“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.
“If I may, Your Majesty, why me?”
The king didn’t even look at him as he delivered his answer.
“You should have killed her when you had the chance, Thurzó, and saved me all this nonsense. Since you didn’t, I’m leaving it in your hands.”
And that was that. In trying to save her life, he’d ended up bringing her a fate worse than death.
Love certainly was blind.
Csejte Castle Present day Slovakia
Annja Creed eyed the camera for a moment, and then stepped forward to adjust the angle of the lens an inch or so to the left. Satisfied, she nodded to herself, moved back to her former position and keyed the remote in her left hand.
“As you can see, behind me lies the ruins of Csejte Castle, home to one of the most beautiful, and most villainous, women who ever lived—the Blood Countess herself, Elizabeth Báthory.”
A shake of her head, a double click of the remote to stop and restart the recording, and then she tried again.
“The crumbling walls you see behind me are the ruins of Csejte Castle, once home to Elizabeth Báthory, a woman some consider one of history’s greatest monst... Gah!”
She stopped the recording and turned away in frustration. Creating the opening to the show should have been a piece of cake. She’d done hundreds of such takes during her time as cohost of Chasing History’s Monsters, the cable television show she’d worked for these past few years. Yes, normally she would’ve worked with a cameraman and wouldn’t have to worry about framing and proper exposure, but she was a steady hand at this by now and probably could have shot, edited and produced the entire show on her own.
Which was exactly what she was intending to do for this one.
The whole thing was a bit of a lark, she had to admit. She’d been with her regular crew in the Czech Republic, filming an episode on Faust and the mysterious creatures that still supposedly haunt his house, but the shoot had wrapped early. With a few extra days suddenly on hand, Annja decided to make the jaunt across the border into Slovakia to do some rock climbing and maybe even visit Báthory’s legendary castle.
She’d caught a flight into Bratislava, took a train northeast into Košice and drove the short distance to the small village of Višňové. Annja could see the castle’s ruins on the hill above the village as she’d driven in, and that was when the idea had struck. She’d checked into her hotel, fired up her laptop and searched the database.
For some strange reason, Chasing History’s Monsters had never done an episode on the world’s most notorious serial killer, Countess Báthory herself.
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Annja, she’d reminded herself, and decided then and there to see what she could put together on her own. Selling a complete episode—shot, cut and edited—to her producer, Doug Morrell, would net her some extra cash and give him an episode he could deliver to his own bosses seemingly overnight. That would make him look good, and he could even hold on to it for an emergency situation when some other episode’s filming went south. It was a win-win situation.
She was pretty certain Doug would take the show; the subject matter was right up his alley. It would make a great episode.
If she could get the opening right, that was.
Annja turned and surveyed the ruin of the castle. There really wasn’t much to look at, truth be told. A few sets of crumbling walls, an extended tower or two, but not much more than that. The castle had been sacked and plundered by Ferenc II Rákóczi in 1708 as part of the Hungarian uprising against the Hapsburgs. It had been left to fall into ruin, and a ruin it had become.
And yet something still drew people here.
She knew what it was, of course.
The lure of history.
Annja understood that; she’d felt that same thrill, that same connection to the past, every single time she’d started an expedition or been involved in an archaeological dig. It was the reason she’d pursued her chosen career—as an archaeologist, not as a television host—in the first place. To reach out and touch something from the past, to hold a piece of history in your hands and wonder about the person who’d last held that object hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of years before... Yes, archaeology had a way of getting down deep into a person’s soul.
But in this case it was more than