The Bloodletter's Daughter (39 page)

The two men quickly pulled out stools so that the prince and his priest could join them at the table. The stupor that the ale had cast just minutes before had evaporated. Everyone in Bohemia knew about the dungeons of the Prague Castle, the rack and the other machines of torture. The two salt traders had no intention of visiting those underground cells. They told Don Julius and the priest everything they knew of the mysterious bathmaid of Krumlov.

A M
AN IN
A
NNABELLA’S
H
OUSE

Marketa could smell him as she cracked open the trapdoor from the catacombs. A man’s sweat, a strong male musk permeating a house that had been so thoroughly scented with women for centuries.

Annabella no longer took the precaution of sliding the chest over the trapdoor—all of Krumlov was committed to Marketa’s protection. That, and her screaming nightmares of being sealed alive forever in the catacombs below made Annabella agree to leave the trapdoor covered with only with a coarse woolen rug.

Annabella had gone to the mountains two nights before to visit the graves of her dead mother and the previous Annabellas from throughout the centuries. It was a secret place in the depths of the forest, known only to the coven of witches who had lived in the house on Dlouha Street. Annabella had explained, flames leaping in her eyes, that she needed the spirits’ counsel to be prepared for the days to come.

That morning, Marketa arose at dawn. For months she had slept late, having no light underground to wake her. Those long
hours of sleep had helped her heal, but now her body had adjusted to the rhythms of the sun and moon. She climbed up the lashed wooden ladder and pushed the trapdoor open as far as she could manage on her own. Even without the heavy chest to block the door, escape from the catacombs wasn’t easy if there was no one to help. She had to slide along the kitchen floor, wriggling under the massive weight of the door.

Her plan that morning was to make some tea and eat a heel of black bread for breakfast and then start her studies of the Book of Paracelsus by the first rays of the morning light. But as soon as she emerged, she was stopped by the scent of a man—and then, just as immediately, by the sight of a man.

He lay on the floor asleep, still in his muddy clothes and riding boots. The hard ride from Prague had left him exhausted.

As she stared, Jakub shuddered awake and blinked open his eyes.

“Marketa!” he cried, helping her from the gaping hole in the floor. He embraced her, pulling her tight to his chest. His lips kissed her hair as he rocked her in his arms.

“You are here! But Annabella warned you not to come.”

“I could not stay away any longer. I had to see you, I had to explain. There is something that weighs on my conscience. But first, where is Annabella?”

“She has gone to the mountains to visit her ancestors’ graves. She said she must confer with them about her plan.”

Jakub looked at her with wild eyes.

“Plan? What plan? If it involves Don Julius, you must not take part in it. Come away with me to Prague at once!”

“No,” said Marketa. “I have not yet heard the plan, but I trust Annabella. She has cared for me in my hour of need.”

Jakub dropped his gaze to the floor, and his face burned with shame. He thought how he and Annabella had both betrayed Marketa on that spring night in Prague. When he awoke that
next morning to find the naked red-haired beauty beside him in bed, he grabbed his aching head in disbelief. He smelled the unfamiliar scent of lovemaking in the sheets.

“You have bewitched me!” he said, struggling to his feet.

Annabella only laughed. She pulled a long strand of her red hair over her breast. Her fingers worked at untangling the knots Jakub had made as his fingers raked through her hair in passion.

“Bewitched you! That is my profession, dear friend. But be not so accusing—I have taken your damnable virginity, and you will give us both a child. And an extraordinary one at that! An Annabella the likes of none before her!”

Jakub held his head in his hands, his fingers clutching at his hair in despair.

“Do not look at me with the eyes of a complete innocent,” she chided him. “Dare not feign that you cannot remember our night together. Such passion and prowess, such hungry desire cannot be attributed solely to my potion. I shall have the child I long for, and you—you no longer have your priestly virtue to confuse your heart and deny love. I have set you free.”

As Jakub now remembered that night for the thousandth time, he looked at Marketa in his arms. He thought of the child that grew in Annabella’s womb and opened his mouth to begin a confession.

The door flew open, and Annabella stood before them.

“Enough!” she said, drawing them apart. “We have not the time for affairs of the heart. Stay hidden, Marketa. Jakub, come with me. I fear the time approaches more quickly than we expected.”

Don Julius galloped his horse so hard he almost killed the stallion. Over the rutted roads and snowy trails through the forests
of Sumava, he urged his mount forward at a cruel pace, lashing at its flanks until the whip came away bloody.

Carlos Felipe made no attempt to chase the three riders down. He could not hope to compete with the equestrian skills and athleticism of a young man born in the saddle and trained by the finest horsemasters. He sent the two companions to pursue the king’s son and followed in the small surrey, which clattered over the rough roads of the Salt Trail.

The sharp rocks of the hills slashed at the fetlocks of the stallion, but the horse had a bold heart and clearly sensed the way to the Rozmberk stables. The mad rider who sat atop him demanded ever more speed, and the galloping madness became one between rider and steed. The iron clang of horseshoes and the shouts and mad ravings ricocheted over the dales.

As they approached Krumlov, Don Julius did not ride to the stables, but galloped over Barber’s Bridge, straight to the bathhouse. He leapt off the horse, his legs buckling after so many hours in the saddle.

“Where is she?” he bellowed, struggling to his feet.

Lucie Pichlerova and a few half-dressed bathers rushed to see what the commotion was about.

“Where do you hide her, you miserable old whore!” shouted Don Julius, staggering toward her with his hand on his dagger.

Lucie shrieked and ran inside, bolting the door behind her. The naked bathers scattered in all directions, clothing abandoned, hands pressed to their breasts and genitals.

Don Julius pounded on the massive door.

“Whore of a whore, where is she? I will kill you and every member of your family if she is not returned to me!”

By now, citizens were gathering by the bridge to watch the wretched Hapsburg pounding against the door. When Lucie refused to open it, he unsheathed his dagger and stabbed the
wood savagely, over and over again, gouging and splintering the heavy oak planks as if it were living flesh and a mortal enemy.

With a clamor of thundering hooves, the two Austrian companions finally caught up with their lunatic friend. They surveyed the scene, still gasping for breath from the rough ride, and exchanged a few words in German. The blond rider took off at a gallop for reinforcements from the castle while the dark-haired one dismounted, throwing his reins to the nearest bystander.

“Don Julius, come! We will find your bathmaid, I swear it! Come away from the door and let us return to the castle to make our plan.”

Don Julius threw him a murderous look and continued his violent attack on the door, his hands bleeding now from sharp splinters that scored his skin.

As he slashed feverishly at the door, Jakub and Annabella came running, for the news of Don Julius’s attack on the bathhouse had flown from mouth to shouting mouth the length of crowded Wide Street. All Krumlov pressed near to see, making the old Barber’s Bridge creak under their weight. Jakub and Annabella pushed through the crowd.

“Don Julius! Cease!” shouted Jakub in German. “Let me through, I am a court physician to Rudolf II!”

The people of Krumlov pressed back against one another, clearing a narrow passage for him, staring at the well-dressed stranger.

At the sound of Jakub’s voice, Don Julius stopped mid-gouge, his dagger plunged deep into the wood. He did not turn around, but pressed his forehead to the door.

“Jakub!” he shouted, the name resounding. “You too seek the maiden of the Coded Book. Well, you shan’t have her. She is mine until death and beyond!”

“Come away from the door, Don Julius. She is not within those walls.”

Don Julius grasped the hilt of his dagger with all his might and pulled the blade from the splintered wood. He grunted mightily with the effort and swung around, facing the physician with his weapon in his hand. He crouched, ready to attack.

“Go away, Physician. You shall not have her and her secrets!”

Jakub skirted the edges of the crowd, approaching the lunatic from an angle.

“Drop the weapon, Don Julius. Listen to reason, sir.”

“Reason? I know why you are here!”

“The Coded Book is back at court in the hands of your father. Doctor Mingonius has delivered it there safely.”

“God curse the swinish king! His greedy hand caressing something he cannot comprehend!” shouted Don Julius, his hands trembling. “The book is mine! It is I who will read its secrets, not a thickheaded sot!”

A collective gasp issued from the gaping mouths of Krumlov. Never had they heard such treasonous blasphemy shouted in their streets. Treason shouted at full lung by the king’s own son.

“Come, Don Julius. Doctor Mingonius will return. Once we calm the bad humors that possess your body and mind, he shall return with the book. I will write to him tonight, you will see. Come now. We have gone through too much to let it end like this, Giuglio.”

At the mention of his childhood name, Don Julius began to tremble, the dagger shaking like a child’s rattle in his hand.

“All I want is the maiden, my angel!” he cried. “She lives, they say, and she must join me to be my mistress, my wife! My soul bleeds for her—the voices will not be stilled!”

His legs buckled and he collapsed, the exhausting ride and emotion finally taking their toll. He began to sob, phlegm running from his nose and mouth.

“With her, I can fight the demons. She silences the voices in my head with her touch. Nothing else can save me. No one!”

He scrabbled at the filthy ground with his bloody fingers.

The clatter of horseshoes ricocheted off the cobblestones, heralding the approach of the guards and coach. Jakub kicked away Don Julius’s dagger and knelt by his side.

“Come, Giuglio. I will attend you at the castle and prepare hot baths to soothe you. The demons that haunt you murder your soul.”

The guards dismounted and helped the sobbing Don Julius into the coach. The grief-stricken Hapsburg offered no resistance.

Jakub crouched in the slick muck of the cobblestones. He picked up the dagger and returned to Annabella as the crowd watched his every move, trying to identify this new stranger to Krumlov.

“Bring some red oil to the castle and your most potent sleeping teas,” he whispered to her. “Make sure Marketa stays hidden. This is a very dangerous time.”

He jumped into the coach and shouted to the driver. He comforted his blubbering patient as they rode back up the hill to Rozmberk Castle.