To Kill a Witch

by Christopher Patterson

  “Isn’t the House of Renne Bretons?” Thaddeus asked. “Once hailing from these very lands.”

  “They have forgotten their heritage,” Harold said. “It is said Alan Rufus even had an affair with my Aunt Gunnhild, but I know the truth.”

  “What is the truth?” Thaddeus asked.

  “He raped her,” Harold said, shaking his head. “The pious nun she was. She would have never given her purity over to such a man.”

  There was yet another worried look exchanged between the priests and Alden.

  “If we can take back Richmond before Alan Niger reaches England,” Harold said, “we have a chance. Malcolm may finally be convinced to join our cause, and the lands of Richmond are wealthy.”

  “If it is God’s will,” Thaddeus said.

  “How could it not be the Lord’s work?” Harold asked. “Look at what the Normans have done to my people.”

  “The overthrow of one Christian king for another is rarely the Lord’s work,” Asaf said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  He looked to have finally raised Harold’s ire, but Wulfstan placed his hand on the prince’s wrist.

  “You have much to do, yes?” Wulfstan asked, addressing Harold. “I will talk to these warriors. They will see the Lord’s hand in all this.”

  Harold stood. He looked upset, but he gave Thaddeus and the priests a quick bow, now glaring at Asaf as he exited the room. When he motioned for Alden to follow, Wulfstan put up a hand.

  “I would like Alden to stay, my lord,” Wulfstan said.

  “Very well,” Harold said and left the room.

  The three priests waited for a moment, then looked to one another and nodded.

  “I apologize,” Bishop Wulfstan said, “for all the secrecy and pretense.”

  “We are not here to overthrow the Normans, are we?” Thaddeus asked.

  “No,” Wulfstan replied. “But what the Lord has tasked you to do in this land is beyond the zealous prince.”

  “So, you did send Alden to look for us?” Asaf asked.

  “Yes,” Wulfstan replied.

  “How do you know who we are?” Gunnar asked.

  “You have a reputation in the church,” Cyril, the Byzantine Priest, said. “The name Thaddeus Christopoulos of Laconia is well known in certain, small circles as are Gunnar Sigurdsson and Asaf Segal. We are well aware of your blessing.”

  “Holy Warriors who defy age and are hundreds of years old,” Theodo, the Roman Priest, said. “How could we not know about you? Although, if I knew better, I would think such a thing was dark magic.”

  “Theodo,” Wulfstan said with a scolding hiss.

  The Roman Priest bowed.

  “It is true the Normans have been committing atrocities against the Saxon people,” Wulfstan said, “especially here in the north. But it isn’t because the conquerors are Normans and the conquered are Saxons. They are being influenced by the Devil … rather, an agent of the Devil.”

  “A demon?” Gunnar asked. “We saw one and sent it back to the underworld. We also saw it had possessed the walking dead.”

  “No, it’s worse I’m afraid,” Wulfstan said and shot concerned looks to both Theodo and Cyril. “You must understand, Count Stephen of Tréguier is only the temporary Lord of Richmond Castle in Hindrelag until Alan Niger returns from Brittany. Stephen is a ruthless warrior and comes from a long line of notable knights, all loyal to the Dukes of Normandy, but they are fair rulers, treating the people of Hindrelag with a just hand and respect, even allowing them to keep many of their local laws and leaders. They are Bretons after all, at least partially, traditionally fair rulers. That was, until only a few years ago …

  “Alan Rufus, without any due cause, started mass executions and enslaving the Saxon people. He stripped men who could trace their land rights to Danish rule of their title, men whose lands and titles had been upheld by William I. He had them beaten and tortured, and had their wives and daughters raped. Some even suspected him, before his death this past winter, of eating the flesh of men and drinking blood.”

  “Paul’s balls!” said Asaf. “What devilry is this?”

  “And what does King William have to say about this?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Nothing,” Wulfstan replied. “He doesn’t know. As far as he knows, the House of Renne have remained law-abiding men and the citizens of Hindrelag, and that they, despite being Saxons and Danes, have followed Norman law as well. William is away in France dealing with his brother, Robert, or dealing with the pope.”

  “So where do you think all this despicable behavior has come from?” asked Thaddeus.

  “We believe the court at Richmond is being plagued by a witch,” Wulfstan replied quietly.

  Thaddeus shook his head; he had expected something like this from his dream … the woman. Witches could be simple herb gatherers living a life of a hermit and brewing odd concoctions they claimed to cure blindness and achy joints. Or they could stand at the Devil’s right hand, poisoning the minds of leaders and lengthening the shadow of evil. Practicing the darkest of magic, empires had fallen under the influence of witches. If this was the mysterious woman in his dreams, she was a powerful one. Her entering his mind meant she probably knew of his presence already.

  “Your blessing …” Wulfstan began to say, but Asaf cut him off.

  “More like curse,” the Jewish priest said.

  “I suppose it depends on how you look at it,” Wulfstan said. “Nonetheless, as the Lord has undoubtedly called you to England, He has also given me dreams, preparing me for your arrival. I knew you would be here.”

  “Alden?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Ah, yes, our friend Alden,” Wulfstan said. “A skilled warrior and tracker. And, yes, his family had served the Godwin family for quite a while. He is not really Harold’s huscarl. It is pretense, and I ask God’s forgiveness for creating such a lie, but it was necessary. He is a servant of the church here in England and does my bidding. He is a holy warrior in his own right, even though he doesn’t bear the same blessing as you.”

  Alden stepped forward and bowed.

  “Does he know Latin?” Gunnar asked.

  “More than he perhaps has let on,” Wulfstan said, managing a wry smile.

  “And you sent him to find us?” Thaddeus asked.

  “I did,” Wulfstan replied, “and as you complete this task for our Lord, you continue our ruse in convincing Prince Harold we are trying to regain control of England.”

  “That will never actually happen, will it?” Thaddeus asked.

  “No,” Wulfstan replied.

  “So, you want us to kill a witch?” Asaf asked, sighing deeply and rolling his eyes.

  “The Lord wants you to kill a witch,” Wulfstan said. “That is a tall task, but for three Holy Warriors, especially one such as yourself … a man of the cloth, it shouldn’t be impossible.”

  “You were a monk?” Theodo asked.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” Asaf replied, “but yes, I was a monk. No longer.”

  “A bishop-elect,” Bishop Wulfstan added.

  “Christ’s bones,” Theodo muttered.

  “Who’s the foul-mouthed cur now?” Asaf asked.

  “That is a story for a different time, however, eh, Asaf Segal of Jerusalem?” Wulfstan said.

  Asaf bowed.

  “If this witch has brought demons with her, has the ability to spoil fertile soil, and can raise the dead,” Thaddeus said, “she is indeed powerful and a true servant of the Devil. We will need some time.”

  “Unfortunately, that is something we don’t have,” Wulfstan said. “Her power grows with each passing day. And I cannot stay here or go with you to help. King William thinks I am in Canterbury, and he is already suspicious of me, secretly accusing me of being a Saxon sympathizer.”

  “Are you?” Thaddeus asked.

  “I am a leader of Christian men,” Wulfstan said, “so yes. But I am also a sympathizer of Normans. William II is not known for the same logical level-headedness
as his father. He is short-tempered and flamboyant. Regardless of my status as Bishop, if King William knew I was here, supposedly conspiring against him—even though I really am not—it would mean my death and the destruction of my dioceses.”

  “The longer we wait,” Cyril added, “the longer this witch has to do her master’s work and poison this blessed land.”

  “Calling this land blessed is the same as calling a whore pure,” Asaf muttered, but only Thaddeus heard him.

  “This witch is probably a high priestess in a coven’s court. Defeat her, and it is possible this might fulfill your oath to the Lord,” Wulfstan said. “He may lift your obligation and allow you to pass away from this world with the rest of us.”

  “Truly?” Gunnar asked, seemingly paying his first interest in their mission.

  That would be a blessing, and Thaddeus smiled at the thought. Rest. He never imagined he would covet it so.

  “We will do it then,” Thaddeus replied. “We will rid England of this witch.”

  “We will, will we?” Asaf asked.

  Chapter 7

  “WE CAN’T GO AFTER A WITCH,” said Asaf when the three were gathered in the nearby barn where they intended to camp. It would make a change from sleeping in the open if it rained at night again.

  “Why not?” Gunnar asked.

  “We aren’t equipped to do such a thing.” Asaf stopped fiddling with the buckle to the saddle to his horse, giving Thaddeus a look mixed with irritation and bewilderment.

  “We have a man of the cloth with us,” Gunnar said with a smile. “Isn’t this the sort of thing God wants you to do?”

  “Priests do a little more than just hunt witches, thank you very much,” Asaf replied. “And besides, I’m a defrocked priest.”

  Thaddeus didn’t answer. He barely even moved, save for slow scraping of a whetstone down the edge of his sword, filling the air with a scratchy, grating sound. He watched as the stone passed easily over the edge of the blade, as its sharpness glimmered with each stroke, and as the water sparkled along the broad steel, a dullish gray with wavy lines, fashioned for him near the Indus Valley.

  “Why is this witch here, do you think?” Gunnar asked, moving to sit on a bale of hay.

  “How are we supposed to know the motivations of a witch?” Asaf replied.

  “No,” Thaddeus said, “but to affect a whole region … a whole country even. That seems a large undertaking for an evil minion who is normally motivated by nothing more than selfish ambitions.”

  “Maybe she just has very high selfish ambitions,” Asaf said.

  “As Wulfstan suggested, she might be a high priestess in a coven of witches,” Thaddeus said. “While this land might not be in turmoil, it is in a very uneasy state. Exacerbating that would be highly attractive to Satan and those who do his bidding.

  “Have you ever dealt with a coven?” Gunnar asked.

  The Norseman had not been serving God as long as Asaf and Thaddeus, and there were things from the underworld, from the Devil’s minions, he had not seen, and they had.

  “No,” Thaddeus replied. “But one witch is dangerous enough. If this woman is a high priestess, chances are, she isn’t the only one here.”

  “And the demon and walking dead?” Asaf asked.

  “Either controlled by the witch,” Thaddeus replied, “or sent to aide her.”

  “A damnable situation,” Asaf muttered.

  Thaddeus gave Asaf a sidelong glance over his shoulder.

  “Do you think this could be it?” Gunnar asked. “Do you think God might release us from our Holy mission after killing this witch?”

  “I don’t know,” Thaddeus replied. “I could only hope.”

  “I would say so,” Gunnar said. “It has been the longest for you.”

  Nine hundred years, Thaddeus thought.

  “Barely,” Asaf replied. “It won’t matter for me. I’m buggered no matter what.”

  “You don’t think you’ll meet God?” Gunnar asked. “Even after this?”

  “I’m a defrocked cleric,” Asaf answered again, fisted hands now on his hips. “I have little hope for that, regardless of what I do. I think He is toying with me.”

  “Watch your tongue, Asaf,” Thaddeus said. “That is too much, even for you. We each have to bear this curse … this blessing, because we deserve it. Do it with gladness and humility and welcome heaven, when it comes, with joy in your heart. If this is it, then so be it, and I praise the Lord for such a gift. If we must wait another five hundred years, then so be it, and I will still praise the Lord for such a gift.”

  “Even if the Lord doesn’t release us of our obligation,” Gunnar said, “this witch very well might kill us. That would serve just as well.”

  “Perhaps,” Thaddeus said. “But if that would be the case, then would we meet the Lord in the afterlife.”

  “I do not wish to consider that option,” said Gunnar with a rare look of fear on his face. “So, what do we do?”

  Thaddeus looked at his Scandinavian friend. As true with most of the men from the northern reaches, he was a big, brutish man who looked to have no room for sentimentalities and compassion, let alone fear and worry, but there were times when Gunnar showed his humanity and the fact he had thrown off the burden of his people’s ways many years ago. When a man who was a head taller than most, twice as wide as most, and as strong as any ox—with a yellow beard and long, yellow braided hair making him look like a lion of Africa—showed fear, it was humbling.

  “We go to Richmond and kill a witch,” Thaddeus said with a smile. “We do what we do best … We do the good Lord’s work.”

  With that, Thaddeus left them to meet again with Wulfstan.

  Chapter 8

  “WE WILL GO TO RICHMOND,” Thaddeus said, “in search of this witch.”

  “Very good,” Wulfstan replied. “I pray the good Lord will bless you on this journey.”

  “I pray the good Lord will find this journey pleasing in His eyes,” Thaddeus said, “and release me from my curse.”

  “I understand, being just you and me,” Wulfstan replied, “that you are speaking frankly, and I appreciate your leadership, but be careful what you call a curse.”

  “Well said, my lord,” Thaddeus said with a quick bow. “A witch who can control the dead and demons … a frightening notion.”

  Wulfstan stood and hobbled to a small bookshelf holding perhaps a dozen books, a wealth in the lands of Britannia. Running a finger over the spines of the books, the bishop stopped at one and retrieved it. Coming back to the table around which he and Thaddeus sat, the holy man set the book down. The cover was simple with script Thaddeus didn’t recognize.

  “This is no easy task,” Wulfstan said, opening the book carefully.

  He gave a mirthless smile when he came to a page and spun the book around so that Thaddeus could see. One page bore more of the script Thaddeus didn’t recognize, and the other page had the drawing of a naked woman, her breasts large, her sex shaven and naked, and her face alluringly beautiful.

  “This is a book from the Hindu empires, specifically the Gupta Empire, around the year of our Lord 450,” Wulfstan said. “Have you ever been?”

  “Just in the north, near the Indus River, Your Excellency,” Thaddeus said with a quick shake of the head. “It is where I received the gift of my sword.”

  “Surprising,” Wulfstan said, “given your blessing.”

  “What is this language?” Thaddeus asked, ignoring the bishop’s assumption he was blessed.

  “It is called Sanskrit,” Wulfstan replied. “It is a language influencing many other languages, including Persian.”

  “I have never seen it before,” Thaddeus replied, “although I am sure, in all my travels, I have heard it spoken. Why have I never seen it before?”

  “The church in the west has suppressed many writings in Sanskrit,” the bishop explained, “because of its relation to the pagan worship of Central Asia. This is a book of the many mythologies in the east. This is
a drawing of a Hindi witch.”

  “A Hindi witch?” Thaddeus asked.

  “The Devil has his hand all over the world and has infiltrated many different cultures under the guise of this deity or that. Today, there is no place better to see such a thing than England. The indigenous peoples of this land have worshiped all sorts of demons—all Lucifer by a different name.”

  “I see,” said Thaddeus, remembering a time when he had visited Britannia before it had joined Christendom.

  “But, of course, you know that better than I,” the bishop said.

  Thaddeus gave a quick smile.

  “Witches can be powerful,” Wulfstan continued. “The one in this book—and the reason why I am showing it to you—was extremely powerful, regarded as a goddess. In truth, she was the High Priestess of a witches’ coven and one of the mightiest the east had ever seen. This one, here in England, I fear, is just as powerful—the way she has twisted the House of Rennes, including Alan Rufus and Count Stephen and the Norman people who serve them faithfully. You must be on guard. As you have lived a long time, so might she. This could be same witch,” he added, his finger pointing to the illustration before closing the book.

  “Your Excellency,” Thaddeus replied, “I mean no disrespect, but I have battled many powerful servants of the Devil in my time.”

  “I am sure you have,” the bishop replied, “including demons.”

  “Verily,” Thaddeus replied.

  “A witch can be stronger than a demon, depending,” Wulfstan said. “A witch can control demons, even, as you have seen with this one. So be at your most watchful. A witch, as you can see from this book, has many nefarious tools at her disposal, most notably, her sex. I am sure this is what first entranced Alan Rufus and now Count Stephen of Tréguier.”

  Thaddeus stood.

  “By the Grace of God,” he said with a bow, “I live to serve.”