The Sisterhood:: Curse of Abbot Hewitt

by Annette Siketa

  Einyon sighed. “If you’re going to argue then I’ll leave.”

  Catherine did as ordered. There was a sound like rushing wind. She felt as though she was spinning very fast, and a moment later, was standing before the stones. “How did you do that?” she asked, her head and balance somewhat giddy.

  “Patience, child, I’ve already told you.” Einyon waved a hand and eight of the ten stones began to change. Instead of dull and shapeless, they became flat obelisks of shining black basalt, each covered in gold symbols and lettering.

  Catherine stared open-mouthed. “What do they say? I can’t read them.”

  “Of course you can’t, you silly girl. The writing is centuries old. Each obelisk has special significance. The first is written with deadly curses, the serpent, triangle, and round markings denote whether the curse is fast or slow to act. The other six are charms for widespread pestilence and storms lasting up to a week. There are others that affect certain parts of the body, but you’re too young to know about them.”

  “And the eighth?”

  “Ah, yes, that is the most important of all. It is a prophecy. It foretells of a goddess born to a simple witch…” he looked at her pointedly, “…with flaming red hair.”

  “Huh, my mother is so simple that…” Catherine broke off and gasped. She had just realised the significance of his description. “Me?” she asked in wonderment, and as she touched her own flaming red hair, images of golden palaces and endless servants flashed through her mind. Lost in thought, she did not see the cruel smile that briefly crossed his face.

  “Who knows. And now my little pythoness, let us return to the thicket. I want to see how good you are with the wax figure.” He waved his hands and the stones returned to normal.

  “What about the other two?” she asked. “I noticed they didn’t change.”

  “Only one person can reveal their secret.”

  “The goddess?”

  “Yes.”

  Catherine grinned. “So, there are some things you don’t know.”

  Einyon raised an eyebrow. The impudent girl was growing on him. “I know when a child needs its arse smacked. Now, take my hand again and keep your mouth shut.”

  ***

  Dorothy and Richard had just started the return journey when he suddenly clutched his side. So acute was the pain, that after silently fighting against it for a moment or two, a groan escaped his lips. He would have fallen if Dorothy had not caught him. Behind the tree, her expression exultant, Catherine withdrew the pin from the wax figure. Above her head and barely discernible in the branches, Nex was purring contentedly.

  Dorothy's alarm was so great that she couldn’t even shout for help. But the spasm passed quickly, and catching his breath, Richard endeavoured to reassure her.

  “Do not be frightened. No doubt it was one too many capons last night.” He wiped the sweat from his brow, unaware that his face had taken on a deathly pallor.

  “Lean on me while we return to the abbey.” But as she reached out to take his arm, he suddenly brushed her hand aside. Lavinia was approaching.

  “Not a word of this,” he whispered quickly, and rallied his courage. “Lavinia, I thought you were closeted with Lady Eleanor.”

  “I was. She has been extremely kind and generous, but…”

  Lavinia hesitated, not sure how to end the sentence. Dorothy finished it for her. “But can be rather overwhelming.” She laughed. “I’ll go and see her. I’m sure there will be something she’ll want me to do.”

  “Wait. That’s why I came to find you.” Lavinia turned to Richard, and there was concern in her eyes as she explained, “A messenger has arrived, a royal messenger. Sir Howarth wants to see you immediately.”

  “A royal messenger?” he repeated, puzzled. “From London?”

  “No. The King’s progress has reached Carlisle.”

  Richard grunted. “The King’s appetite for entertainment or anything amusing that will divert him from his office, is voracious. He probably wants to know why he hasn’t been invited to the wedding. I’ll go to Sir Howarth at once. Coming, Lavinia?”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take some fresh air.”

  As he kissed her cheek he whispered, “I don’t blame you. The ‘lady’ can be very domineering when she chooses.”

  Lavinia blushed at his playful frankness, and Dorothy, who had overheard, giggled. This time, Richard raised no objection as, arm-in-arm, brother and half-sister walked away.

  ***

  After the terrifying events at the ‘devil’s bowl’, Lavinia’s beauty had lost some of its natural charm. However, thanks to Dorothy’s constant ministrations, and her, Lavinia’s, unshakable belief in Richard’s love, her eyes were now brighter and her countenance vastly improved. Her mind however, was still unsettled.

  Lavinia walked slowly along the bank of the river. In addition to being deeply anxious about Alice Nash, she was concerned about Catherine. Was her involvement on that terrible night the result of coercion? As much as she hated to admit it, Lavinia had her doubts. Then there were Catherine’s domestic arrangements. With Elizabeth and Davy still incarcerated and granny Dymock dead - not that she was a suitable role model, there was nobody to take care of Catherine. Moreover, her reputation was as such that it was unlikely to garner sympathy or support.

  Lavinia’s mind was jerked back to the present when somebody called her name. She looked around. She could have sworn it was Catherine. No oath was necessary when the girl herself came into view. Lavinia started forward, her first impulse being to run and hug her. But then she changed her mind. There was something in Catherine’s expression that did not convey friendliness.

  Catherine revelled in her former sister’s confusion. “You don’t seem pleased to see me.”

  “You are mistaken. I was just lamenting your unfortunate position.”

  “Unfortunate position?” Catherine laughed. “So that’s why I haven’t been invited to your wedding. I’m not good enough.”

  “Again, you are mistaken. I would have issued you an invitation had I known where to send it.”

  “To the house of course, where else?”

  “You’re living there alone?”

  “Thanks to you, yes. It’s all your fault. Everything is your fault. But you can easily remedy it by freeing mother and Davy… tonight.”

  Lavinia was shocked at the accusation and the request. “You cannot be serious.”

  “You need only ask Richard and it will be done. He’s so besotted with you that he’ll do anything.” Her mouth curved into a wicked smile. “And if that fails, give him a taste of what he’ll get in the marriage bed and he’ll soon comply. Men always desire what they can’t have.” She swished her skirt as she added coquettishly, “Or what they think they can’t have.”

  “I refuse, positively refuse!” rejoined Lavinia indignantly.

  Catherine gave her a look of concentrated malice. “If they are taken to Leeds Castle, then make no mistake Lavinia Nash, or whatever you call yourself these days, you’ll be going with them and I will personally light your faggots.”

  Lavinia shook her head sadly. “What has happened to you? Can you not see that your wickedness will avail you nothing? I appealed to you once before in the chamber at Wolfdene, and now I appeal to you again. Let me help you as a sister should.”

  “Sister!” Catherine spat in Lavinia’s face. “Nex, come here!” The huge black cat sprang out of the tree. “Tear her face so that her new husband will have something pretty to look at when he fucks her…” she sneered as she added, “…if he hasn’t already.”

  Nex arched his back and glared like a tiger, and yet he seemed unwilling or unable to obey. Catherine stamped her foot in a threatening manner but still the cat did not move. Lavinia, though unnerved by Catherine’s vulgarity and depth of hatred, stared at the animal defiantly.

  “He has no power over me,” she said, her confidence rapidly increasing. “Oh, Catherine, cast him off. He might be your friend
now but he will lead you to destruction.” She stretched out a hand. “Let me help you.”

  “Get away from me! Your prissy piety makes me sick. Come along, Nex, we’ve work to do,” and so saying, she ran into the trees again, the cat close at her heels.

  Lavinia was appalled by the girl’s malignity, but she had no time to dwell on it. “Lavinia! Lavinia!” It was Richard, and he was running towards her with a grievous expression on his face.

  “What is it?” she cried in alarm.

  He skidded to a halt and then gripped her shoulders. “Oh, my darling.” He swallowed hard. There was no easy way to break the news. “The King has stopped our wedding.” He took a deep breath. “Lavinia, he knows about Alice and the other witches, and wants to examine the circumstances personally before he gives his consent.”

  The hurried cancellation of the wedding was bad enough, but there was more disturbing news the following morning. Elizabeth and Davy Ashmore were gone, and though a thorough search and investigation were conducted, nobody could explain how they had escaped from a locked and guarded cell.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Stewart Tower

  Richard barely picked at his breakfast. Never had he known such despair. There was a small emerald ring on the little finger of his right hand, a love-token from Lavinia that had belonged to her real father, Andrew Stoddard. It sparkled in the morning light, taunting him to remember what it represented, of what might have been, and of the uncertainty that lay ahead.

  It was over a week since the King had stopped the wedding, and despite the entreaties of prominent persons, no reversal had been obtained. Even more infuriatingly, King James had been ensconced at Stewart Tower for several days, and by virtue of rank, Nicholas and his father had been compelled to endure his company.

  As far as Nicholas was concerned, the only saving grace to the tiresome pomp & ceremony, was that Foxbury Chase was only five miles from Stewart Tower. Even so, he had not seen his cousin for several days, and when he arrived to deliver a royal summons, he was shocked by Richard’s haggard appearance.

  “Buck up, Dick, all will be well by this afternoon.”

  “I wish I could share your confidence.”

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, your black attire matches your mood. That sable suit and Spanish hat are more suited to a funeral than a royal audience. If you’ll take my advice, wear the full Faulkner livery like me.” He indicated his scarlet tunic with its silver slashed sleeves and distinctive dagger at the belt.

  Richard sighed. “I suppose you’re right, though I don’t feel very jolly.” He suddenly banged a fist on the table. “Why, Nicholas? Why has he done this? Why do we have to pander to a vain heathen of dubious parentage?”

  “Keep your voice down!” Nicholas waited for Richard to compose himself and then went on quietly, “Unfortunately, this same heathen has the power to make your life even more miserable than it is now, and what’s more, it’s legal.” He lowered his voice even further. “When we were out hunting with him the other day, his toadies were falling over themselves to pay homage. If he even so much as farted he was complimented. It’s vanity that will win the day, not pride and obstinacy.”

  “It’s galling. Stewart Tower will be full of roisterers and the dregs of society, and all bent on one purpose – to impress the King.”

  Nicholas leaned forward and said earnestly, “Which is precisely what you must do. Lavinia will not think the less of you if you are compelled to kowtow to the King, especially if it frees her of all suspicion.”

  There was a moment’s pause in which Richard stared sightlessly at his congealing breakfast. Nicholas attempted to lighten the mood by saying with a laugh, “You’re lucky. All you have to do is say ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in the right places. There is to be a banquet and entertainments tonight, and Sir John Finett, the master of ceremonies, solicited me to take part in a play. He also asked me to recommend a comely wench who could play my mirthful companion. I have already spoken to several women, and no doubt one will oblige me. I told them to meet me outside the Tower at ten o’clock.”

  In spite of his misery, Richard shook his head in wonderment. “You do get yourself into some awful scrapes. But, have no fear. I will follow your advice, though it pains me to do so.”

  “Good lad. Now, hurry and change. We must be off.”

  ***

  Half an hour later they were on the road to Stewart Tower. They rode in silence for a while before Richard asked, “What was the hunt like?”

  “Lively. There was a host of pages, falconers, huntsmen, prickers, foresters, and at least two dozen hounds. Being such a large party, we set out early for Sir Roland’s forest so that all would be in readiness when the King arrived. Lord, what a sight. Besides the King and his retinue, there were some three dozen noblemen and their followers, including the Duke of Buckingham, who is as vain as his master. When the King eventually arrived, he was in a coach drawn by eight horses.”

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “Hardly appropriate for hunting I would have thought.”

  “So did I, but Sir Roland gave him his own horse. The feasting afterwards must have cost him a pretty penny, and after today’s extravaganza, his purse will be even more lighter.”

  “Extravaganza?”

  “Yes. Until now, the King has been relatively reclusive. But he has deemed today a ‘public day’, which means that the Tower will be swamped with people from every society, an all hell-bent on making an impression.”

  “Did you speak to the King?”

  “Yes, but not about Lavinia. It was too soon. It was important, as I have already outlined, to make a good impression. Fortunately, our conversation was on sporting matters, and he grew so familiar with me that I almost forgot who he was. He did not seem offended though, for he clapped me on the shoulder and said, 'For a country gentleman, you're well-mannered and well-informed. I shall be glad to see more of you during my stay’.”

  “Sounds promising,” said Richard with a weak smile. “If you continue in favour, you’ll outshine Buckingham.”

  Nicholas laughed. “He was not best pleased, especially when His Majesty requested my hunting knife to despatch a buck he’d killed. Rest assured, Dick, if I should bask in the sunshine of the Court and usurp Buckingham, I will not forget you.”

  Richard removed his cap and said with mock reverence, “I am most grateful to you, my Lord of Craxton. Perhaps for the sake of my sweet sister, your beloved spouse, you will have me appointed gentleman of the bedchamber?”

  “The bedchamber? Nay lad, your talents are more suited to Master of the Stool.”

  “Thanks very much,” said Richard grumpily, ramming his cap back on his head. “Remind me to return the favour one day.”

  “Move over,” said Nicholas, indicating a fast approaching carriage. Indeed, it reached and past them with such speed, that they were obliged to turn their backs to avoid being pelted with pebbles.

  “That was Sir Roland’s carriage,” said Richard, coughing in the trailing dust. “I recognised the crest on the door. I wonder what’s so urgent.”

  Nicholas brushed his clothes and straightened his hat. “Probably the King has already devoured all the sweetmeats and they’re sending out for more. His Majesty has some very particular tastes.”

  ***

  A turn in the road brought them within two miles of Stewart Tower. Built into the side of a hill, the design was a mixture of Holton Abbey and Wolfdene, in that it was an old converted fortress with a massive circular Keep, from whence it took its name.

  The stately edifice dominated the surrounding countryside, which in itself was exceedingly picturesque - lush green pastures, ripening golden grain, blossoming orchards, and two trout- filled rivers.

  Though the hour was early, the road was crowded with horsemen, pedestrians, and lumbering vehicles. Cartloads of plucked and gutted sheep, oxen, geese, chickens, and a host of other provisions, were driven by farmers who, with their wives and buxom, rosy-cheeked daughters,
hoped to catch a glimpse of the King. The atmosphere was further enlivened by bands of roving minstrels, impromptu songs and choruses, and groups of tumblers and clowns.

  As Nicholas and Richard approached the foot of the drawbridge, they were challenged by four yeomen of the guard, their halberds gleaming in the morning light. Above the arched entrance, now dominated by the royal standard, a sculpture of a knight slaying a dragon looked down upon the inferior gentry, wives, daughters, servants, clergymen, farmers, and tradesmen, some of whom had been travelling since midnight.

  Nobody was allowed to enter without direct authority from Sir Roland or a pass. This naturally produced a delay, and though many of the crowd were entitled to be admitted, the pushing and squeezing lest they should miss anything of importance, was somewhat undignified and detrimental to their fine apparel.

  The comfort of those outside the walls had not been neglected. Sir Roland had erected tents and lean-to's under the trees, where beer, bread, and cheese, were freely distributed. In addition, a wild bull, expressly slaughtered for the occasion, was to be served at midday in all its juicy glory. If any doubted this promise they only had to sniff the air, which was laden with the scent of roasting meat.

  Nicholas recognised many old acquaintances, including Amius Baldwyn and his new wife, Bess Whittaker, Erasmus Pope and Thomas Twisslemead. Upon seeing the latter, Nicholas had done a double take. He had not seen him since the settlement of the land dispute in Thornley Forest, and was struck anew by the startling resemblance to the London solicitor.

  He was nodding familiarly to right and left when he became aware of a woman staring at him. Though her face was partially hidden by an outlandish hat, Nicholas knew her at once. It was Nancy Redfern.

  “You must take me in with you.”

  Such was the noise and bustle that Nicholas had to bend down to hear her. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  “You must do it.”

  “Why? You know the King is the sworn enemy of witches, and there is every likelihood that someone will recognise and betray you. You were extremely unwise to come here.”