To Kill a Witch

by Christopher Patterson

  He just shook his head. She must have been somewhat familiar with the King and the royal family, using his informal name.

  “They are rather droll things,” she added. “He can’t dance, and he’ll probably be drunk already. He is loud and rude, and his taste in food is so common. If you get bored, my lord, you should come talk to me.”

  “I will remember that,” Thaddeus said with a smile as the noblewoman winked at him. “What was your name, my lady?”

  But she never answered. As they crested the top of the stairs and entered the Great Hall of Winchester’s keep, a chubby man with pockmarked skin, oily hair, and a splotchy beard met the woman—presumably her husband. When she looked at Thaddeus again, the man glared at him. She must have been known for sneaking around behind her husband.

  “By the rood,” Asaf said softly in Hebrew.

  “If this is a droll affair,” Gunnar said, “I wonder what their lively banquets look like.”

  “The Romans were known for such lavishness, weren’t they, Thaddeus?” Asaf asked.

  “Aye, they were,” Thaddeus replied.

  The Great Hall was a large, high-ceiling room. The great table was set up on a dais at one end, a large banner displaying the lion of William Rufus hanging on the wall. As Thaddeus washed his hands in a large basin, he noticed the King slouching in his throne-like chair, positioned in the exact middle of the great table. Even slouching, he was a large man with long, red hair, a ruddy complexion, and a thick, red mustache. His crown, a simple gold band with five points, sat haphazardly angled on his head, and he slurped something from a large, golden chalice, seeming to care little for anyone around him.

  Servants rushed about, setting gold and silver plates in front of the King and his esteemed guests, the men and women selected to sit with him at his great table. Several other tables had been placed along the walls of the Great Hall, bearing the food that was being served, but one stood apart, a multi-tiered thing covered with a white tablecloth. It was the King’s buffet. Where the other serving tables held simple meats and stews, this buffet boasted stuffed birds, a roasted pig, and other delicacies.

  “Name, my lord,” a lazy-eyed usher standing next to the washbasin said.

  “Gregory of Malmesbury,” Thaddeus replied.

  “And these men?” the usher asked, presenting an open hand to Alden, Jarvis, Asaf, and Gunnar.

  “Callixtus, a Benedictine monk from Malmesbury traveling with me, and my servants,” Thaddeus replied.

  “They will sit when all the lords and ladies are seated and served,” the usher said, “in the back. Jonas will lead you to your seat, Lord Malmesbury.”

  The usher bowed, and a small boy led Thaddeus to a long table towards the back of the room. He pretended to be a simple lord, a lowly knight of little note, and that meant he would sit towards the rear of all the nobles. The people with whom he sat looked upset, irritated at being sat so far in the back, but Thaddeus was glad for it. It was part of his plan to remain unnoticed.

  Thaddeus’ food was served on a wide, hard, flat piece of bread. He had heard of this before, and the bread—the trencher—having soaked up the juices and jellies of all the food that would be served, would be given as alms to the poor peasants of Winchester, a gesture of kindness from the King. The wine the cupbearer served Thaddeus tasted slightly sour. He knew the wine that the dapifer and his cupbearer served the King, and his table would be sweet and strong enough to have already gotten the King drunk as the big, red man looked out over the banquet, his face already a rosy color. Where the dapifer served the King and his table, simple servant boys served Thaddeus. And where the King and the great table received six courses, including delectable looking sweets, the servants only offered Thaddeus and his table four.

  As they ate, several of his table companions brought him into meaningless conversation occasionally, but mostly they seemed to know each other and left Thaddeus alone, which suited him perfectly. One of the men sitting next to him, another lowly lord from the western reaches of William’s kingdom, drank too much, to the chagrin of his wife, and started bumping Thaddeus’ elbow and telling him crude and lewd tales of his life pre-marriage.

  Several minstrels performed after the King’s third course, a juggler danced and did small tricks—sleights of the hand—after the fourth course, and a troubadour recited several poems after the fifth that caused some of the ladies in the Great Hall, including the short noblewoman who had winked at Thaddeus, to swoon and blush.

  Thaddeus looked over his shoulder, at Jarvis, Alden, Gunnar, and Asaf. They sat at a servants’ table. Jarvis and Alden seemed to be enjoying themselves, digging into the one course they received and probably relishing something other than jerked meat or monkish brown broth. But Gunnar looked apprehensive, and Asaf looked irritated. Thaddeus nodded, and the cleric shook his head.

  “Are those servants bothering you?” the drunk lord asked.

  “No,” Thaddeus replied with a smile. “They are my servants. I was making sure they were behaving themselves.”

  “I keep telling Simon that,” his wife said, “He’s too soft on the servants, too busy drinking.”

  Sir Simon looked at his wife, swaying slightly, and scoffed.

  “Shut up, woman,” Simon said, and his wife just glared at him.

  As the dinner finished, and many in the hall readied themselves for the dance that would ensue, a familiar stink hit Thaddeus’ nose. He looked up, to the great table, and saw a tall, slender woman with a soft face and long, dark ringlets enter from a rear door. The tall woman—beautiful and seductive—led an older woman, arm in arm, to a spot next to William Rufus.

  “Countess Adelaide of Normandy,” the lord next to Thaddeus said, elbowing him once again.

  “Who?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Countess Adelaide,” Simon replied, “the King’s aunt. It is said that she holds more lands in England than any other Norman woman.”

  “Why is she here?” Thaddeus asked as the woman looked up at the tall, dark-haired beauty, patting her hand gently and gingerly sitting next to the King. William Rufus seemed to have no idea that the woman now sat there.

  “I don’t know,” Simon said with a shrug. “Came with that younger woman, apparently. Some Flemish noblewoman. Don’t mind that she’s here. Easy on the eyes. Nice tits. Probably a distant cousin to the king.”

  Simon’s wife elbowed him, but he was drunk and simply laughed as her face turned a deep shade of red, Thaddeus suspected from both embarrassment and anger.

  The tall, Flemish woman looked out into the Great Hall, and when her eyes met Thaddeus’, they had a glimmer to them … a reddish tint that he recognized.

  As soon as the food was gone, the trenchers taken out to be given to the common folk of Winchester, and the tables moved to the side of the room to make space for dancing, the crowd of people filled in, men forming an inner circle and women forming a large circle around them. The minstrels, sitting in a corner of the room, began to play, and the men and women danced. Several women approached the King, but he shrugged them off. He looked irritated as his aunt spoke to him, and every time he said something, the Flemish woman would laugh and gently touch his arm. William Rufus just looked at the woman’s hand with disdain and looked away, only paying attention when his aunt would speak again.

  “Would you dance with me?”

  It was the short noblewoman, and her voice took Thaddeus by surprise, as did her hand gripped firmly on one of his buttocks.

  “Shouldn’t you dance with your husband?” Thaddeus asked. He could see Gunnar from the corner of his eye, standing against the wall and laughing.

  “He’s a terrible dancer,” she said. “Besides, he’s probably up there trying to speak with the King.”

  “Oh,” Thaddeus said. “The King seems rather preoccupied.”

  He gave the woman a short bow, to which she curtsied, and then they started their dance, making sure not to touch.

  “I would suspect he is, at the moment,”
the woman said, a smile growing on her face as she leaned in closer to Thaddeus. Even though he towered over her, he felt small at the moment.

  “And why is that?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Have you not heard?” she asked.

  “Heard?”

  “What is your name?” the woman asked.

  “What is yours?” Thaddeus replied.

  “You first,” she said, trying her best to be seductive, even though her breath smelled heavily of wine and onions, doing anything but seducing Thaddeus.

  “Gregory,” Thaddeus said.

  “Eleanor,” she said.

  “So, what is it that I haven’t heard?” Thaddeus asked.

  Eleanor giggled and rubbed her chubby fingers across Thaddeus’ chest.

  “The Scots,” she said. “They’re as bad as the Saxons. Worse even, preferring the company of each other to women. They ravaged Northumbria. I don’t know why the King cares. Northumbrians are the worst of the Saxons.”

  “Ah, yes,” Thaddeus replied. “King Malcolm, yes?”

  Eleanor nodded.

  “Is this the matter with which your husband wishes an audience with the King?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Yes,” Eleanor said with an exasperated roll of her eyes. “Richard is such a fool and has his nose deep in the King’s backside. He wants William to send him north, so he might earn fame and title, along with the other turds that care for lost Saxon lands and scabby Scots.”

  “The King is sending more men north?” Thaddeus asked, playing into his pretense as a minor lord barely in the know.

  “Yes,” Eleanor replied, giving Thaddeus a look with a tilted head and raised eyebrow. “Where have you been? Under a rock?”

  “I’ve been traveling for some time now,” Thaddeus replied, not necessarily lying. “I took a pilgrimage to Rome and the Holy Lands. I’ve just recently returned.”

  “Oh,” Eleanor said, moving closer to Thaddeus and batting her eyes, “a traveler, are we?”

  “Somewhat,” Thaddeus replied. “Do these Scots pose such a threat to William?”

  “No,” Eleanor replied. She seemed bored, then. “The King is irritated, I think. He was in France, fighting his brother, but Malcolm forced him back to England. Now, when he would rather be fighting, he needs to entertain this Flemish noblewoman at the request of his aunt who supports his brother Robert over him. Her being his father’s sister, he will relent to whatever request she makes, except for relinquishing his Norman lands to his brother. He’s an adept soldier, so I’ve heard, and an expert tactician. When he is sober.”

  Eleanor looked in the King’s direction with longing eyes. Her husband was finally speaking with the King, and when he gave his wife a quick glance, she wiggled her fingers in a sheepish wave and gave a pretend giggle. If only he knew.

  “Lady Eleanor,” Thaddeus said with a quick bow, “I must bid you adieu.”

  “Are you leaving so soon?” she replied, grabbing Thaddeus’ hips and trying to pull him close, even as her husband certainly saw.

  “I must,” Thaddeus said, pulling away easily and giving the woman a quick bow. “Thank you for the dance. I too must speak with the King.”

  Thaddeus walked to where Jarvis, Alden, Asaf, and Gunnar stood against the wall of the Great Hall.

  “That’s her,” Asaf said, nodding to the tall, dark-haired woman as she began to speak with William Rufus.

  The King looked even more irritated as the woman spoke. He rolled his eyes on several occasions and almost refused to look her in her face. He drank from that same grand goblet, even as the witch giggled and touched his arm gently. Countess Adelaide joined them, supported by the dark-haired woman, and the King seemed to pay a little more attention to what the witch was saying, but only a little.

  All three of the witch hunters watched intently as Jarvis and Alden stared on, not really understanding what was going on.

  “He’s a strong-willed one, isn’t he?” Asaf asked.

  “What do you mean?” Alden asked.

  Jarvis just stared as they spoke Latin; more testimony to the mistreatment by Brant. The least he could have done was taught his house soldier the church’s language.

  “She is trying to enchant him, clearly,” Asaf said.

  “I have to stop her,” Thaddeus said.

  “Oh, and how?” Asaf asked. “Are you going to simply walk up to the King and interrupt his conversation with his aunt? With his reputation as having a bad temper, that rat turd would probably have you shackled and beheaded before you knew what happened. Besides, it seems he’s resisting her charms rather well.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like women,” Gunnar suggested.

  “I’ve heard that rumor,” Thaddeus added with a smile.

  “It’s true,” Alden said.

  “You don’t know that,” Gunnar said, rolling his eyes.

  “Yes, I do,” Alden said.

  “Why?” Gunnar asked. “You’ve been with the King?”

  Alden looked angry, even though Gunnar was smiling intently.

  “I’ve also heard he has a hundred bastard children running around in this wide world,” Gunnar said. “You can’t believe the rumors that go around about nobility.”

  “The Normans are fighting the Scots in the north … the result of broken peace talks,” Thaddeus said.

  “So,” Gunnar said.

  “And William Rufus is at odds with his brother, Robert Curthose,” Thaddeus added.

  “What’s your point?” Asaf asked.

  “Doesn’t it seem odd that all this strife is happening, just as a witch plagues these lands,” Thaddeus said. “She desires death and discord for her master. This must be her doing.”

  “Men, desire death and discord, Thaddeus,” Asaf said softly. “This is nothing new. You don’t need a witch or the Devil for that. War. Strife. Envy. Human sin is what I see.”

  “Still,” Thaddeus said, “I think it is her doing.”

  The witch kept talking to the King. Any nobleman that approached, wishing to have an audience with William, turned around and walked away as soon as she glared at them. It might have been the hatred in her eyes that drove them away or a simple charm, but nonetheless, she consumed his time. And then Thaddeus saw them again … her eyes. Those evil eyes glowed, ever so faintly, with that reddish tint, but for a brief moment they flared, and the King’s eyes glimmered in response. Now, he seemed to relax a little, softly stroking his mustache as he more readily engaged in conversation with the witch and his aunt. He even laughed.

  “She has him,” Thaddeus said.

  As he continued to watch the king and the witch, the people around him seemed to disappear. The commotion quieted until he could barely hear the music anymore. Then the voices softened, and all he heard was his own breathing. He knew they were there, the other people, dancing, laughing, and talking, but he couldn’t notice them. All he saw, all he knew at that moment, were the king, the witch, and he. She turned her head slowly, a small smile on her face. She scanned the crowd until her eyes caught Thaddeus’. When their gazes locked, her smile widened.

  Chapter 17

  THADDEUS MADE HIS WAY towards William. The King couldn’t even take his eyes off the witch now, so entranced by her. She spoke and giggled, and he laughed along with her, his aunt leaning in on the tall woman all the while, gently patting her hand as she intertwined her arm around the witch’s. Thaddeus dodged dancers and politely bowed and shook his head as several ladies asked him to dance. As he got closer to the king and the witch, it seemed the crowd thickened, and he found himself pushing his way past people. One man even turned and puffed out his chest at Thaddeus.

  “Watch yourself,” the man said, glaring at Thaddeus with drunk eyes.

  “My extreme apologies,” Thaddeus said with a bow.

  The man just grumbled and turned, stumbling about as he attempted to dance.

  Thaddeus finally made his way to the small dais on which the king and the witch stood in front of their chairs, now pulled in
to a small triangle that worked to stop others approach the king. At first, their conversation seemed more small talk than anything else. The witch spoke of Flanders and the drollness of the French court. The king also spoke of the boring nature of the French court and giggled, almost child-like, when the witch touched his arm.

  “France is so boring,” the witch said. Her voice was smooth and melodic, and Thaddeus couldn’t help sensing a seductive quality to it, like a woman trying to coax her lover into bed. “Let us talk about something more exciting.”

  “What could be more exciting than talking about defeating my brother Robert in battle and reclaiming my French lands?” the king exclaimed. He was ever the student of war. “Even if my aunt doesn’t think I should.”

  The witch patted the old woman’s hand.

  “I have begun to change my mind, nephew,” Adelaide said in a croaking, shaky voice. “I think I was wrong about your brother Robert.”

  “Truly?” the king asked with a smile.

  But Thaddeus noticed, as the old woman spoke, the witch’s lips moved as if she was speaking with her. The witch patted Adelaide’s hand again, and the old woman simply stared at William with a fragile smile on her face.

  “What is more exciting than France?” the witch said with a soft moan, putting a finger to her lips as if thinking, but kissing her finger.

  She giggled a bit and bit her fingernail, childish at first, but then her smile disappeared, her eyelids closed halfway, and she moaned, ever so slightly as she inserted the finger into her mouth and closed her lips over it. The king shifted uneasily.

  “How about the Scots?” the witch asked. “This King Malcolm?”

  “Bah,” the king said, waving a hand. For a moment, the trance he had been in seemed to break. “A backward king leading a backward people.”

  “An exciting people, though,” the witch said. “They run about naked, painting their bodies. When they fight, it is with passion. And all those …”

  The witch seemed to shudder with excitement, even crossing her legs momentarily. It was all pretense, that much Thaddeus knew, but nonetheless, she reached out and squeezed William’s arm, sighing in awe as she did so.