'Two of the victims were war heroes, the other an innocent child. Dangerous outlawed poisons were used and the perpetrators lied to the Master of the Shield. This is unacceptable in Ambrovna. After long deliberation, I have come to my decision....'
A slow dull beat thumped in her head, she held her breath.
'...all four women are guilty of all accusations.'
Agata grabbed the top rail of the chair, her knees caving beneath her. The room shimmered as townsmen cheered. Their voices, deafening and joyous, crashed like a wave over them.
The Duke had decided. He did not believe her.
'The guilty will face the maximum punishment for murder by poisoning. Tomorrow. In the Town Square at noon. Let this be a warning to all. Murder will not be tolerated in my Duchy. No matter who you are.'
The Duke headed towards the side door.
Agata stared forward blankly. Beside her, Froma sobbed loudly. The Scion stood, arms folded. He blinked slowly but he did not smile while Kalin rubbed his hand across his bearded chin with a grimace. The two men turned and followed the Duke out of the Hall.
'I'm sorry,' Froma said, her voice small and meek. 'I am so sorry.'
Agata believed her. She took the merchant wife's trembling hand. Maybe it was her own hand that fluttered, it was hard to tell. Froma squeezed back. On the left by the wall, Sira and Rabel were wrapped in each other's arms, their bodies shaking as they sobbed.
Agata did not cry. She slumped limply against the chair, weary and heavy.
He had decided.
Chapter Sixty
The Duke dropped his head, there was nothing more to say. His people jeered and cheered with approval but his belly seethed with nausea. He picked up his iron crutch and shuffled away.
'Forgive me, Father,' he muttered under his breath.
'You found your strength,' the Scion said quietly as they crossed the Great Hall. 'The Father is proud.'
The Duke smiled weakly. He did not feel strong.
A guard opened the side door for him. 'Not always a coward, m'Lord,' the guard whispered as he passed by.
The Duke gasped. He twisted around to face him. The slight frame, the beady eyes, the prominent teeth, the rodent-like face. It was him. In a terracotta uniform. The man who had saved him on the plains of Truinn. His rescuer and blackmailer was dressed in his own eel sigil, the symbol of his family. The Duke stumbled and slammed against the brick wall.
The guard lunged forward, grabbing his elbow. 'Careful, m'Lord.'
The Duke awkwardly found his balance and yanked his arm away from the guard's grip. 'Thank you.'
'My pleasure, m'Lord,' the guard replied with an ice-cold gleam in his eyes. The Duke swallowed hard.
'Are you ill, my Lord?' Kalin rushed to his side.
'Perfectly fine,' the Duke grunted and waved his friend away. His mind whirred as he laboured down the corridor towards the stairs. 'Who was that guard?'
'The one on the door? Vogur? Why? What did he do?'
The Duke stopped. He pressed his lips together. There was one way he could bury his cowardly secret. Forever.
'I want him gone.'
'As you wish, my Lord.' Kalin shrugged. 'I will send him home.'
'No. Gone,' the Duke said precisely, his hands trembling. 'Do you understand?'
Kalin's forehead wrinkled. 'Of course, my Lord. Can I ask why?'
'He is one of them. A conspirator. I heard he tried to free the Duchess last night,' he said, straining to compose his face to hide the lies.
'What?' Kalin's eyebrows hurtled towards the ceiling. 'Why did I not hear of this? You should have informed me immediately.'
The Duke rubbed his forehead. 'Wladek told me of the incident but with all the goings-on today, it slipped my mind. His brother is on guard duty this month and heard it all.'
'Hearsay, my Lord?'
'He is the one responsible. I am sure of it.' The Duke nodded vehemently but Kalin narrowed his eyes.
The Duke pictured the Father in the sky, looking down on him, tutting and shaking his head. This had been another test. A chance to repent for his cowardice on the battlefield. But yet again, he'd failed. Rather than face up to his shortcomings as a pious man would, he'd chosen the path of the weak, ordering another cold-blooded murder to protect his precious honour.
The Duke coughed to clear his throat. He was no better than the women in the dungeons. But he had one advantage. He could get away with it.
'Please deal with the matter.'
'Wouldn't you prefer to make an example of him? There may be others in league with her and the Wasp Women.'
The Duke shook his head. 'Do it quietly. Do not put ideas in the people's heads.'
'But my Lord...'
'No more,' he barked. 'You have my order.'
Kalin paused and lifted an eyebrow. 'As you wish, my Lord.'
The Duke sighed. 'Bring me wine,' he croaked and limped up the stairs toward the solar, but there was not enough wine in Ambrovna to drown out his conscience.
Chapter Sixty-one
Agata stared through the slit in the wall at a single lonely star. She craved juicy figs, crumbly almond cakes and golden honey but the toadish guard brought stale black bread and sour-tasting water.
Footsteps approached her cell and her heart skittered as a dim light seeped through the iron door.
Was it him?
A key scraped in the lock and she held her breath, her eyes wide. She'd known he would come to say goodbye. Or better yet, stop this madness. He would give her a proper chance to explain, just the two of them and he would listen. Without Kalin. Without the Scion.
The door opened.
The bald headed Scion entered the cell, accompanied by the quiet weak-chinned guard, holding the torch.
Agata sucked back a sob and her body folded.
'What do you want?' she said weakly.
The Scion clasped his hand behind his back. 'I am afraid your days of giving orders are long gone.'
'Do you want to gloat some more?'
'I did not come here to be insulted.'
'Guard! Get rid of the Scion!'
But the guard did not move.
'I have a matter to discuss with you.'
'What else do you want from me?' Agata said. 'You got your way. You twisted all of them against me. Your precious traditions are preserved.'
The Scion raised an eyebrow. 'You seem to think me the master of a grand plan. I can assure you I did not plot anything.'
'I am sick of hearing from you. You and all the other men. Leave me in peace to enjoy my last night in this world on my own.'
'But I have a proposition for you.'
Agata frowned and crossed her arms.
'This is highly unorthodox, I admit. But the Father would like to offer you a second chance.'
Agata held her breath.
'I can arrange for you to join the Unwanted.'
'Hide?' Agata scoffed. 'How? Every person in Ambrovna knows my face.'
'We will sneak you into the Cloisters. No one except the other Unwanted will ever see you again. We know how to keep secrets. Come and serve the Father and the Fatherhood for the rest of your days. Simply and piously in repentance for your sins.'
'Cook your meals and darn your smocks?'
'Repent. Renounce your Wasp Woman ways. Redeem yourself as a good woman in the eyes of the Father. Every one of the Unwanted is rewarded for their service with entry into the Land Beyond the Sunset.'
'After a life of cleaning out your slop pots.'
'This is my offer.'
'What about tomorrow? The town is looking forward to seeing me suffer.'
'There are always ways. I can supply veils. With your faces covered, no one will know the difference. There is an Unwanted on the verge of death with a similar frame.'
'Does my husband know you are here?'
'No one knows. And no one can know.'
'I would look up at the cliffs to my home every single day?'
'It is your
choice. The Unwanted or the Land of Eternal Darkness.' The Scion shrugged.
'Why are you doing this?'
'It is my duty to save souls.'
'Reforming a Wasp Woman will give you additional honour with the Father?'
'It is my role in life to ensure as many people as possible experience the love of the Father.'
'You feel guilty.' She burst out laughing. 'You know I am right. Deep in your heart. You know the ways must change.'
'I am offering you a reprieve. You do not have to take it.'
'Say I am right and I will come with you. Say the words. Admit you are wrong.'
The Scion blinked his eyes slowly. 'Last chance for absolution.'
'Say it. These are my simple terms.'
'You are young. You have many years ahead of you to atone for your sins. It is your choice.'
Agata smiled.
'I will take my own chances with the Father when I meet him tomorrow. I have plenty to say to him.'
Chapter Sixty-two
From her dark cell, Agata could not see the position of the sun. For hours, she had lain on her back on the mouldy straw floor, waiting, with no sense of when her time would come. But it was here. Now.
Awaiting her fate, she had floated backwards and forward in time and place. To her childhood home in Tramissa, in the long free days before Madame Fidan and her rules. Before the storm. Racing Yeta through the cool grass. 'Don't be like me,' her mother's voice echoing in her ears.
On the soft carpeted floor of a strange domed structure, lounging at the feet of a smiling woman dressed as a man, with silver eyes and snow-white hair.
Floors above in this very castle built of red bricks snuggled into the cliffs. Where she had tossed and turned in an unfamiliar bed. Frightened and excited, the night before she married him.
Swords clanged against armour as boots clumped down the dungeon corridor. The iron door wrenched open and Lord Kalin stepped inside.
'Get up,' Kalin said gruffly.
Agata was no longer Duchess of the House of Nyvard. She was now an ordinary prisoner destined for death. She blinked at Kalin in his full regalia. His breastplate gleamed in the weak candlelight, yet his eyes were bloodshot. He and the Duke must have celebrated their decision late into the night.
'Can I wash?' she said.
The guards sneered but Kalin did not join in. She covered her face with her dirty hands. She must face the town and the Father bedraggled and unrecognisable in her stained stolen guard's uniform.
Lifting her chin, she straightened her spine. 'You must be happy, Lord Kalin.'
With a rattle of armour, he strode towards her, so close she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. 'I thought I would be,' he whispered. 'But...' He let out a sigh. 'We all have our duties to uphold.'
'Cowards,' she said.
He stepped back, his eyes cold once more. 'Take her away,' he ordered.
The men roped her wrists and tugged her out of the cell by the hands, leading her like a calf to market.
Further along the dank corridor, they stopped to collect Froma, then Sira and finally Rabel. All four women were tied together, one secured behind the other. They were close enough to talk but there was nothing more to say.
The procession of the damned moved out into the stark daylight. The sunshine was blinding after days inside the cells. Agata squinted into another glorious autumnal day. The blue sky was freckled with a few white clouds. The Father must be happy with the result.
The Avenue from the castle to the Square was lined with terracotta-clad guards. 'Wasp Women,' one guard spat and the others snickered. This time, no one stopped them. Agata's eyes blazed like a lit match but then she dropped her head. It no longer mattered what these men thought.
The guards pulled Agata and the others down the slope and into the Square. The crowd roared as the first rows of waiting townsmen caught a glimpse of the condemned women. Agata stopped, wide-eyed, her heart hammering.
'It's time. No escapin'.' The toad-faced guard chuckled and yanked at the rope. She stumbled but continued on.
The townspeople pushed and shoved from every angle as the guards towed them through the throng. Drums thumped, pots banged and horns bleated. People yelled, spat and laughed. Terracotta pennants flapped in the wind and children high in the branches of the Old Man Tree pelted stones at them. She flinched as a sharp stone struck and bounced off her skull. Faces blurred.
The crowd cleared and Agata saw and smelled her punishment.
Four bonfires crackled in front of the dais. Four iron cauldrons, bigger than any cauldron she'd ever seen before, sat above the glowing embers. The oil-filled cauldrons bubbled and plopped.
Froma shrieked.
The heat from the fires hit Agata like the wind on the cruellest summer day. This was the punishment for murder by poisoning.
As the guards dragged them onto the low stage, the crowd roared again, their frenzy like a wave. Agata glanced at the Duke where he sat in full ornamental dress on his high carved chair. His face was pale, his eyes faraway.
Less than a week earlier, she had sat alongside him with a wide smile as they welcomed the men back from war. How naive to think she was embarking on a new era, where husband and wife would share the rule of the Duchy together.
What a fool.
The procession jerked to a stop and Froma dropped to her knees.
'No!' she screeched.
'Get up!' Kalin yelled.
A guard lifted the whimpering Froma up by the armpits and she bumbled to her feet. The guards herded them into the centre of the stage to face the whole town, each woman positioned before a splattering cauldron.
Those thirsty for justice lined up at the front, snarling. A few women stood alongside their men with equal venom in their eyes. But Agata looked beyond the savagery in the front rows. She craned her neck and spied women without any signs of spite or revenge. These were the women she'd led during the war time. These were her women.
With fear-widened eyes and frowns, they shook their heads with disbelief.
The guards untied her hands and she rubbed her raw wrists. Froma snuffled beside her, while the sisters stayed quiet. Agata sensed the Duke's gaze on her back, but she no longer cared to turn and meet his eyes.
He'd made his choice.
Kalin opened his arms wide and the crowd hushed. 'My Lord, Scion Zavis, men of Ambrovna. Today we punish four murderesses and traitors. A fair trial was held and the Duke made a just decision. All four women were found guilty and the full punishment for the crime of murder by poisoning was agreed upon.'
Froma wailed and the men hurrahed.
The guards pushed Agata towards the cauldron. Her cauldron. Two men hoisted her high into the air. From this place in their arms above the crowd, she could see clearly over the jeering men to the clusters of quiet women by the market stalls at the back. Mothers with children on their hips, young servant girls and grey-haired grandmothers shared furtive glances. They were too far away for her to hear their voices but their faces sent her a message. Of anger, of fear, of hope, of pride.
They understood.
All her fears drained away and a smile blossomed across her lips. She didn't struggle. She didn't close her eyes. Her hands were still and her heart beat steadily.
Her mother would be proud.
Queen Magnilla would be proud.
She was proud.
Not today.
But one day.
Epilogue
Nine hundred years later, Grand Chancellor Valte stood at the podium, the seal of the Republic behind her. 'Citizens of the Republic of the United Five Rivers. Many of you know the tales of the Wasp Women of Ambrovna, the tale of the four wicked women who betrayed their families, their community and the Fatherhood.'
The camera zoomed in on her cool blue eyes.
'After considerable research by Professor Jelva Agerir of the History Department at Sulun University, the truth about these four women has been uncovered and documented. Today,
I am redressing nine hundred years of wrongs perpetrated against the four known as the Wasp Women of Ambrovna.
These women lived in a time when the voices of women were not heard nor were they respected. It was a time when a woman who spoke her mind was branded a witch.
Over the centuries, their story became folklore, a cautionary tale of the terrible consequences if a woman stepped outside her role and acted like a man.'
'Today, because of these four women and their sacrifice, I have the privileged position to right the wrong made nine hundred years ago. Today I announce the formal pardoning of Rabel Ejvind, Sira Osias, Froma Plesec and Agata Nyvard. Without them, the Republic would not be where it is today. And neither would I.'
The Grand Chancellor stared deep into the camera, a slight smile on her lips. In homes, in schools and in workplaces all across the Republic, women smiled with her.
THE END
Thank you for reading Women of Wasps and War.
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***
Author's Note
Women of Wasps and War is based on a true story and the idea has been rattling around in my head for over twenty years. Sometime in the 1990s, I heard the gruesome tale of the Angel Makers of Nagyrev. The Angel Makers were a group of women from the village of Nagyrev in Hungary who used arsenic to poison over 300 people from 1914 to 1929.
In Hungary at the time, women were forced into arranged marriages and divorce was frowned upon even if the husband was abusive. During the war, Nagyrev was used to house Allied prisoners of war and many of the local women had affairs with foreign men. When the war was over, the husband returned, expecting life to remain the same. But the wives had other ideas. The women used arsenic to rid themselves of husbands, parents and even children. Eventually 26 women were put to trial, eight were sentenced to death but only two were executed.
As is often the case, truth is stranger and more bloodthirsty than fiction.
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