by Janene Wood
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Jules.
“When I reached her, she was barely conscious,” continued Marc, remembering how surprised he was to find her alive. “She was on the verge of passing out but gazed up at me with an angelic smile and said, 'What took you so long?' She looked like death; she was torn up, filthy and in incredible pain, but her beauty and courage shone through the dirt and blood. I think I was half in love with her from that moment on.”
“You're the last person I’d imagine falling in love at first sight,” remarked Jules absently.
“Anyway,” said Marc, “we were closer to our base of operations at Adi Sehul than we were to the refugee camp, and we weren't about to give up such desperately needed medical supplies, so we took Kate and the nurse, Desta, back to the village with us. Kate was in a bad way, with a dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs and cuts and abrasions all over her body. It was a rough trip back, but Desta did what she could to make her comfortable. And I imagine you know how quickly Kate heals. By the time she was over the worst, she was sympathetic to the plight of the Eritreans and could see how badly she was needed. It didn't take much to convince her to stay.”
Marc's voice softened and Jules had to struggle to hear his next words. “I know it's sappy, but after that first night, I fell in love with her a little more every day, until I knew I couldn't live without her. And miraculously, she loved me too. Even if that's all we ever get – ten months in a primitive, war-torn African village – at least it was the real thing. At least I'll die knowing what that feels like.”
Jules sighed wistfully. “At least you had that.”
Fortuitous Rescue
1762
Nicolae’s henchmen came for her late on the third night after Gheorghe's burial. Katryn had finished brushing her hair and was readying herself for bed, no doubt to endure another night of restless tossing and turning, when two guards entered her chamber with orders to escort her to the Great Hall. Her heart dropped heavily to the pit of her stomach. She knew, without doubt, that they were delivering her to her executioner.
Katryn hurriedly pulled a cloak around her shoulders and took one long, last look around the room, catching an unexpected glimpse of herself in the looking glass. The thin, pale face with frightened eyes was hard to reconcile with the serene, self-assured image that usually returned her gaze. At the last second, she reached for Gheorghe's marriage gift, from which she had derived a measure of comfort during her lonely vigil. It was a beautiful cross, skillfully cut from a piece of violet chalcedony and hanging on a silver chain. Gheorghe used to say it was the exact colour of her eyes after they made love. She quickly lifted it over her head, silently daring the guards to deny her this one small comfort.
Her legs trembled unsteadily as they descended the long, spiraling staircase to the base of the tower. Outwardly she remained calm, but fear of the unknown had her nerves on edge. Death didn’t frighten her; she had just spent three long days in prayer and contemplation and was as certain as she could be she would be reunited with her Creator in the next life. It was the confrontation with Nicolae and his retribution for her supposed crimes that discomposed her. Far too late, she realised she had no idea what her son was capable of.
Once through the door of the Great Hall, Katryn shrugged off the restraining hands of the guards and gathered around herself a tiny semblance of dignity. The guards departed silently, pulling the enormous wooden doors behind them with an echoing thud. Feeling very much alone, she took a moment to look around the familiar chamber, as if for the first time, noting the lack of windows and doors. They would not be disturbed.
Her son stood alone at the far end of the long hall, watching her progress with the intensity of a cat poised to pounce upon a cornered mouse. Flickering torches ensconced high upon the walls caused dark shadows to dance malevolently, creating an eerie atmosphere that made her shudder. Her insides churning, she walked forward with her head held high, knowing it was vital to at least appear unafraid.
Nicolae stood in front of the raised dais upon which Gheorghe had presided over countless councils, feasts and hearings. The giant tapestry behind him, depicting some bloody battle from centuries past, lent an extra element of savagery to the scene. Between them was a long marble-topped table, stained with something dark and noxious and polished to a high sheen. Katryn didn’t know where it had come from and affected not to notice it, focusing only on her son, grateful he wasn’t sitting in Gheorghe’s High Seat. In the torchlight, his eyes were as black and lustreless as coal, so like his father's it caused her heart a small flutter. But the sneer that returned her gaze wiped all trace of yearning from her heart.
“Nicolae…beloved son. I am pleased we finally have a chance to talk,” she began, trying to appear conciliatory while reminding him of the unbreakable bond of blood between them. “You must know you have no rightful claim to Gheorghe’s estate, but perhaps we can come to some arrangement...”
“Shut up, bitch!” he spat vituperatively, circling around behind her so she had to turn her head in order to maintain eye contact. “You can’t be so naïve as to think I brought you here to negotiate.” Nicolae leaned his face close to hers, undisguised scorn dripping from every word. “I’m not a child! I don’t have to listen to your sanctimonious drivel any longer! Whelping me was the only worthwhile thing you’ve done in your life, and for that reason alone I've decided to kill you quickly, but give me the smallest excuse and I’ll make you suffer, like you’ve made me suffer my entire life.”
Katryn fought back the impulse to tell him to stop behaving like the spoilt child he denied being. “Nic, my love, you know that isn’t true,” she ventured instead, but he cut her off and she knew she would have to bide her time. It would be a mistake to make him lose his temper.
“I know the truth,” he contradicted calmly. “You’re nothing but a traitorous, gold-digging whore, who murdered my father and stole my birthright! I should roast you over hot coals and flay the skin from your bones for what you did! That would be justice!”
Without thinking, Katryn brought her hand up and slapped him hard across one cheek, leaving her palm and fingers stinging, but her ego just the tiniest bit mollified. Nicolae reacted instantly, punching her hard in her solar plexus and causing her to double over and gasp for breath. He kicked her feet out from under her and she collapsed onto the cold, stone floor, silently cursing her lack of self-control.
It seemed an age before she could breathe again. Just as precious air began to fill her lungs, Nicolae reached down and dragged her, screaming, across the floor by her unbound hair. She grappled frantically for his hands, trying to relieve the excruciating pain, but to no avail. Her screams had turned to sobs by the time she came to a halt at the base of the dais.
Weeping softly, Katryn wondered at the cruelty of a man who could treat a woman so abominably. Had she truly been such a terrible mother that he believed such treatment was justified? Was she truly responsible for the monster he had become? She had never glimpsed this dark side of his personality before and it frightened her.
A movement caught her eye and she lifted her head involuntarily. A voluptuous woman, wearing a multi-coloured skirt and a white peasant blouse, reclined high upon Gheorghe’s massive throne-like Seat, a jet-black cloud of unruly curls framing her face. She observed Katryn's discomfiture with a smile of patent pleasure.
The witch’s sudden appearance confirmed Katryn's earlier suspicions that someone else was behind the coup ousting her from her position of mistress of Muntbalaur.
Syeira's pale skin was translucent in the candlelight. The spells she weaved to maintain her youthful appearance were truly masterful; a stranger would assume she was of an age with Katryn, even though she was decades older. The pleasant jingle of her silver bracelets was incongruous, but then she always did like to keep her enemies off-guard. Leaning forward, she scrutinised Katryn closely.
“Katryn, my dear, it’s so lovely to see you again,” said the witch. “I had to insist that
Nicolae allow me to see you once more before you shuffled off this mortal coil.” Syeira's voice was smooth like honey and seemingly sincere, and conjured up a thousand memories from Katryn's youth, not all of them unpleasant. Until Ion's death, they had been as close as mother and daughter.
“Syeira,” whispered Katryn bleakly, as she struggled to her feet. The witch’s presence explained everything. How long had she been whispering lies in Nicolae’s ear? Like his father, he was unsophisticated and far too trusting, but unlike Ion, he was weak and easily manipulated. It would have been easy to corrupt him. How long had they conspired? Were they responsible for Gheorghe’s death?
Unseen by Katryn, Nicolae crept up behind her and wrapped a steely arm around her throat. With his other hand, he raised the point of a long-bladed hunting knife and held it inches from her eye.
“Ah, poor Katryn, it must be devastating to be spurned by your only child,” gloated Syeira, her eyes fever bright. “He might be young, but he knows a treacherous woman when he sees one, a woman so ambitious she murdered her husband, then heaped contempt on his memory by seducing a man far above her station.”
“You killed my father!” shouted Nicolae, sounding remarkably young and vulnerable.
“Lies!” cried Katryn, sickened by her son's easy manipulation. “Everything she told you is a lie!”
“You murdered my son, so now I will spill your blood in atonement,” announced the gypsy woman, stepping off the dais and moving closer, gloating at the terror in Katryn’s eyes.
“Please don’t do this, Nic,” begged Katryn, feeling the flat of the blade slide down her cheek to her neck. “I loved your father; I could never hurt him! This witch doesn't love anyone but herself!”
“Don’t bother defending yourself,” said Syeira calmly. “You’ve been judged and found wanting. Your bones will soon be dust and Nicolae will be free to embrace the birthright you denied him. Together, we will rule over this rich land of yours.” She raised her face to Nicolae and kissed him – not the chaste, familial kiss of a woman for her grandson, but the deeper, passionate kiss of lovers.
Katryn's violet eyes flew open in horror. “Oh, dear God!” she exclaimed. “First, the murder of innocents, now...this! You have damned yourselves for all eternity!”
Syeira laughed in genuine delight. “Sanctimonious to the last!” She stroked Nicolae's face and said, “It’s time, my love. Your mother is a worthy sacrifice to the lord of darkness. Kill her!”
Katryn struggled desperately to break free of her son's grip, knowing she had run out of time. She kicked and thrashed, all the while screaming at him to let her go, but his hold was too tight and she soon ran out of energy. Starvation, confinement and grief had taken their toll, leaving her too exhausted to continue fighting. Nic’s breath was warm on her neck as he dragged her across the floor, picked her up and laid her roughly upon the cold marble altar. Words were all she had left. “Please don't do this,” she begged him. “Think of your soul!”
Her pleas fell on deaf ears. The next moment, she felt the sharp sting of a blade as it cut tentatively into the soft skin of her neck. A dribble of blood ran down her neck and she sensed he was gathering himself for the kill. Tears sliding down her cheeks, she closed her eyes and waited for the painful slash of the blade.
“Drop the knife!” boomed an imperious voice, echoing from one end of the cavernous hall to the other.
Katryn’s eyes flew open. Nicolae tensed in response, unsure what to do. He swiveled, still holding the knife against her throat. Though unable to see him, Katryn recognised the voice of the interloper and dared hope she might yet survive. Knowing her near-sister had to be behind this last minute rescue, she whispered thanks to both God and Lena. How else could Hayri have known about the secret entrance behind the tapestry?
“I won't tell you again!” Hayri Rezi was a man used to getting his own way and was clearly prepared to back his words with action.
The pressure against Katryn's neck eased as the blade was withdrawn, but Nicolae still held tightly to her arm. Raising her head, she watched as Hayri edged closer to her son, his sword raised menacingly. The fury in his eyes would have frightened the most battle-hardened veteran; Nic had to be quaking in his boots.
“What are you doing here, dog!” hissed Syeira. “You have no business here. Get out, before my grandson takes a knife to you as well. Get out!” she shrieked.
“I have no quarrel with you, witch,” Hayri assured her, keeping a wary eye on each of his adversaries. “I come only to claim my property. This woman has been promised to me and I intend to take what is mine. Take it up with the prince if you don’t like it. Now stand aside.”
Not having foreseen outside interference, particularly from such a dangerous source, the gypsy woman was momentarily taken aback. Hayri took a step closer to Nicolae, his sword only inches from his face. “Let your mother go, son.”
Nicolae returned his glare, but was too inexperienced to challenge a man of Hayri’s authority. The instant he loosened his grip on Katryn, she slid to the floor and rushed to Hayri’s side.
Hayri returned his attention to Syeira. “See the proof for yourself,” he said, removing a sheaf of official looking documents from the inside of his jacket and tossing them at her feet. “I assure you, the papers are in order, signed and sealed by the Hospodar. Once Lady Katryn leaves here, she will no longer pose a threat to you. You may go about your business in peace. Although, I must warn you, Gheorghe's rightful heir has made himself known and is petitioning the prince for his inheritance. If I were you, I'd be more concerned for my own safety than avenging myself on a defenseless widow. Even now, an armed contingent is on its way to take possession of the estate.”
“No! I will have my revenge!” cried the gypsy woman, shaking her arms in agitation, her bracelets jingling merrily. “She must die!”
“That won't happen while there’s breath in my body,” Hayri assured her. “Look,” he said reasonably, “it’s no secret this coup of yours only succeeded because of your lies and threats to the boyars. You assumed the prince wouldn't intervene once you consolidated your position, but you underestimated him. It was a daring gambit, but doomed to failure.”
As if on cue, the double doors at the far end of the chamber opened and a small, turbaned man, the captain of Hayri’s personal guard, entered the hall at the head of a column of ten soldiers, wielding sabres and muskets.
“How goes it, Sahib?” enquired the captain. He and his men fanned out and quickly surrounded the small group.
“Our business is concluded. We were just leaving,” said Hayri, nodding to Katryn to walk out ahead of him.
As they turned to leave, the gypsy woman began chanting in a guttural voice, bringing her hands together and rubbing them, one atop the other, until a small, whitish glow appeared between them, growing larger and brighter with each back and forth movement. As Katryn watched, mesmerized, the glow became a fiery sphere, burning white hot; incandescent with suppressed power. Inevitably, she threw it at Katryn, intent on obliterating her enemy at any cost. The fiery orb spun closer and closer, seemingly in slow motion, while Katryn stared, hypnotized by the wondrous object. The conflagration was inches from her face when Hayri yanked her arm, almost wrenching it out of its socket. Katryn felt heat on her cheek as the orb flew by, singeing the hair around her face. She fell into Hayri’s steadying arms and out of harm’s way by the smallest of margins.
The soldier behind Katryn was not so fortunate. The fireball caught him in the chest and his uniform erupted in an inferno of flame which quickly consumed his face and body. He fell to the ground, screaming in agony, flailing and rolling upon the flagstones in a vain attempt to douse the demonic flames. The air was thick with smoke and the unmistakable stink of burning flesh. The soldier closest to him, a battle-scarred veteran, bent over and retched uncontrollably, until the contents of his stomach lay upon the ground at his feet.
Hayri pushed Katryn roughly aside and leapt at the smirking gypsy, intent o
n severing her head from her body. The blade flashed in the flickering candlelight as Hayri slashed, but the witch raised her arm to ward off the stroke. There was a sickening thwack and bright red arterial blood gushed and sprayed, emitting a metallic tang Katryn could taste on her tongue. The witch stared disbelievingly at the blood pumping steadily from the stump of her forearm. Then she screamed.
Overcoming her distaste, Katryn stepped forward purposefully and picked the severed arm up off the floor, spilling its silver bracelets like a sparkling waterfall. Mercifully, the still-burning soldier lay quiet now, a lifeless lump of blackened flesh that bore no resemblance to the living, breathing organism he had been only minutes before. Katryn threw the severed arm into the waning flames, but not before removing the ruby ring Syeira had taken from Ion’s body so long ago. The flames licked the limb tentatively at first, and then, like a hungry bear after a long hibernation, erupted with renewed vigour, consuming the arm.
Katryn sensed Hayri's need to be gone. Their remaining escort was alert to further danger, but Syeira and Nicolae were too preoccupied to give any more trouble. Hayri nodded to the captain, who gave the order to depart.
They marched briskly out of the Great Hall. The bodies of Katryn’s erstwhile jailers lay across the entrance, but she felt no pity as she stepped over them, telling herself they chose their fate when they turned against her. Hayri gripped her arm tightly as if he expected her to bolt suddenly, like a frightened rabbit. Given half a chance, she probably would have, so desperate was she to be gone from this place. The feeling of relief that washed over her as they crossed the empty quad toward freedom was like nothing she had ever known.