To Kill a Witch

by Christopher Patterson

  “… muscles,” she finished.

  “I will show them true muscle,” the king said, moving closer to the witch. He flexed his arm for her and then reached down and grabbed his crotch. “I’ll show them how a true man fights.”

  “Do you not feel embarrassed by this Malcolm?” the witch asked as she turned a shoulder away from the king and looked towards the ground, almost pouting.

  Her lips seemed to plump and glow a deep red. Her cheeks blushed, and her dark ringlets fell across her shoulder, silhouetting her breasts just right. The way she moved her hips reminded Thaddeus of Persian belly dancers, emulating a lover’s dance in the bedchamber.

  “Embarrassed?” the King said. “Malcolm has done anything but.”

  “But he marches south, does he not?” she asked, still pouting. Then she faced the king again, a smile on her face, eyes wide with excitement. “Do you not wish to stop him?”

  William let out a heavy, irritated sigh, causing his red mustache to flutter.

  “He has holdings all over England,” the witch continued. “This Scottish King challenges you, Your Majesty.”

  William slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand, his already ruddy face growing redder.

  “I will crush him,” William said. “I will take all his holdings, and I will destroy his family. I will march into Scotland and put it under my boot like I have England.”

  William meant to leave right then and there, but the witch put a hand on his wrist. It was a death sentence for anyone, to touch the king in such a way, but he eased at her touch, smiling, almost batting his eyes like a young girl stricken by a handsome knight.

  “Stay a while longer, William,” the witch said seductively.

  William looked down at the hand on his wrist. He looked irritated at first, but then, meeting the witch’s eyes with his own, he smiled.

  “All right,” he said.

  “Have you heard of what is happening in the Holy Land?” the elderly Adelaide asked with a shaky voice.

  Thaddeus noticed, once again, the witch’s lips moving in synchronization with Adelaide’s.

  “And what is that, aunt?” William said.

  Thaddeus moved even closer, trying to avoid dancers and a growing number of drunken nobles stumbling about. He overheard the elderly woman speaking of the scourge of Christ—the Muslims—harassing the Byzantine Empire.

  “Who cares about the Byzantine church?” William asked. “They’re as heathen as the Muslims.”

  “Your brother does,” Adelaide replied. “He is preparing to go to the Holy Land. To protect the roads the Christian pilgrims take to see the Holy City. Robert is proving he is a good, Christian lord.”

  “Robert,” the King said through clenched teeth.

  “The people love him,” the witch said.

  “Because he is weak,” the King hissed. “He tries to make up for his short stature.”

  “You are so right,” the witch said, almost nestling into the King. “You may be a hard man …” she added, subtly reaching to grab his crotch, “… but you will be known for your victory on the battlefield and your discipline.”

  “Should I go east, to the Holy Land?” William asked.

  “It is not my place to advise a king,” the witch said, turning away again. But this time, she didn’t pout. She brushed a hand up her leg, lifting her dress and caressing her buttocks. She turned back to the king, moving closer and pressing herself against him, making sure her large breasts brushed an arm and pushed against his body. “You would be a king among kings. The champion of Christ. Your name would be sung for all the ages and, surely, the Lord would sit you next to Christ for your victory in his kingdom here on earth.”

  The witch’s voice was a whisper, but Thaddeus heard her. As she spoke the Lord’s name, she faltered a bit. The king didn’t hear the stumble as she forced herself to speak the name of God, but Thaddeus did, and he could tell she had to force herself to speak His name.

  “I will first crush this rebellion by the Scots,” William said, resolutely. As the witch squeezed the king’s arm, he straightened his back and puffed out his chest. “Then, I will regain my family’s lands in Normandy. Clearly my brother hasn’t learned his lesson. Just last year I forced him to give me some twenty castles in Normandy.”

  “Well done, Your Majesty,” the witch cooed.

  “And then, I will go to the Holy Lands and dispatch the heathen bastards harassing good Christian pilgrims,” William added. “And maybe in the process, I will retake the east and give those lands back to the Catholic church.”

  “Your sainthood would be guaranteed,” said the witch, almost under her breath. As the feigned excitement on her face grew, she almost looked as if she was going to climax. She closed her eyes and let out a moan of ecstasy. The king clenched a fist and raised it, triumphantly.

  “Your Majesty,” Thaddeus said as he stepped up in between the king and the witch. He could hear her hiss, ever so softly, and he felt her gaze fall upon him.

  “What is it?” the King said.

  “I just wish to extend my thanks to you, for your invitation,” Thaddeus said. “I am but a lowly lord and am honored to experience the opulence and generosity that is King William.”

  “Who are you?” the King asked.

  “Indeed,” the witch added.

  “Gregory of Malmesbury,” Thaddeus replied.

  “Malmesbury?” the King mused, tugging at a mustache. “I’m familiar with your estates, but I’ve never heard of you.”

  “Neither have I,” the witch added. She glared at Thaddeus, and her eyes narrowed, and her plumped red lips turned thin and purple. When they pursed, a look of anger crossed the King’s face.

  “I would expect not, Your Majesty,” Thaddeus said with a low bow. “I am far too lowly a lord for the likes of a King such as yourself to bother to know who I am. I am barely of noble birth. I am at a loss, however, for I do not know this lovely lady.”

  Thaddeus grabbed the witch’s hand, the one that she had been resting on the King, and pressed his lips to it. The taste made him want to vomit, and her stink was toe-curling, but he kept his pretense. She withdrew her hand quickly, wiping the back of it against her dress.

  “Renata of Flanders,” the witch replied.

  “She is my guest, along with my father’s sister, Lady Adelaide,” the King added. “Did you only wish to thank me for my invitation?”

  “Well, no,” Thaddeus said with a smile. “I also heard you are sending an army north, to fight King Malcolm and the Scots.”

  “Yes,” William said. He still seemed irritated, but as Thaddeus spoke, his anger subsided.

  “I would like to offer my sword,” Thaddeus said.

  “A way to make more of a name for yourself,” William said.

  “Truly, Your Majesty,” Thaddeus said.

  The King seemed more of his cantankerous self again; his attention focused on Thaddeus and not the witch.

  “We will see,” the King said. “In due time, I will call men to my banner.”

  “And what of these dealings in the east?” Thaddeus asked.

  “What dealings?” William asked. He puffed his cheeks, his face redder than before. “By the rood, how does a lowly lord know of this before me?”

  “I, again, only wish to travel with you, if you make your way to the Holy Lands,” Thaddeus said with a bow. “Perhaps one more way to elevate my family and fight for the King we, in England, all love.”

  William eyed Thaddeus, looking him up and down. He huffed, gave Thaddeus, the witch, and his aunt a short, curt bow, turned and walked away.

  “You think you are clever,” the witch said, her voice soft and gentle, but the true intention of displaying her anger was clear.

  “My lady?” Thaddeus questioned.

  “You can drop the pretense,” the witch said, “Gregory … or should I say, Thaddeus.”

  “Who is this Thaddeus …” Thaddeus began to say, but the witch cut him off.

 
“You are in over your head. You think you know so much, have been around for so long. You know nothing, Laconian. You are a fool. William will be mine,” the witch said, “and he will do my bidding.”

  The softness in the witch’s face—the rounded chin and soft cheeks, the button nose, and plump lips—changed. She looked angular and hard, like the rough carving of a statue. Her voice changed to almost a growl, and any seduction had left. Thaddeus saw her clenching a fist, and the muscles around her jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth. She stepped towards Thaddeus and narrowed her eyes. There was no attempt of seduction on her face or in her body. She was ready for a fight.

  “You speak so freely, in front of the King’s aunt?” Thaddeus asked, but the witch only laughed.

  “You have been around long enough, Thaddeus,” the witch said, and as she moved her mouth, he could see Adelaide moving hers in synchronization to Renata’s, “to know not everything is as it seems.”

  As he suspected, the king’s aunt was merely a puppet. Was she even alive? Was she real? Thaddeus couldn’t tell. She was simply a way for the witch to work herself into the presence of the King and enchant him.

  The witch stared at Thaddeus, her eyes shimmering.

  “If you know who I am,” Thaddeus said, “and where I come from, and who I serve, then you should know your simple charms won’t work on me.”

  The witch straightened her back with a smile on her face. She was a tall woman, with a long neck and narrow shoulders and soft, wide hips. Her face softened, returning to its feminine shape. The paint that lined her eyes and shadowed her eyelids darkened, accentuating her deep grayish-blue pupils, which slowly turned to a darker shade of purple. Her lips changed back to a deep red and plumped. She pursed them, not angrily, but as if she was going to kiss Thaddeus. She stepped even closer to him, pressing her breasts against his chest. They were firm, yet soft, and he could imagine the hardness of her nipples, poking him like fingers. She moaned as she rubbed a soft finger along Thaddeus’ cheek. He jerked his head away, but then looked back at the witch.

  “Oh, I am no simple enchantress,” the witch said, “and there is nothing simple about my charms,” she added, echoing his stress of the word.

  “I love how you witches always come up with some fancy name for yourselves,” Thaddeus said. “Why don’t you just call yourself what you are … a witch, Lucifer’s whore.”

  “Such language for a servant of God,” teased the witch with a shake of a finger.

  Her back to the room, she pressed herself even closer to Thaddeus. He wanted to back away but didn’t. As one hand stroked his cheek, another grabbed his hip. She was much stronger than she looked, and despite his efforts not to be aroused, he could feel himself stiffen as she ground her crotch against his. He felt his face flush and his heart quicken before he blinked as if trying to rid himself of a deep sleep. She put her mouth next to his ear and said nothing, only blew gently against his skin and moaned as if he were deep inside her.

  “I should kill you here and now,” Thaddeus said, pushing away, only slightly, just giving a small amount of space between himself and the witch.

  “You should,” the witch said with a smile. She closed the distance between her and Thaddeus again, the hand touching his face falling to his chest. She cooed and whispered, “So strong … so powerful.”

  The hand that was on his hip moved to his crotch, and she squeezed and rubbed. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He held his breath as he stifled a moan of his own. She smiled, tilting her chin up, ever so slightly, as if she felt the same pleasure as he, her eyelids resting, lazily, halfway over her eyes.

  “So big as well as strong,” she repeated. Her voice was a whisper. “You could kill me easily. It would solve all your problems. You could slay me with your ... sword …”

  She squeezed his erection hard.

  “… you could stab me over and over and over again until you have had your fill. Until your blade finally has had its fill of flesh and the pleasure of slaying me has fulfilled your blood ... lust.”

  She hung on the word lust as her hand grabbed his hip, pulling him even closer as her other hand worked its magic. Involuntarily, he closed his eyes and smelled honey and berries, felt soft skin against his. A vision of a woman—this Renata—lying on a bed with him filled his mind. She was naked, as was he. She touched him, kissed him, all over his body. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time, a moment he had shared with someone else, so long ago. And then the witch wasn’t Renata, but another woman, someone else Thaddeus knew …

  Thaddeus opened his eyes. They narrowed and he reached down, grabbing both her wrists and pinning her arms to her sides. He looked over her shoulder, to Jarvis, Alden, Asaf, and Gunnar. They stood and waited, against the far wall of the Great Hall. All he had to do was jerk his head, call to them, and they would come, and they would finish this evil bitch. Wulfstan would be happy. Prince Harold would be happy. The people of Richmond would be happy. The Lord God would be happy. And what about the King and his soldiers? Surely, God would protect them.

  They had surrendered their swords at the gatehouse leading up to the keep, but Thaddeus always kept a knife hidden within his sleeves. Years of fighting had taught him to always be prepared. He looked to the witch. His eyes must have given away his intentions.

  “Come,” the witch said, the King’s aunt mouthing the same words in unison with Renata. “Come to me, Thaddeus, servant of God.”

  Even with her arms pinned to her sides, she smiled and cooed. He let go of her wrists.

  “You think you are so mighty,” she continued. “You think your God is so mighty and, yet, look at what he has done to you. You are but a puppet.”

  Thaddeus went to grab her again, but his arms were immobile, stuck to his body. He couldn’t move.

  “You see, I am no simple enchantress,” Renata said. “You are a slave. Look at me. I do as I wish. I experience pleasure as I wish.”

  She pressed herself against Thaddeus and grabbed him again. He stiffened once more, but this time, simply glared as her fingers stroked and squeezed.

  “When was the last time you knew happiness, true joy, peace … pleasure,” she said, looking down at her hand working at his groin. She smiled seductively. “Such a waste, a man with such a large … sword, discarded for what? If you would just join me, follow me, you would know peace and happiness again. We could be together. You would be wealthy. You would have a home. You would wander no more.”

  She was beautiful, her features fair, her body perfect, but Thaddeus knew it was pretense. Amidst her charms, he knew that much … that this woman’s body was broken and worn, just like her soul.

  “So many others have taken my offer,” the witch said.

  She looked out into the crowd of people, surveying all those drinking and dancing. She smiled.

  “Many have joined me, men you know,” she said, her eyes stopping at Jarvis, Alden, Gunnar, and Asaf, “but you would be the greatest. You would come before all the others. You would sit next to me when my master grants me what he has promised me.”

  Thaddeus could see Jarvis and Alden, Asaf and Gunnar had started moving through the crowd of dancers, as gingerly as possible. They didn’t want to break their ruse by pushing people out of the way, but the looks on their faces showed they knew something was wrong.

  What did the witch mean? Her words were poison, but had she turned the men Thaddeus knew? Had she turned Jarvis or Alden? Those even closer to him… his friends? No. He shook his head, but the thought lingered.

  “And what have you been promised?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Power,” she said. “Blood for power. Pain for power. Suffering for power.”

  Another look of ecstasy crossed Renata’s face, but this one looked genuine, as she tilted her head back, breathed heavily, and moaned.

  The witch released her grip on Thaddeus, looking down at him, then looking at his eyes.

  “Such a waste, she said. “I must leave you. I have a
schedule to keep. We will speak again. Tomorrow. I do hope you consider my offer.”

  She stepped away from Thaddeus, that malicious smile still on her face. She looked to Adelaide and patted the old woman’s hand, still hooked around her arm, her skin paper thin and liver spotted.

  “Come, my dear,” the witch said, but there was no consciousness or recognition in the old woman’s face as she mouthed the words Renata had spoken. It was a ruse like Thaddeus’ had tried, but he felt he had failed. She had beaten him ... this time.

  As soon as the witch had left, Thaddeus felt his muscles release and almost fell to the floor, grabbing the arm of a nearby man to steady himself. The man glared at him.

  “Sorry,” Thaddeus said. “Too much wine.”

  The man just grunted and walked away as Alden, Jarvis, Asaf, and Gunnar finally reached Thaddeus.

  “Are you all right?” Gunnar asked.

  “Fine,” Thaddeus replied, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  He inspected the four men, both of his friends, Gunnar with his blond beard and long, blond hair, some of it braided the way most of his northern kin kept their hair, his blue eyes that were kind and cruel at the same time, depending on who they were looking at, and then Asaf, his dark hair and tanned skin, greenish-brown eyes that spoke of a hard life consumed by more misery than joy. Would they betray him? Would they ally themselves with a witch, turn their backs on God? Certainly not, but how could he truly tell?

  “Fine,” Thaddeus repeated. “We should go.”

  “Are we going after her?” Gunnar asked.

  “No. Not here. Let’s get back to the abbey. We’ll worry about her tomorrow.”

  Chapter 18

  WHEN THEY RETURNED to the abbey, Brant was gone.

  “I told him to stay here,” Thaddeus growled.

  “Did you actually think you could trust him?” Asaf asked.

  “I don’t need your mouth right now,” Thaddeus hissed, glaring hard at his friend. “He was supposed to be protecting Rowan.”