have sent him to eat and bathe now, but tonight, when I am at the banquet, you are to watch him, and make sure nothing happens to him.”

  “I am no nursemaid,” Brant said, standing defiantly in front of Thaddeus. “And I am certainly not doing something for some backward Devil worshipper.”

  Thaddeus stepped closer to the thane.

  “I don’t care if you believe me or not about the witch,” Thaddeus said, “but accuse me of worshipping the Devil one more time, and you will not see another moment of this life.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Brant said, but the fight seemed to have left him.

  “You will do as you are told,” Thaddeus said, getting tired of Brant’s attitude again.

  Brant was about to protest. Thaddeus could tell that much. He puffed his chest out and opened and closed his hands into fists. But then he backed up and relented.

  “Fine,” Brant said, sounding like a pouting child again.

  Thaddeus just gave the man a look and walked away; he had better things to worry about. His mission … their mission was about to get much more dangerous and precarious as he prepared to come face to face with the witch.

  Chapter 16

  A GATEHOUSE STOOD at the start of the drawbridge that led over a wide moat and past the front gate that opened into the bailey of Winchester castle. The walls were stone, another testament to the ingenuity of the Romans. Some scaffolding was present, where the stone left by the Romans had crumbled away and the Normans were replacing it, but the castle would one day be an even more imposing sight than it already was.

  Thaddeus sat in Polimestes’ saddle, doing his best to look haughty and insincere. Gunnar, dressed in a knee-length hauberk, conical helm, and carrying his spear, led the destrier by its reins. Asaf, wearing brown robes and bearing a large, wooden cross around his neck, rode a much smaller palfrey while Jarvis and Alden walked behind them. Two guards eyed the men closely from under their own conical helms. Both men wore knee-length tunics bearing the symbol of William Rufus—a lion reared up and ready to strike—and both carried kite shields that covered their whole body.

  Gunnar handed one of the soldiers a rolled piece of parchment—Thaddeus’ invite to the royal banquet. The soldiers inspected the invite momentarily. Most likely they couldn’t read, but they didn’t need to. All they needed to do was look for the King’s seal. One looked up at Thaddeus, put his right thumb to his forehead, gave the man a quick bow, and said, “m’lord.”

  Across the drawbridge, the courtyard bustled with life, servants running here and there, and tending to the animals of the many nobles that had been invited to attend the King’s banquet. Even though a myriad of buildings sat along wooden and stone walls, all work had stopped, every resource and servant turned their attention to the needs of the guests.

  Thaddeus looked up to see a tall, wooden keep looming over the bailey, sitting atop a high, earthen mound surrounded by a wooden palisade of logs all sharpened to points. Another gatehouse sat in front of a walled, wooden bridge that led up to the motte, a steady stream of people walking along the bridge towards the tower.

  Gunnar showed the guards at this new gatehouse their invitation, and they nodded them through. The climb up the bridge was steep, and Thaddeus couldn’t help giving a short laugh when Gunnar looked at him over his shoulder and scowled. He definitely owed the Norseman.

  “I still don’t understand why you let the thane stay behind,” Gunnar said, breathing heavy as they made the steep climb up to the keep.

  “It wasn’t worth the argument,” Thaddeus said.

  “You’re getting soft,” Asaf added.

  “Would you rather him moaning and complaining the whole time,” Thaddeus asked, “and giving away our pretense?”

  “I suppose not,” Asaf replied. “He’s such a rat turd.”

  “No one will argue with you on that,” Thaddeus said. “But, nonetheless, he is a rat turd who is on our side, with the same goal as we.”

  “The good Lord knows we’ve had several of those in our time together, eh Thadd—I mean, Sir Gregory?” Gunnar asked.

  “Indeed,” Thaddeus replied with a smile.

  Servants gathered in front of the keep, a four storied, wooden building that looked even larger up close.

  “Stay here,” Thaddeus said to Alden and Jarvis. “The guards will bring you in when the food is served.”

  Jarvis looked uncomfortable, especially without his thane around. It almost seemed a
s if the huscarl missed having someone abuse him.

  “I don’t like this,” Jarvis said, speaking in the Saxon tongue.

  “Behave yourself, good servant, and don’t speak,” Thaddeus said with a small smile, but his smile quickly faded as a faint, fetid stink hit his nose.

  Thaddeus looked to Asaf and Gunnar.

  “She is here,” he murmured in Latin.

  The other two nodded.

  “What did you say?” Jarvis asked.

  Thaddeus noticed two soldiers looking at the Saxon, eyebrows raised as he spoke casually to the man who masqueraded as his master. Thaddeus quickly backhanded the huscarl, drawing just a trickle of blood from the corner of the man’s mouth as he went to the ground, surprise mixed with anger present in his wide eyes.

  “How dare you speak to me,” Thaddeus said, keeping his ruse as a Frankish noble.

  Jarvis looked like he was about to say something. He gave Thaddeus a different look than he gave Brant when the thane hit him. The look he gave the thane was one of defeat, like a broken dog or a tamed horse. But the look he gave Thaddeus was one of anger and defiance. A part of Thaddeus was glad for the look. He was still a man, after all. But as he was about to open his mouth, the Norman soldiers closed in, and he looked down to the ground and bowed.

  “My lord,” one of the soldiers said, “would like us to take him to the stockades?”

  “No,” Thaddeus replied. “He will not be any more trouble. I apologize for the commotion.”

  “No apology needed, my lord.”

  “These Saxons are worse than wild horses,” a woman said as she passed by Thaddeus. “You have to break them. Sometimes it is to their death, but the others will obey.”

  She was a short, dark-haired woman who wore a blue gown over a white chemise, its bottom stained brown from mud. She was anything but a high noble, but she was noble nonetheless, and she stared at Jarvis and Alden, and even Gunnar, over the end of her short, wide nose. Thaddeus looked at her and nodded. He followed the woman through the ground floor of the keep, the storage area, and kitchen of the tower.

  “Have you been to one of William Rufus’ banquets before?” the woman asked, looking at Thaddeus over her shoulder with a seductive smile.