Alex Archer - Bathed In Blood

Elizabeth walked forward slowly, swaying slightly as if listening to some sensual rhythm only she could hear. Thurzó tried to keep his gaze focused over her shoulder, but the closer she came, the more difficult that was, until he had no choice but to face her.

By now she was only a few feet away.

His gaze found hers, and then, as if by its own volition, dropped to her body once more.

Catching himself, he looked back into her face and saw her smirking at him.

“Oh, but you’re not going to do that, are you, György?” she asked softly. “There are other things you’d much rather do than strike me down.”

She was right; he could no more hurt her than he could grow wings and fly. The sad truth was that he’d been in love with Elizabeth Báthory for years.

Elizabeth moved closer, until her blood-slicked body was just inches from his own. He could feel the heat rising from it as she said, “So what are you going to do, György?”

Thurzó stared deep into her eyes, letting her see the storm that raged within him, and then, steeling himself, said, “In the name of His Majesty, King Matthias II, and under the authority granted to me as the palatine of Hungary, I place you under arrest for the torture and murder of multiple young women under your care...”

Bytča, Hungary

January 1611

THE TRIAL WAS a madhouse.

Thurzó had been observing the proceedings from the balcony overlooking the judges’ box for the past several days. He’d watched witness after witness take the stand and condemn the three women and one man on trial for the evils conducted at Csejte and elsewhere.

Elizabeth herself was not on trial; she remained at Csejte Castle under house arrest, guarded by ten of his most trusted men. It had taken considerable effort on his part to convince King Matthias that putting a member of the upper nobility on trial would serve little purpose. Báthory came from a wealthy and influential family; angering them by trying and executing her, which was precisely what Matthias wanted to happen, would have caused no end of difficulties. Thurzó had hoped to convince the king that Elizabeth should be spirited away to a nunnery for the remainder of her days, but that possibility became less and less likely as word of Báthory’s involvement in the atrocities quickly spread.

Just the day before a journal was produced as evidence by one of the maids, listing six hundred and fifty victims who’d died by Elizabeth’s hand. Thurzó hadn’t seen it himself, so he couldn’t vouch for its authenticity, but at this point it really didn’t matter. Elizabeth was responsible for killing young women and stealing their blood. Thurzó had witnessed her crimes firsthand.

Commotion spread through the courtroom below, breaking into Thurzó’s thoughts. Leaning over the banister, he could see that Royal Supreme Court Judge Theodosius Syrmiensis was returning to his seat while his twenty co-judges took their places in the judges’ box.

Thurzó felt his pulse race; a verdict must have been reached.

Judge Syrmiensis sat down and waited for the wardens to restore order to the room. When all was quiet, he faced the defendants.

“Dorotya Semtész, Ilona Jó, Katarína Benická and János Fickó, this court finds you guilty of eighty counts of murder.”

A roar went up in the courtroom, and the judge had to wait until the wardens could quiet everyone a second time.

“Defendants Semtész, Jó and Fickó shall be put to death, sentence to be carried out immediately. Defendant Benická is sentenced to life imprisonment. The court has spoken.”

Commotion erupted again, but Thurzó had lost interest. The verdict was exactly what he’d predicated; Benická had been bullied by the others and therefore deserved a lesser sentence, an opinion he had stressed during his own testimony a few days earlier.

Justice had been served.

A memory of Elizabeth rising out of the pool of blood reminded him that one aspect of this whole mess still needed to be resolved. Thankfully the verdict would give him the opportunity to see the king and plead his case again.

Perhaps this time the king might listen...

Forty minutes later he was ushered into the king’s meeting chamber, where he found Elizabeth’s eldest son, Paul, already in conference with His Majesty.

“Ah, welcome, Thurzó,” the king said when he arrived. “How goes the trial?”

“Judge Syrmiensis returned a guilty verdict less than an hour ago. The three sentenced to death have little time left in this world.”

“And thank God for that,” the king said with a grim expression. “A nasty business all around.”

Thurzó glanced at Paul, but the other man wouldn’t meet his eye. A tremor of concern shook Thurzó. Had Paul been negotiating with the king behind his back?

Thurzó suspected he had, and the king’s next words confirmed it.

“Young Báthory has a rather unique answer to our other problem.”

“Is that so?” Thurzó replied, glancing at Paul one last time—still no response—before giving his full attention to the king.

“You made it clear that a public trial and execution of Countess Báthory would be a mistake.”

“Yes, I have and...”

The king held up a hand, silencing him.

“I happen to agree with you. As does the countess’s heir.”

This time Paul met Thurzó’s gaze and nodded briefly before looking away again.

“We cannot, however, allow the countess’s monstrous actions to continue.”

Here it comes, Thurzó thought.

“I have agreed to grant Countess Báthory my pardon and absolution for the crimes she has committed against my subjects. In return, her son will consider my debt to the Báthory family repaid in full.”

Thurzó knew the family had loaned the king considerable amounts over the past several years. But Countess Báthory controlled that debt, not Paul. And she would continue to control it until her death. Then, and only then, would control pass to her son.

The king wasn’t finished, however.

“Paul agrees that the countess must pay for her crimes. It is only just. To that end he has suggested that she be imprisoned within her suite of rooms inside Csejte Castle, there to remain until she passes from this earth. Since she would be unable to carry out the myriad duties her position as head of the Báthory family requires, I would have no choice but to declare her legally dead and pass control of her estates to her heir.”

Matthias and young Báthory smiled at each other, and Thurzó knew in that moment it was already decided. The king wanted his debt excused and Elizabeth’s son wanted her out of the way. The solution was elegant and simple. Everybody would win.

Everybody, that was, but Elizabeth.

At least she’ll be alive, he told himself.

Pasting on a smile, Thurzó told the king he approved of the solution.

“Good,” the king replied. “I’m putting you in charge of the masonry work.”

It took a moment for the king’s words to register. “Masonry?”

“Yes, of course. Did you think we would just guard the door?”

That was exactly what Thurzó had pictured. Post a guard, allow her to spend some time in the fresh air every day—the civilized approach.

But too late Thurzó remembered that Matthias had a cruel streak, and this was his way of getting back at the countess for holding that debt over his head.

“I want the entire suite of rooms bricked up. Doors, windows, everything! We’ll leave a few slots in the walls through which she can receive her food, and so the guards can keep an eye on her, but she will remain a prisoner—a real prisoner—until the day her vile countenance passes from this earth! Do you understand, Thurzó?”

He nodded and waited for the king to dismiss him with a toss of his head. As he moved toward the exit, one final question occurred to him.