The Sisterhood:: Curse of Abbot Hewitt

by Annette Siketa

  “Master Nicholas.” The King’s voice, though not loud, was still sufficiently commanding to silence the hall. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to provide us with an explanation.”

  But before Nicholas could answer, Horace Twissleton came scurrying into the hall. He bowed to the monarch, and without obtaining permission, whispered rapidly in the royal ear.

  “Murder?” roared the monarch. There was an outbreak of muttering and the exchange of puzzled looks. James waved a hand for silence. “Good God, man, are ye sure?”

  “It is true,” said Twissleton, his piggy eyes glittering like jet. “The little girl I told you about, Catherine Ashmore, witnessed it first-hand.”

  James slowly shook his head. “We will consider what to do, but don’t let the bairn leave the Tower. Now, go and arrest the guilty party.”

  “Yes sire.”

  Unable to conceal his glee, Twissleton hurried away, almost colliding with a guard entering the hall. Nicholas recognised the monk at once, but try as he might, could not imagine why the apparition had returned. It was the King who unknowingly supplied the answer.

  “Master Nicholas, approach us. No, come closer, for we wouldn’t have the news spread abroad, at least not yet.”

  Nicholas bent forward, listened, and then sprang back, his face stricken. “No, it’s not true! Forgive me, sire, but Twissleton is so desperate for favour that he’ll do and say anything. He tried to impress my father by having Nancy Redfern ‘ducked’, and was furious when she was proved innocent. I’d bet ten gold pieces that when he was pouring his animosity into Your Majesty’s ear, he skipped over that part.”

  “Aye,” said James thoughtfully. “His account of his involvement the night Lavinia was almost sacrificed was to say the least, colourful.”

  “Involvement?” Nicholas almost choked on the word. “Your Majesty, his only involvement was to be stripped naked and whipped by Davy Ashmore.”

  “Is that so?” said James, his face flushing with anger.

  “I’m the one who found him,” said Nicholas, equally angry. “If it wasn’t for me, his arse would still be pointing to the sky!”

  The ‘guard’ stepped forward and bowed. “Sire, I know a little of that incident. Admittedly, my information comes from those who were there, but it is consistent enough to cast aspersions on the solicitor’s character.” Considering that the monk had been instrumental in the destruction of Margaret Dymock and the capture of a dozen witches, Nicholas thought the statement was stretching the truth. Nevertheless, he did not trouble to correct it.

  “You would swear to what you heard?” asked James.

  “I would, and with Your Majesty’s permission, should like to investigate the solicitor’s latest claim before any harm is done.”

  “So granted. Take a dozen men with you.”

  “With respect, sire, if there is a devious plan afoot, only stealth and silence will expose it. Perhaps Master Nicholas would accompany me as witness.”

  James scrutinised the young Faulkner. “Ye are not without taint yourself. Still, all things considered…” and without waiting for the King to finish, Nicholas ran out of the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Behind the Scenes

  Richard held out two gold coins. “She’s not going anywhere,” he said to the guard, who even after accepting the bribe, looked worried. Richard smiled reassuringly. “You can slit my throat if she escapes, that’s always assuming you get to me before the King does.”

  “Alright,” said the guard, quickly slipping the coins into his pocket, “but don’t tarry too long. I’m only on watch for another hour.”

  Richard nodded in acknowledgement, and as he led Lavinia to a relatively secluded garden, the beauty of the night was in sharp contrast to the carousing taking place in the banqueting-hall. The sounds of revelry were soon lost in the distance, and the glare of the torches shining through the windows, was replaced by ghostly moonlight. Sitting in an arbour, Richard and Lavinia talked of their sorrows and hopes and made plans for the future, unaware that they were being watched.

  Catherine stood behind a tree, a look of diabolical malice stamped on her face. She was not alone. “People who eavesdrop never hear good of themselves,” whispered Einyon.

  “Shut up,” she snapped. She was listening intensely to Lavinia, who was speaking of her, Catherine’s, fall from grace, of the wicked things she had done, and how she must have assisted Davy and Elizabeth to escape from the abbey.

  Catherine’s giggle and comment of, “Little does she know,” were stifled by Einyon’s hand around her throat.

  “Be quiet you fool. If this goes wrong I’ll break your neck.” Einyon slipped a ring with a blood-red stone onto her finger. “Now, get ready, and remember all that I taught you.”

  Smiling mischievously as though she was about to play a prank, Catherine crept forward just as Lavinia was saying, “The poor child is doomed. If only she would let me help her.”

  “Some people just refuse to see the truth,” said Richard. “Unlike your mother, Catherine is beyond redemption, and quite frankly, deserves everything that’s coming to her.”

  ‘And so do you’, thought Catherine, and poked her hand through the leaves of the arbour. Perhaps it was an illusion caused by the moonlight, but when her finger came into contact with Richard’s back, the blood-red stone in the ring momentarily glowed brighter.

  “Argh!” The pain was excruciating. Richard clutched his chest and fell sideways onto Lavinia.

  Stunned, Lavinia stared at his pallid face. She wanted to run for help but dare not move. “Richard!” she cried, tears streaming down her face. “Oh for the love of God, speak to me.”

  Catherine went in search of Twissleton as Richard spoke feebly. “Lavinia, leave me. If you don’t, my death will be attributed to you. Go on, get out of here!”

  “No.” Tears poured down her face as she kissed and held him close.

  “Lavinia,” said a quiet voice.

  She did not care who was speaking as she pleaded, “Oh, thank god. Please, help him.”

  “I cannot,” said Father Hewitt. “He is in God’s hands now.”

  Lavinia neither screamed nor swooned. She simply sat quietly and gazed at Richard’s face. “I want to die. I want to be buried in the same grave as him,” and without fear or hesitation, snatched the Faulkner dagger from Richard’s belt.

  As Father Hewitt grabbed her wrist and retrieved the weapon, for the first time, Lavinia noticed his monkish robe. It was vaguely familiar. “Who are you?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Suffice to say that I am the enemy of thine enemies, and therefore thy friend. Rest assured Richard’s death will be avenged.”

  “I do not want vengeance, I want to be with him,” she said, embracing the rapidly cooling body.

  “Thou shall soon be with him,” said the monk under his breath. Aloud he said, “Come with me, child, you have another soul to save. Were you aware that thy mother is here?”

  “My mother? But that’s impossible. Nobody except Nicholas and Sir Howarth knows where she is.”

  “Not any more. Catherine discovered her whereabouts.”

  “How?”

  “The night of the sacrifice, do you remember a man with a badly scarred face?”

  Lavinia tried to think. “Yes, I think so. But wait, you were there. That’s where I’ve seen you before.”

  “Correct, and the man is Einyon Dymock.” Hewitt saw recognition dawn in her face. “Yes, the Einyon Dymock, arguably the greatest warlock of the age. Now you know the strength of force we’re up against.”

  “But what has he to do with my mother and how come she’s here?”

  “Follow me and I will explain.”

  “And leave Richard?” said Lavinia, appalled.

  Hewitt suddenly glanced over his shoulder. “His body is now but an empty shell. Quick, child, we must go.”

  Reluctantly, but aware of a sense of urgency, Lavinia looked at the love of
her life and then followed the monk through a nearby door, down a flight of steps, and into a subterranean passage hewn out of the rock. They came to a junction, turned right, and stopped outside a bolted door.

  “We are now underneath what Sir Roland calls a pavilion,” said the monk. “Your mother is behind this door. I must leave you for a while but I’ll be back.”

  He was about to draw back the bolt when he stopped and put an ear to the door. Lavinia neither moved nor spoke. Something cold and clammy seemed to crawl up her arms as she strained her ears to listen.

  ***

  Alice was dressed entirely in black. Her hair was now almost white and her frame little more than a skeleton. A lamp was burning on a table, and beside it, was an hourglass with more sand at the bottom than the top.

  She had been brought to Stewart Tower the night before. Three men in rough garb had arrived at Barkham Manor, extracted her from her hiding place in the cellar, and bundled her into an unmarked carriage. All her enquiries had been met with a stony silence, and once ensconced under the pavilion, she had tried to solve the enigma of her location and who had brought her.

  She had slept badly, and throughout the day, had heard noises as if emanating from a large group of people. For what purpose had they gathered? Was it for her execution? Surely it could not proceed without a trial. And what of the strains of music and the bursts of laughter? And horses, she could definitely hear horses, hundreds of them.

  At one point, Einyon had appeared and supplied some of the answers and the hourglass. “Do you know the date?” he had asked. “No? Then allow me to remind you. Your compact with the Master expires at midnight.” He tapped the hourglass. “That’s all the time you have left to live. You know what you need to do. Call me, and you’ll be saved.”

  The agony she had endured thereafter was almost unendurable, and the more she’d looked at the hourglass, the more she was sure she was losing her reason. At one point, she had picked up the glass and turned it over, but it had simply run in the opposite direction.

  She had tried to sleep, but horrible thoughts had invaded her mind. An ocean of fire had spread before her. Yells and screams from tormented souls had assailed her ears. Monsters of every frightful form waited to devour her, while lecherous men with terrible implements, were eager to menace but not to kill. It was the all-consuming but never destroying home of the Master, the fiend whom she had worshipped and prostituted herself without question.

  Alice picked up the hourglass. The top half was almost empty. She wondered how many minutes were left to her. As though in answer to the thought, Einyon suddenly appeared and said, “Fifteen, perhaps twenty. You have been a good and faithful servant to the Master, so I’m sure you’ll understand when I say that he’s not looking forward to seeing you.”

  Alice barely glanced at him. She had known he would return. “As you chose to deprive me of my powers, I can hardly be called a servant. The compact is broken.”

  Einyon laughed. “Madam, your powers were removed because you chose to serve another Lord. You broke the compact, not the Master. He has kept his side of the bargain, ergo, you are still his servant.”

  “Do not play word games with me. I know you too well. Who betrayed me?”

  “You were brought here by order of the King. Your hiding place was revealed to him by Horace Twissleton, who learnt it from Catherine Ashmore.”

  “And how did she learn it?”

  “One of your servants must have talked.”

  Alice looked at him shrewdly. “Liar! Those men knew exactly where to find me in the manor, and not even Nicholas or Sir Howarth knew my precise location.” She pointed a finger accusingly. “It was you. You told the little slut.”

  “Ho-ho! Not so righteous as you pretend. Perhaps Lavinia will show more piety when she’s burnt at the stake.”

  “What? Lavinia, accused of witchcraft?” Alice rushed to his side and pleaded, “You must stop it. You know she’s not a witch.”

  “Do I? What if I were to tell you that not ten minutes ago, she bewitched Richard Faulkner. He’s dead.” Alice staggered backwards and Einyon revelled in her shock. “Actually, she didn’t. Catherine did it. She is proving an excellent student, such a viperous little tongue.” He rubbed his crotch. “I can’t wait to initiate her. But, Lavinia will be blamed for his death, no question about it.”

  “God would not permit such an iniquity,” said Alice fiercely.

  “Don’t be so naive.” Einyon feigned a pitying sigh. “It is most unfortunate that one so young must die, and still a virgin too.”

  “Can you save her?”

  “Of course I can. Simply agree to worship the Master again, perform a little ritualistic penance, and she’s saved. You cannot be worse off than you are now. All you have to do is command me and I will bring her right now.”

  Somewhere amidst her agitation, Alice’s voice of reason began to speak. “You have no power over her. That’s why you’re trying to tempt me. It’s not the Master who wants her, it’s you! Get out! You can no more bring Lavinia here than I can.”

  “He doesn’t need to,” said Lavinia, who at a signal from the monk, had thrown open the door. She rushed to Alice and burst into tears. “Oh, mother, he’s dead. Richard is dead.”

  “I know,” she responded, mastering her emotions.

  “Mother, there was a priest, and he said that if we pray, we…”

  “Don’t waste your breath,” said Einyon dismissively. “Your mother is damned and so are you.”

  Lavinia glared at him. “You! Get out!”

  “Pray, Lavinia, pray!” shrieked Alice. “Tis the only thing that will stop him.”

  “I will tear her to pieces if she does.” Einyon seized the hourglass. “Ha! The sand is out. Your time is up, Alice Nash. Your soul is mine!”

  “No! You can’t have her! I will protect her with my life,” and as Lavinia stepped in front of her mother, Einyon changed into a wolf and leapt.

  There was a profound silence, as if the entire world and time itself had stopped. And then a voice said quietly, “You shouldn’t have done that, Einyon.” Father Hewitt faced the demon. “You have broken one of your own cardinal rules. If your Master was angry at Alice’s defection, after what you have done this night, I should imagine he’ll crucify you.”

  Einyon staggered backwards, his face drained of colour. “No, it was an accident! Master, it was an accident,” and with a scream of the damned, he vanished.

  “Alice Nash,” continued the monk, “thy wretched life has been saved at the cost of thy daughter's. She must rest in the same grave as Richard. Tell this to those who will come presently.”

  Alice could barely speak. “And me?”

  “You will die, and soon. Earthly justice must be satisfied.”

  “I am ready,” she replied.

  “Are you? Think it has ended? You will be subjected to temptation to the last. Kneel beside thy daughter's body and pray. I must go to the banqueting-hall. If it’s any consolation to you, Davy and Elizabeth Ashmore, two more of the accursed Dymock clan, are about to be arrested. I will return presently.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Masque of Death

  King James was unable to contain his impatience. The strange and disturbing events having sobered him, he rose from his chair and walked to the door unassisted. “Keep everyone here,” he said to an officer. “Let nobody follow me except Sir Howarth Faulkner and Roger Knowles.”

  “Yes sire,” replied the officer with a bow, and gave the necessary instructions.

  James wandered around the courtyard for a few minutes, and then spied Nicholas standing near the pavilion. “Ah, there ye are, laddie. Where is the guard?”

  Nicholas jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Such was his grief that he cared nought for protocol. “In there. There’s something you should see.”

  “What is it?” asked the monarch warily.

  Nicholas clenched his fists in order to exercise control. Even so, he could not keep t
he bitterness out of his voice as he said, “Something for which Your Majesty is partly responsible.”

  “I don’t like your tone, laddie. You forget who you’re talking to.”

  “On the contrary, sire, I am acutely aware of it. Shall we go in?”

  Nicholas opened the door and they stepped inside. There was utter darkness for a moment, and then the pavilion was flooded with light. “Good God,” cried the King in a terrified voice. “What is this?”

  “Have no fear, sire,” said Nicholas as the sound of melodious singing reached their ears. “You have never been safer in your life.”

  “This canna be the work of the devil,” observed James. “He does not delight in hymns and sweet music.”

  “It is a dirge for the dead,” said Nicholas, and pointed to a bier in the middle of the floor. Pale and beautiful, Richard and Lavinia lay side-by-side, a small smile about their lips.

  The door opened to admit Roger and Sir Howarth. The latter was about to speak when he caught sight of the bier. Nicholas gestured for silence as they moved towards the bodies.

  It was a deeply touching sight, and none spoke for several minutes. Presently the King said, “She did not bewitch him.”

  “Of course she didn’t,” said Nicholas. “I don’t think Lavinia did a bad thing in her life.”

  “Who did it?” asked the King, but it was another figure who answered.

  “Ultimately, Catherine Ashmore,” said Father Hewitt, who had seemingly appeared out of thin air. “Although there is no proof nor witness against them, Elizabeth and Davy Ashmore are certainly involved. However, I believe they are wanted on other serious charges, so those will have to suffice.”

  “Aye,” said James. If he recognised his former ‘guard’, he gave no indication of it as he went on, “And I shall not stay my hand. I will have them conveyed to Leeds Castle under heavy escort, and God have mercy on them.”

  “If I may make a suggestion,” said the abbot. “Put at least two crucifixes in their cells. That should deter any… erm… unwanted visitors.” He looked at Sir Howarth. “If you’ll pardon me, sir, that is where you made a mistake when you had them in custody at the abbey.”