The Secrets of Life and Death

by Rebecca Alexander

  ‘This was the beginning of the legend of Anna, which haunted my family for many years. It was only as they prepared the body of my mother that her servants saw the scars upon her skin, and realised why she had screamed on that first night. There were burns, strange shapes and letters branded into her skin, a little like your angelic alphabets, Master Dee.

  ‘Anna grew up attended, as her mother had been, by Zsuzsanna. And in her time, she married my Ecsed cousin, György Báthory, and had children. She was, in many ways, like other women, though weakened by her unusual birth.’

  The king leaned back in the chair, as if exhausted.

  ‘Now Anna’s daughter Erzsébet is ill, close to death, in the way her mother and grandmother were. Zsuzsanna died last year. Her daughter Zsófia does what she can, but if you … if you understand these magics, then you must help her.’

  ‘When did this illness start, your Majesty?’ Dee’s eyes glittered in the low light, and I knew his interest was caught.

  ‘My niece was a wild girl in her youth. She was betrothed at the age of eleven to one of my most trusted lieutenants, Count Ferenc Nádasdy, although they barely knew each other. Three years later she disgraced her name when she bore a daughter to a groom. The pregnancy weakened her, and after her marriage she could not conceive again. She is now five-and-twenty and suffers bouts of weakness that only the witch seems able to treat. But she is worsening and, as her uncle, I have sworn to try and help her.’

  Dee looked at me, and I saw a strange expression in his eyes. ‘I would need to consult the witch’s daughter about the symbols. But, your Majesty, if these are demonic interventions, I cannot in any conscience interfere with God’s purpose.’

  Istvan’s hand was like his face: big, square, and battle-scarred. He ran his fingers through his bushy hair.

  ‘My niece is now as devout a young woman as you could hope to meet, Master Dee, even though she is Protestant. As my sister Anna was.’ He reached into his clothes and brought out a folded parchment square. ‘These were drawn by my mother’s priest, after her death. They are some of the brands she suffered.’ His hand was shaking when he passed the paper to Dee.

  Dee got off the bed, opened the note and spread it on the table. ‘Edward. Get me Bacon’s Demonica.’ He rummaged through the pack for vellum and pens. ‘Do you know what the other symbols look like? Does anyone know what any of them mean?’

  The king spoke. ‘There is one who does. Zsuzsanna’s daughter, Zsófia Draskovich. She knows them.’

  Dee pulled out half the books in the pack. ‘And more lamps. I need light. Edward, clear the table.’

  King Istvan stood up, easing his back. Even in the light of the lantern I could see that he wore his years heavily. ‘I will send her to you.’ He paused for a moment, a frown creasing his heavy forehead. ‘Zsófia is one of the gypsies from the mountains of my homeland, Transylvania. Beware her trickeries.’

  I wondered what misfortune and wickedness this hag would bring to us.

  Chapter 13

  Between spasms of dry heaves, Sadie hunched over a bowl. She no longer fought Jack’s help to leave the dungeon, although she hated the feel of the woman touching her. Jack’s hands were cold and dry, cracked like an old woman’s, even though she seemed quite young. She was strong, though, and not unkind. Sadie looked across at the woman, bent over what looked like an accounts book.

  Sadie looked around. The room reminded her of old people’s houses. Saggy sofas, patterned carpets, books everywhere. The walls were covered with wood, painted some dingy white.

  Jack looked up, rubbing one temple in gentle circles. ‘God, I hate numbers.’

  Sadie stared at her, trying to understand how Jack could kidnap someone and chain them up, but then chat to them like they were friends. Sadie choked on a mouthful of sick. It was happening less often, and wasn’t so bad now, but it was still a problem. She sipped some water. She brushed her long fringe out of her eyes. She had dyed it jet black from its natural chestnut, and got it cut short before … Mum had been furious.

  ‘Do you think you can have dyslexia just for numbers?’ Jack crossed something out, and wrote above it carefully.

  Sadie pushed the bowl away and picked up her drink. ‘I’m missing school.’

  Jack shrugged, keeping one finger on her page and closing the book around it. ‘School won’t be much use to you if you’re dead.’

  ‘You can’t believe that!’ It burst out of Sadie, and she flung the empty cup across the room, where it bounced off one of the bookcases and thudded to the floor. The dog started growling, lifting himself off the ground, his lips pulled back away from his long teeth and red tongue.

  ‘Ches!’ Jack turned to Sadie. ‘Stay still, you idiot. He’s not used to you, he’s not … tame.’

  For a long moment, the only sound was the panting of the dog. He sidled closer to Sadie, and she slowly extended an open hand to him. He sniffed it from a distance, then took one step closer, and scented her more thoroughly. Finally, his tail began a slow beat, and he stepped close enough for her to touch his head. His fur was so dense her fingers bounced off it.

  Jack seemed to relax. ‘It seems he likes you. But be careful with him, he’s not very sociable.’

  Sadie stroked the top of his head. ‘I’m good with dogs. I want to be a vet.’

  Ches sat down, then slumped onto the carpet between the sofas.

  Jack opened her notebook again. ‘Sometimes, people bring me injured birds and animals,’ she said. ‘I rescued a pair of magpies last year, they’re nesting in one of the trees out the back.’

  People come to the house. Maybe I can get help.

  Jack closed the book, and stretched out on the sofa. ‘We get a few hedgehogs, too.’

  Despite herself, Sadie was interested. Maybe if she’ll take me outside, I can make a run for it.

  ‘In fact, Maggie is coming here, later.’ Jack continued. ‘She’s going to keep an eye on you while I go out, but she’s also looking after a hedgehog for me. She helped nurse you when you were very ill.’

  Sadie looked around the room. ‘Where’s the telly?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I can’t do anything else, so I thought I could at least watch television.’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  The concept seemed so strange, Sadie realised her mouth had dropped open. So, there was no telly, no computer, just the quiet crackling of the fire and conversation with Jack.

  She folded back the blankets and quilt she had made into a nest, and put her feet on the floor. She stood up, shaking with the effort.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Jack said.

  Sadie put her hand up, to brush her fringe out of her eyes. The shackle chinked against the chain.

  ‘I just want to see what I can do. You said I have to stay in the circle?’ She rubbed the skin where it was reddened by the handcuff. ‘So, the middle must be the best place.’ She stepped into the centre of the room, where the chain was fastened to a plate in the floor, with a steel ring poking through a hole in the rug. She took a deep breath. The shaking had stopped. She tugged the neck of her T-shirt down a little, revealing the drawn sigils across her exposed collarbones. ‘Do I really need these?’ She rubbed one with her thumb, but it didn’t smudge.

  Jack closed her accounts book. Ches waved his tail gently, as if hoping Sadie would play with him.

  ‘You’ll always need them. We all do. There’s a load on your back, too.’

  Sadie’s lips tightened into a humourless smile. ‘You really believe that a few shapes are some sort of magic charm?’

  Jack stared at her. ‘Go on, then. Try it. Go to the edge of the circle. Then tell me what you believe.’

  Sadie took a step away from the centre of the circle, between the sofas, towards the open kitchen door.

  ‘Still OK.’ She took another step, the chain uncurling along the floor, then half a pace more.

  The feeling, at first, was just cold, as if the middle of the circle was wa
rmer, but was followed by a surge of bitterness filling Sadie’s mouth. She was aware of her heart thumping slowly in her chest, and a rising dread. She closed her eyes, fighting the terror that rose inside her. It was hard to breathe, her throat was squeezing shut and it felt like her tongue was swelling.

  ‘I didn’t do that to you.’ Jack sounded close, and Sadie opened her eyes to find the woman beside her, arms ready to catch her if she collapsed. ‘I just saved you. Careful, Sadie. Just a little at a time.’

  Another shuffle, and this time the response was immediate. Sadie retched, and the floor pitched under her feet. Sadie tottered, but held one trembling hand out to push Jack away.

  ‘No!’

  ‘I’m telling the truth, Sadie. The further you go, the closer to death you get. Be careful. I don’t want to have to resuscitate you again.’

  Sadie glared at her, the other hand pressed to her mouth, her body shaking. But she took a tiny step back, and breathed deep. Then another, tears building in her eyes as she capitulated.

  Jack sighed, and retreated. Sadie curled into a ball and covered her face with her arms, sobbing, letting the anguish out. I want to go home. Mum …

  The dog walked over, sniffing the top of her bent head, and after a moment, her hand buried itself in the thick fur on his head. Ches bumped her with his snout, and finally licked her fingers.

  Sadie wiped her face on her sleeve, then looked at her hand.

  Jack held out a wad of tissues. ‘I didn’t believe it, either. I made myself worse for months, trying to get out. Then I understood. We can never go back.’

  Chapter 14

  ‘Rich meats and heavy wines made me sleep heavily, but my dreams were haunted by strange images: women who lay with wolves, ghosts that spoke from the lips of corpses, and men who served dishes of human flesh.’

  Edward Kelley

  19 November 1585

  Niepolomice

  I slept a little before the day dawned grey, the clouds glowering over the castle, and I covered myself in extra layers as I huddled next to the burned-out fire. Dee had worked through the remaining night, muttering to himself, making notes. The door opened and a dark-skinned servant woman brought a tray with bowls of thick porridge and some sort of bread. I misliked the look of the greasy tray, and instead refreshed myself from the jug of thin ale. Dee started spooning the yellow porridge into himself – but he had little discrimination in his tastes.

  ‘I believe the shapes the woman suffered, branded into her skin, were magical talismans that call upon the angels Uriel, Raphael and Michael,’ he said. ‘The symbols are somewhat like our “u”, “r” and “m” in the angelic alphabet.’ He took another spoonful of the porridge, and swallowed it with apparent enjoyment. ‘We should at least try to help this poor young woman. Whatever the sins of her mother and grandmother, we cannot blame the child.’

  I stood looking at the drawings, faded on stained and creased parchment.

  He turned the sketches around. ‘This one, for example, is a crude imitation of the symbols we use for Deo, God.’ He took his pen and dipped it in the ink, making a better, clearer shape in his notebook. ‘Perhaps the burns scarred into different shapes over time.’

  ‘But, master, how could a child grow within a woman who was barely alive – or, as the king says, already dead?’

  Dee shrugged, reached behind him and lifted his jacket over his shoulders. ‘The king overstates the case. Nature cannot defeat death itself, only prolong a weak life. Perhaps if this woman was treated by healing herbs and rituals, and blessed by these symbols – however cruelly applied – she was able to spare enough life force to infuse her child. We should get more information about the herbs they use.’

  ‘Witchcraft?’ I was appalled at the idea. While as a man, I might dabble in powerful natural forces such as alchemy, everyone knows witches attract the devil himself with the sinfulness of the female nature.

  Dee finished writing his note, scored the edge with his penknife, and tore out the page. He folded it, and wrote the king’s name on the outside with a flourish. ‘There is a great mystery here, Edward. We must meet this young woman. Is she here, at the castle?’

  I remembered the pale creature in the coach. ‘I believe she arrived after us.’

  ‘Excellent. And, if you would be so good, pass this to our guards.’

  I pulled on the heavy door and offered the letter to the one I judged to be the captain.

  ‘Is nuntius est pro rex,’ I tried. ‘For his Majesty, King Istvan Báthory.’ The man eventually held out a calloused hand and took the folded parchment.

  I tried to step by him but his arm shot before me, and I cannoned into it. He rumbled something but I shook my head.

  ‘Volo ambula. I need to walk.’ I stretched my arms up and feigned a yawn. When the man was unmoved, I crossed myself. ‘Ut saluto abbas. The priest.’ After a gruff exchange over my head, the guards let me pass.

  The bundle of rags had gone from the kitchen, but a maidservant pointed towards the marshalling yard within the outer wall. I found him there, sat on an upturned barrel, giving spiritual comfort, or perhaps taking the confession of a man hardly less ragged than himself. I awaited my turn and approached him when he became free. In daylight, I realised his eyes were milky. He squinted up at me for a long moment, before he greeted me with a malicious grin.

  ‘The English wizard. Or, I should say, the wizard’s servant.’ He seemed in a better humour.

  ‘I must ask you some questions.’

  He cackled a laugh. A group of armed men looked at us.

  ‘You may ask, but keep your voice down.’ He spread out his hands, the fingers reddened and swollen with cold. ‘You should have stayed in your England, young heretic.’

  ‘Tell me of the Lady Erzsébet.’

  ‘She lies within, sick unto death,’ he said, ‘thank the Lord. Did the king tell you why he risks his immortal soul, and treats with witches and sorcerers?’

  I stepped back from the odour that clung to him like his rags. ‘He seeks to use natural sciences and angelic intervention to save his niece, the child of his sister.’

  ‘You think he doesn’t have a dozen other nieces? I doubt Istvan would risk his eternal soul for his own wife or daughters.’ A laugh turned into a cough, and he spat red onto the stone courtyard. ‘He owes her money, maybe more money than anyone else. He can’t offend her husband, Nádasdy, the Black Bear. Without Nádasdy and his niece, Istvan would have been bankrupted years ago.’

  ‘And now he is trying to help her.’ I tucked the neck of my jacket around my ears against the wind.

  ‘She was cursed at birth.’ He spat, and crossed himself, murmuring a blessing, and raising his milky eyes to heaven for a moment.

  ‘Amen.’ I added, almost without thinking.

  ‘You know the tale of Katalin? Her dead body shambling around for years, bloated with the devil’s child.’ His mouth tightened into a thin line. ‘A child who lived on blood and witches’ brews. No matter how much time Lady Anna spent on her knees in prayer, that one was spewed out of hell.’

  ‘Did you ever meet her?’

  He shrugged. ‘I was a priest in her brother’s house. She was small, pretty, and always pale. A Somlyó Báthory heiress.’

  His eyes slid over me and I glanced over my shoulder. A woman stood in the doorway to the keep. She was tall, but unlike the servant women who all covered their hair, hers was thick about her shoulders. It was dark red, the colour of a fox. I was much struck by her beauty, her eyes looking shamelessly at me, her hands carrying a basket of leaves.

  The priest hissed. ‘That is the witch. Zsófia Draskovich. I recognise the devil’s hair.’ I looked with interest at the woman Istvan had described the night before, but the priest caught my arm. He led me around the corner, into a foetid stable.

  The strange woman still seemed before my eyes like the ghost of the sun when you gaze at it. ‘Tell me about her.’

  ‘The witch? Promise me, stranger, that you w
ill not help her. She and her kind, czarownica, hags. Do not look at her; do not listen to her. She is the devil’s own whore.’ He was rambling, clutching at my sleeve.

  I prised his fingers off my arm and stepped back.

  ‘Tell me of Anna.’

  ‘Anna married György, of the Ecsed Báthory family, and so kept the name Báthory. Countess Erzsébet was born an heiress, a rich woman before she married.’

  ‘And now she is sick?’

  ‘Zsuzsanna, the witch’s mother, is dead, thanks be to God. No one alive knows how to bring one of that cursed line into the world. The countess weakens.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘And may God bring us deliverance from evil.’

  He shuffled to the corner of the stable to peer around the wall. The memory of the witch’s searing glance filled my thoughts again, even when I closed my eyes. I sought to bring my own wife’s face to my memory, sour little Jane Cooper, at home in Krakow. Instead, Mistress Jane Dee’s smile was the best I could summon.

  The priest leaned against a handcart. ‘Now Istvan has brought an inquisitor from Rome to convert his court, even while he convenes with warlocks and witches. It matters little to me, I will be dead soon enough. But you, sorcerer, I sense a good Catholic lurking under that English hereticism. Maybe Konrad will permit you to confess your sins and denounce your master. At least you will die in the forgiveness and mercy of the Lord.’

  ‘I don’t intend to die at all, old man.’

  He looked at me through clouded eyes, grimaced, and spat. ‘You were dead the day you set out for Niepolomice.’

  Chapter 15

  Once Maggie arrived, Jack could get out of the house to meet with the professor. Sadie had met the older woman with suspicion, but Maggie had brought warm cookies from home and a box of books and magazines for Sadie. By the time Jack left, the girl was feeding the crumbs to the cautious dog, and Maggie was cooking pasta.

  Jack drove her old estate car into town as the day faded and street lights flickered on. She parked a hundred yards down from the pub.