survived made Nicolas uneasy and he did not wish Rózsa to be on hand should something go wrong. He prepared himself for what might be a long wait.
Long days and uneventful nights passed, until one night the peace was rent by screams of terror, coming from Marlowe’s chamber. The household converged to find the door bolted from the inside and heard the sounds of struggle weakening within.
“We must break it down,” Nicolas shouted. He lent his strength to the servant’s efforts and within seconds stepped into the chamber. Marlowe was there, crouching over the limp form of one of the serving wenches, Annette, who had come to check on him, as she did every morning and evening. Blood dripped from his lips, drawn back in a feral grin. The torchlight glittered in his remaining eye and there was nothing human in his face.
Nicolas snatched a torch from a servant and used it to drive the snarling beast from his kill. When he was backed into a corner, batting at the torch and howling his pain and rage, Nicolas motioned and two of the grooms leapt in to drag the girl’s body from the room. “She lives,” someone said and Nicolas sighed in relief. With animal cunning, Marlowe was watching, looking for an opening. When one of the grooms returned, he glanced away just long enough for Nicolas to stun him with the butt-end of the torch. They bound the unconscious man securely to his bed-frame, and Nicolas gave orders that the door be repaired and strengthened, and that the bolt be removed from the inside. He turned his attention to the injured wench.
She had been violated, he saw with disgust, brutally, and then almost drained of blood. More than ever he wished for Geoffrey’s advice, his knowledge. Had their brilliant young poet become no more than a monster? Would this be the extent of his new life? If so, it would not be a long one. The servants took the girl away to care for her and he went to calm himself by writing. He had not been at it long when he heard horses; Geoffrey had arrived at last.
“You should have kept him bound—did you not receive my letter?” Geoffrey said, pacing by the fire. Nicolas shook his head. “This is but his animal nature that has awakened, his passions and furies. It often happens so when there are such injuries to the brain as those that took his life; it was also thus with me. But, even so, he may yet heal and so we must watch over him and wait.”
“My poor unfortunate friend! And if he gets no better?”
“Then, my old friend, we shall be forced to destroy him,” Geoffrey answered, gently. “If his wits have gone, it would be no kindness to let his body live on as a ravening beast. Where is Rózsa?”
“In Paris,” Nicolas said thankfully. “I shall send her word not to return yet awhile.”
“I think that would be best.”
Part Two:
SHADOWS RELICT
Chapter 1
I struggled for a time against the bindings that held me fast, then gave up in exhaustion. I was in total darkness, half sitting in what seemed to be a bed. My arms were stretched out to either side and securely tied. A wide band crossed my midsection, and my feet were caught together and knotted firmly to the bed’s foot. Pillows cushioned my contact with the headboard behind me, which also seemed to be swathed in many layers of soft cloth. My bonds, so my questing fingers told me, were wrappings of the finest silk. I tried to remember what may have brought me to my present pass, but other than a few random images, I could remember nothing—nothing at all, not even my name.
Fear coiled in me, leaving me shaking and sick. I wrenched again at the bonds, frantically, when I heard a door open and saw the glow of a candle. “Where am I?” I whispered, but the serving wench who carried the candle only squeaked at my faint words and ran from the room. I tried to call out after her but again only produced a whisper. The light, however brief, had given me further food for thought: the room looked curiously flat and I seemed to be blind in my right eye.
The door opened again and a heavyset, jovial man of middle-age bounced through it. He set his candle upon a table and turned to the bed, his broad and placid face beaming.