As part of the celebration for the paperback launch (whee! I actually have a book coming out in paperback--hallelujah!) here's another scene I deleted from an early draft of The Countess, when Erzsebet is first walled up in her tower. The soldiers built the gallows as a warning to any passersby that the lady of the house was a prisoner there, and condemned to die if the palatine decided he wanted her to.
Now the old manservant left to me comes up the stairs of my tower and takes away yesterday’s tray, sliding it through the slit in my doorway, and replaces it with a new one. Cold porridge again, and a piece of bread, and a small jug of water that is meant to last the day. The water is clean and cold, at least, and there is also a nub of a candle, already half-burnt. The old man, Jarek, whispers my name through the crack and apologizes that he does not have better to give me, for, he says, the palatine’s guards have taken away most the food and wine stored in the house, most of the candles and oil, for their own use. “I hope to have better tomorrow, your Ladyship,” he says.
“Wait,” I say, and through my door-slit I can see his feet pause on the wooden floorboards. “What news of the trial? What has happened?”
There is no answer. Perhaps he is afraid to tell me, but I ask again. “There is no word from Bickse at all? The others—Jo Ilona, and Dorko, and Ficzko. Do they still live?”
“No one has told me anything, my lady,” he says. “The soldiers stand in my way when they see me coming with your meals, and say that they will open the wall and put me in with you.” I’m about to tell him I would not allow such a thing to happen, but the words die in my mouth. I have no power to protect him, not here, in my present circumstances. Instead, he says, “This morning they began work on the gallows in the courtyard just after daybreak.” His voice trembles.
“I heard them,” I say. “Do not be afraid. No one will harm you. The soldiers only tease you to raise my ire. You have done nothing that deserves punishment. The palatine will hear from me if you are mistreated.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he says. Then he goes away again until the next morning, his steps growing fainter as he returns down the stairs.
I’m sorry to see him go. Even the guards are gone for the moment. It must be dull work for them now that I’m shut up inside my tower, for they have grown lax about keeping their place outside my door. I suppose they are downstairs someplace, watching the workmen at their task, or else getting drunk on the good wine I have had stored in the castle cellars. Or perhaps they are down at the castle gate to make certain no one comes inside without the palatine’s permission, for I still have friends and family who might come to my aid.
No matter. The guards will not leave me alone for long.
I take up the tray the old man brought and poke at my breakfast, though I have no stomach this morning. The food is as gray as the sky, nothing more than the barest nourishment, a flavorless mush without even a bit of honey or some milk to sweeten it. I wish I had a fire at least and could warm the porridge, which has grown cold in the servant’s slow walk between the kitchen and the tower. I push the tray aside. I know I will eat it later, when my hunger takes hold with greater force, but for now I refuse to look at it.
Underneath the tray, to my astonishment, I find a parchment and a quill wrapped in a cloth. I fumble at the tray and then a small pot of India ink, half-used, reveals itself from under an overturned pewter cup. I snatch these up and take them to my table, rubbing them in my cold hands as if I cannot believe they are real. The old servant has done his job true. His loyalties are still to me, and he knows I will reward him for it when I can. Tomorrow when he comes again I will have a letter waiting for him, a letter to my daughter Katelin and her husband, Gyorgy Drugeth, at their castle at Hommona, where they have horses and carriages, and soldiers, and money and power still at their disposal, power I will ask them to put to use for my sake. Gyorgy Drugeth owes me much—Kata’s dowries were great and swelled his coffers and his lands considerably. I’m not so powerless as the palatine would have me. My family is still a powerful force in Hungary, and I will make him remember it.
I dip the quill into the ink and carefully shake off the extra drop back into the pot. It will not do to waste any of it when I have so many people to write to, so much help to ask. My beloved Kata, I begin, your mother has been unjustly imprisoned and accused. My situation is dire, as I have no fire and little food, and I suffer greatly day and night from cold and much neglect at the hands of my captors.
The accusations my enemies level at me aren’t true. I never laid a hand on any person in an unjust fashion, noble or common. The servants have created these lies to get their revenge on me, and as you know I have long had enemies among the nobility, men and women jealous of my power and position. I have immediate need of whatever help you and Gyorgy Drugeth can give, in terms of money, or clothes, or food that you can send…
Watch this space for more of the internet site tour later this week, and Mondays during the month of October for more deleted scenes and bonus material.
