Bathed In Blood. Alex Archer

so much that he stumbled backward.

      A hearty laugh—a laugh he recognized—filled the chamber as the woman rising from the bath caught sight of him.

      “What’s the matter, György? Surely you’ve seen a naked woman before?”

       Elizabeth!

      He stood there staring—he couldn’t help himself. The countess stood thigh deep in the tub, the fluid slowly sliding down her curves and back into the bath, allowing her pale skin to peek out from the crimson flow. Her usually raven-black hair was highlighted with streaks of color, and her blue eyes peered out of a face that seemed to be camouflaged in red paint.

      When she licked her lips, he was reminded that it wasn’t paint at all, but blood.

       Human blood.

      “My God, Elizabeth, what have you done?”

      She laughed again, longer and harder this time, and he realized that asking what she hadn’t done might have proved a more useful starting point.

      Even so, her answer surprised him.

      “What have I done? I’ve found the very thing man has spent centuries searching for, the very thing he thought forever out of reach. I’ve found the secret to immortality!”

      Thurzó couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

      “Immortality? You’re insane! Look at yourself, Elizabeth. You’re covered in blood, for heaven’s sake!”

      “Yes, look at me, György. Look at me!” she exclaimed, spreading her arms to draw his attention to her body. “I’m fifty years old and I look like a girl of twenty-five! I’m getting younger with every treatment.”

      Thurzó was looking; as morbid as the scene was he couldn’t take his gaze off her. He told himself he was looking for evidence to back up her claims, preposterous as they were, but deep down he knew the truth. Countess Elizabeth Báthory was a beauty, even as she appeared now; Thurzó couldn’t deny that. He’d found her attractive when they were younger, when she’d been betrothed to his friend, and the years had only done her justice.

      He looked because he wanted to look. It was as simple as that.

       Rounded wounds, like those caused by a pike or an auger...

      The thought slipped in like an enemy from the shadows, reminding him of just how the countess and her companions had obtained all the blood currently steaming in the sunken bath and Thurzó was suddenly ashamed.

      He focused his gaze just beyond her, so he could see her movements but wouldn’t be so tempted to stare. Thurzó tried to figure out just how many bodies it must take to fill a tub of that size. And she had mentioned multiple treatments...

      “I don’t care what you claim to have discovered,” he said through a jaw stiffened with anger and distaste. He waved with his free hand at the bath before him. “You should be struck down where you stand for this...this abomination!”

      Elizabeth walked forward slowly, swaying slightly as if listening to some sensual rhythm only she could hear. Thurzó tried to keep his gaze focused over her shoulder, but the closer she came, the more difficult that was, until he had no choice but to face her.

      By now she was only a few feet away.

      His gaze found hers, and then, as if by its own volition, dropped to her body once more.

      Catching himself, he looked back into her face and saw her smirking at him.

      “Oh, but you’re not going to do that, are you, György?” she asked softly. “There are other things you’d much rather do than strike me down.”

      She was right; he could no more hurt her than he could grow wings and fly. The sad truth was that he’d been in love with Elizabeth Báthory for years.

      Elizabeth moved closer, until her blood-slicked body was just inches from his own. He could feel the heat rising from it as she said, “So what are you going to do, György?”

      Thurzó stared deep into her eyes, letting her see the storm that raged within him, and then, steeling himself, said, “In the name of His Majesty, King Matthias II, and under the authority granted to me as the palatine of Hungary, I place you under arrest for the torture and murder of multiple young women under your care...”

      Bytča, Hungary

      January 1611

      THE TRIAL WAS a madhouse.

      Thurzó had been observing the proceedings from the balcony overlooking the judges’ box for the past several days. He’d watched witness after witness take the stand and condemn the three women and one man on trial for the evils conducted at Csejte and elsewhere.

      Elizabeth herself was not on trial; she remained at Csejte Castle under house arrest, guarded by ten of his most trusted men. It had taken considerable effort on his part to convince King Matthias that putting a member of the upper nobility on trial would serve little purpose. Báthory came from a wealthy and influential family; angering them by trying and executing her, which was precisely what Matthias wanted to happen, would have caused no end of difficulties. Thurzó had hoped to convince the king that Elizabeth should be spirited away to a nunnery for the remainder of her days, but that possibility became less and less likely as word of Báthory’s involvement in the atrocities quickly spread.

      Just the day before a journal was produced as evidence by one of the maids, listing six hundred and fifty victims who’d died by Elizabeth’s hand. Thurzó hadn’t seen it himself, so he couldn’t vouch for its authenticity, but at this point it really didn’t matter. Elizabeth was responsible for killing young women and stealing their blood. Thurzó had witnessed her crimes firsthand.

      Commotion spread through the courtroom below, breaking into Thurzó’s thoughts. Leaning over the banister, he could see that Royal Supreme Court Judge Theodosius Syrmiensis was returning to his seat while his twenty co-judges took their places in the judges’ box.

      Thurzó felt his pulse race; a verdict must have been reached.

      Judge Syrmiensis sat down and waited for the wardens to restore order to the room. When all was quiet, he faced the defendants.

      “Dorotya Semtész, Ilona Jó, Katarína Benická and János Fickó, this court finds you guilty of eighty counts of murder.”

      A roar went up in the courtroom, and the judge had to wait until the wardens could quiet everyone a second time.

      “Defendants Semtész, Jó and Fickó shall be put to death, sentence to be carried out immediately. Defendant Benická is sentenced to life imprisonment. The court has spoken.”

      Commotion erupted again, but Thurzó had lost interest. The verdict was exactly what he’d predicated; Benická had been bullied by the others and therefore deserved a lesser sentence, an opinion he had stressed during his own testimony a few days earlier.

      Justice had been served.

      A memory of Elizabeth rising out of the pool of blood reminded him that one aspect of this whole mess still needed to be resolved. Thankfully the verdict would give him the opportunity to see the king and plead his case again.

      Perhaps this time the king might listen...

      Forty minutes later he was ushered into the king’s meeting chamber, where he found Elizabeth’s eldest son, Paul, already in conference with His Majesty.

      “Ah, welcome, Thurzó,” the king said when he arrived. “How goes the trial?”

      “Judge Syrmiensis returned a guilty verdict less than an hour ago. The three sentenced to death have little time left in this world.”

      “And thank God for that,” the king said with a grim expression. “A nasty business all around.”

      Thurzó glanced at Paul, but the other man wouldn’t meet his eye. A tremor of concern shook Thurzó.