Nachtstürm Castle (18 page)

“A lover’s poems, Frau Tilney, are almost never any good, and my brother was no poet to begin with. Perhaps, had he the charm you attribute to your husband, he might have made a passable attempt, but I fear that as he dictated, I felt impelled of necessity to tidy up the verse as best I could – and once I simply wrote out one of Dante’s sonnets to Beatrice.”
 
The friar sighed and rubbed his temple ruefully.
 
“Little wonder this became Cecelia’s favourite – you can read it on her grave….
 
But more of that anon.

“At long last we parted, as close as brothers as though the years and space had never separated us. That afternoon both Cecelia and William came to the chapel at the same time.
 
When they saw each other, I felt something that might have been great happiness or great dread. It is hard to discern emotion, sometimes, and I had not thought to bring the matter to the old friar who had taught me, for he had been ill for some time. I left them for the remainder of the afternoon, employing myself in matters of the little land I tended. That night and the next day passed in similar fashion to the ones before, except that on the third day Cecelia brought word that she had her father’s blessing to stay longer than her family in the Väl.

“That evening I did not go up to Nachtstürm to converse with my brother, but offered mass for all those travelling with the morning light. My little chapel was filled and I was a long time sweeping after all those blessed feet that set out across the mountains. I had just finished when a knock came at the door. At once I went to answer it, and was irked to see Edric waiting there. I invited him in, but he refused as I knew he must, for he clung to no faith – neither mine nor yours, Frau Tilney – and could not pass a church door without peril.

“ ‘I can only stay a moment,’ said he, bowing a little and, I swear it, smoking where the tips of his shoes touched the flagstones there. ‘I have a message.’

“ ‘If it is from my brother,’ I retorted, growing hot, ‘I will not believe you, unless it bears his seal and is in his hand.’

“ ‘It is not from him, it is from my master.’

“At this a chill hand caught at my stomach, snaking up towards my throat. I glanced at his feet but saw no hooves; yet I was not relieved.

“ ‘He told me to give this to you, lest you corrupt his house further. Bid you good night, Herr Wiltford.’

“My face stung with his parting words, and yet curiosity could not let me spend the night with the letter unread. These are its contents; I have memorised them, although I consigned the original back to the flames long ago:

Sir—I have lost one son; I shall not lose another. Believe me that I hold no compunction for those once of my blood. Should you chuse to disregard the discretion of him you once called father, believe that only ruin shall be your lot, and all you do accursed.

Jacob Wiltford, Baron of Branning and Brandenburg

“No sooner had I read it than I burnt it; no sooner burnt it than I retreated to the chapel to spend the night in vigil. The next morning, as I stood to ease my aching legs and back, I heard the first whisper of my father’s curse, for Father Ignazio who had nurtured me in the bosom of Mother Church cried out from our hermitage – such a cry of despair I had never heard before! I rushed to his side as quickly as I could and found him crumpled by his bed, clutching his heart. Gently, I cradled him in my arms and returned him to his cot.
 
I stood over him all that day and the next, even saying mass within his cell. I know not if my brother and his beloved visited the chapel that day; I could not leave my predecessor’s side. Anxiously I watched over him, praying that the price of my stubbornness would not be this good man’s life. He suffered many attacks that day and next, and had only a few hours lucidity to receive the sacraments.

“However, the night of his death, as sometimes happens, he regained enough strength to fix me with his eye and say in a voice nearly as strong as I remembered from my first days in Nachtstürm, ‘And now I will hear your confession, Andreas, for you will not find another priest to do so for long, and I fear you have much on your soul.’

“I bowed my head in shame, for I realised then that I had not sought out the advice of this holy man not merely from forgetfulness or high spirits, but from fear. Among the Välich it was whispered that Father Ignazio could read hearts and tell men their sins, but I tell you this was no legend, Frau Tilney, for that very evening, when I was not one month a priest, he told me every one of my actions as though he had travelled by my side. When he had done, he asked me kindly, ‘And so what will you do now, Andreas? How will you remedy what you have set in place?’

“I told him that I did not know. But that I hoped to confirm my brother and perform the marriage between William and Cecelia before the Spring was out.

“ ‘And this will right all your wrongs, Andreas? This is penance enough?’

“ ‘What more can I do?’ I asked in despair.

“ ‘Will you not write to your father, or have William write, for his blessing on such a marriage?’

“ ‘Why should my father bless such a union, any more than he blessed me?’ I asked with no little bitterness.

“ ‘He is, perhaps, not the monster you think. Restrain your passion, and restrain your brother. Travel to England. Speak to your father. Make amends. And then you shall see.’

“ ‘But Edric…!’ I cried, when it seemed my dear spiritual father would drift into sleep.

“ ‘Ah, Edric,’ Father Ignazio muttered wisely, his eyes closed, his thin, blue–veined fingers resting lightly on the thin blanket. ‘Think, Andreas, what does one usually do with a devil?’

“He said no more after that, although I waited by his bedside. Just before dawn, as I read Matins, he slipped away into eternity, with the smile of the blessed upon his face.

“I mourned him silently and kept his parting words with me deep within my bosom. His passing put the whole Väl into sombre colours, and black ribbons waved from posts where before the town had decked itself in reds and greens and yellows. I determined to carry out the friar’s commands to travel to England and make amends with my father, except that events conspired against me: an outbreak of the pox kept me by Nachtstürm, tending mostly to the surviving families and blessing from a distance the quarantined houses. By the time the pox passed, Autumn had come and travel became inconceivable. Several times during those long months, William sought me out, but I’m afraid I had nothing but sharp words for my brother – words born more from exhaustion than from any anger.

“But early in October, Cecelia herself came to me and begged to speak with me. Tears streaked her face and her hair lay in ragged tangles down her back. Barely had she entered the chapel than she fell to her knees and clutched my ankles, weeping. ‘Father,’ she cried, ‘I have committed a terrible sin! I have betrayed the Virgin’s trust in me! I have dishonoured my father and my mother!’

“She might have continued on that way but that I stopped her and asked her to explain herself more clearly. Amidst many sobs, she finally related to me that, although William had often sought me out to wed them, I had turned my brother away. And so, unable to gain the blessing of either father or brother, William had convinced Cecelia to pledge herself to him and to live with him as though they were married. He had even given her the locket that had belonged to our mother, and our grandmother, when first our house joined with the Barons of Branning. That had been September. But now Cecelia found herself with child and could not bear the shame.

“The doom my father had written to me came clearly to my mind, as did the words of the good friar.
 
I comforted Cecelia as best I could. At last, I sent word by way of a boy whom I had employed to help me tend the hermitage asking William to meet me at the chapel. The wedding ceremony was performed with none of the pomp the marriage of a baron should entail – and yet the union was now valid, my brother confirmed, and the child legitimate. No witnesses were there, except perhaps the soul of the good friar – and that lack, my dear Frau Tilney, proved to be the ruin of us all.

“Young Wilhelm Wiltford, heir to the Baron of Branning and Brandenburg, was born eight months later.
 
One year after that news came of my father’s death. We none of us had ever told him of his eldest son’s fate, although perhaps his faithful Edric had written him – or spoken with him directly.
 
Certainly, he had not been seen since the marriage of my brother and Fortuna.
 
We thought ourselves safe, until that old demon reappeared with word of our father’s death.
 
Perhaps news of my brother’s conversion killed him.
 
Perhaps Edric threw my father from a window, as I fear he did to my brother this past….
 
But I do not know.
 

“At that time when William held the two titles, his wife was beloved of all his people, and his son likewise. Those were merry days, when comings and goings between Nachtstürm and my hermitage were many. I can still seem to see the young, foreign Baroness riding down the hills on her white pony, with her husband at her side and her son in his arms. Already, the Välich called her Donna Fortuna – and I prayed the name might be well chosen.

“One canker only remained: Edric.

“
What does one do with a devil?
Commend him to Christ? Cast holy water at him? Offer a thousand masses? Believe me, all these things I did – and
still
he remains. We could not rout him, or feared to, or thought ourselves guarded even when a townsperson would think he saw a shadow on the road that was not their own.
 
When these rumours came, I prayed and blessed the spot.
 
But perhaps the prayers of an unclean priest cannot be answered. I could comfort myself with thoughts of Job, but that I am unworthy of such a comparison.

“Seven years passed, and young Wilhelm grew to be a fine, strong lad, beloved of all whom he met. Yet the shadow that had lurked on the edges of our memories chose to haunt us that same year.

“ ‘I have dreamt again, Fra Andreas,’ Donna Fortuna said to me one chill morning, sitting just where you are now, Frau Tilney. I prompted her to tell me more, plying her with tea – a tribute to my dual heritage. ‘Again I saw the Virgin,’ Cecelia explained.
 
I remember my sister’s face was very white. ‘Again the Madonna held forth a glass – a single chalice. I took it and looked inside and smelt the cheapest of wines that even Herr Fougerous would be ashamed to serve to the vile Ulrich.
Drink
, the Virgin said, but I could not. My throat had clenched with the bitter smell of it, and so I pleaded for respite. Again she commanded that I drink. Again I refused.
My child
, said she, and her eyes were so kind and sorrowful I could barely look into them without weeping myself,
my child, have you forgotten your oath?
Then I did weep, and begged her to plead with her Son for another martyrdom, for vintage of another sort. But she only said,
You have tended the vine yourself; I bring you your own harvest.
’

“ ‘Did you drink at last?’ I asked, when it seemed my dear sister could speak no more.

“Cecelia shook her head slowly, the veil wavering like a fallen bit of moonshine. The Virgin was not without mercy, she explained. Cecelia had been granted leave to consult me. I nearly wept then with her, for all my plans had gone awry and compromised my office. What could I do? I sent her away with a blessing and then turned myself to prayer.

“That evening, I climbed the hill to Nachtstürm.
 
A heavy climb it seemed to me, Frau Tilney, for I had heard no answer for all my supplication, although that is sometimes its own response. No sooner had I come to the courtyard than I was met by my brother, who seemed in a rage to fair shake the foundation of the mountains.

“ ‘One side, Andrew,’ he said to me, between his teeth. Two dogs bayed at his heels, fine sleek hunters eager to be off. His hands clutched a gun; another gun was strapped across his back. Powder horns hung by his side. Several servants came rushing out just then, some carrying more weapons, others handling dogs. From one side, I could hear the clop of horse’s hooves upon the stones, running towards us.

“ ‘Are you going to war, William?’ I asked with a nervous laugh.

“ ‘Against Edric, yes.’

“I kept the horror from my face as best I could, saying lightly, ‘And you expect to find him without your home?
 
Within the woods?
 
Has he not left this morning?’