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The Ottoman war, the scapegoat used as the Master and Mistress of Cachtice Castle sent patrols roaming through their land. They demanded an increase in taxes as blood money for protection from the invaders, and those who couldn't pay were dumped in debtor's prison, or given the opportunity to give up their daughters for castle work. Who would pick prison over losing a daughter? Certainly not Jolan's father, though it was a unanimous family decision. Her mother whispered that she might have a chance to learn to be a lady in waiting for the Mistress. This would get her out of working the wheat fields and possibly wedded to someone with a land and maybe a title! Words that sparked hope in the young woman as she'd reached her prime and was edging into spinsterhood. At 18 summers, she was considered a late bloomer and not for a lack of suitors. No one had met her father's rigid standards and therefore, her suitors had gone away.
Now, though, she'd be rubbing elbows with noblemen and knights alike and her chances of marrying in a higher class were greater. Therefore, she went willingly when the guards came for her, noticing the other hopeful faces of girls picked to be the tribute and save their families. Would they be competition for a suitable beau? She'd know soon enough.
Cachtice Castle was easily the biggest thing she'd ever seen, being a country girl, and she wasn't the only one gawping at the stone monstrocity. Inside the gates, everyone was somber and not meeting eyes. They went about their business with a single mindedness, though there was a slight shock that there weren't any young girls in the streets, selling wares, or causing havoc. There were babes in arms and matronly women, but… but perhaps they had fathers like her who didn't want them gaining the eye of a man who spent the majority of his life out on patrol. That had to be it. Right?
A matronly old woman met the group outside one of the side entrances, eyes flicking over the lot of them, "I am Dorottya, and I'm caretaker of this castle. You are under my command unless the Master or Mistress say differently. The Master is unwell and he will not be disturbed. Understood? You're not here to socialize, you're here to work because your family can't pay their taxes. No hanky panky is going to be happenin' under my watch or there'll be harsh consequences. Now, any questions?"
A few mouths opened to speak, only to snap shut as dull grey eyes stared them down. "Right. No questions. Come this way. I'll show you the kitchens and your room. You will eat, then go to bed. We rise at dawn to get the castle's day started. If you want to eat, you will be up before dawn to do so. There'll be a pot on this fireplace," Dorottya talked as she walked, leading the girls through a large kitchen as she did. It was immaculately clean, though the three other women in the room cowered away from Dorottya, pretending to be busy peeling vegetables. The woman droned on in a crisp, almost condescending tone, dishes to be washed immediately, the kitchen staff were for nobility and not the help, she'd give out duties in the morning. Tardiness was punishable by l… lashings? Really?
Jolan made a mental note not to upset anyone if she could possibly get away with it. Their tour stopped in a small room without windows and only a few sconces for light. Three cots lined two of the walls and a table with a pitcher of water and a bowl was against the far wall with a chamber pot in the far corner. There were only 5 in their group, so they left the cot closest to the chamber pot empty. For obvious reasons. They huddled on their beds, still stunned and a bit too intimidated to talk for fear of the domineering woman who had her fist around their little lives.
Morning kicked them all in the gut like a mad donkey, leaving them groggily trying to wash up and race to the kitchens for their breakfast. Nothing had been said about any noon or evening meals and none of them dared to ask. It turned out that breakfast was a thin gruel that was flavorless, but filled the belly with some heat. They were mid-clean up when Dorottya made herself known, scowling at the five, "are you not done yet? The Master and Mistress are waiting and you're here being ungrateful little shits." Spattle flew from her lips, leaving her bottom lip and chin covered. A meaty hand wiped at it as those stone cold eyes made each one of them cringe into themselves. "I'll let you have today, but if you're not ready tomorrow, I will take a riding crop to your bare arses. Now…" She pointed to the youngest two, roughly 10 summers old each, "floors. Main hallway. I want it so clean that you can eat off of it." Her finger swung to the next two, "laundry. Take care. The Master and Mistress have their clothes handmade and imported in. Any damage, and I'll whip the meat from your bones." All four rushed off, not even knowing where they were going, but anxious to be away from the woman. They'd get directions from someone who looked a little bit less likely to beat them senseless.
That left Jolan under Dorottya's scrutiny, "old, aren't you? I reckon you'll be strong enough to help the Mistress with the Master. He's a bit much for her to handle alone. You are to be at her beck and call from this moment forward, even if it's in the wee hours of the morning. What happens in that room, stays in that room, or…" Or she'd get whipped. That much was understood. Jolan dipped her head and gave a small curtsy of respect that the woman hadn't earned. "Right. Off with you. Quietly. It's still early and the court hasn't properly woken." Jolan nodded and started speeding towards the doorway, "with the tray, you daft girl!" Exasperation preceded a sharp agony that raced across her backside. The crack was almost an afterthought. Her hands moved to cover her aching bottom as she stared at the angry woman, slack jawed.
"I… I'm sorry…" She reached for the tray, noticing her hands trembling in fear and made herself calm down. She'd most likely get worse than a riding crop across her bottom if she managed to spill the tray. She swallowed thickly, taking the tray in both hands, under the eyes of Dorottya, and carefully walking out of the room. A guard was stationed in a hallway and he unbent enough to give her directions to the master bedroom. It seemed as if he was used to giving directions to people.
The Master bedroom was in one of the most defensible parts of the castle and though the door was closed, a smell of sickness was emanating from the room. Her family was so far out in the kingdom, that only trickles of gossip reached their ears and there was a large chance that all that they heard was made up. The one about the Master getting injured fighting the Ottomans seemed to be true, though.
With both hands full, Jolan tapped lightly on the wood and iron construct that made up the door, "ma'am. I have breakfast ready for you." There was a silence that somehow felt irritated before the tapping of expensive shoes marched across the room, stopping as the door swung open.
The mistress was beautiful, with shining mahogany hair in an updo and porcelain skin that rarely saw the light of day to darken it. The scowl was the only thing marring her perfection, well, that, and the sparkle of anger in her eyes, "do you have to be so loud?" Her voice was cultured, making Jolan feel like what she was, a country bumpkin. Her own dark hair was a wind whipped tangled mess and her skin was toasted and freckled from many days toiling under a hot sun in the wheat fields. "Well? Go set the tray down and go to the window so I may get a good look at you." Mother Mary, please watch out for her soul before this demon woman sipped from it.
Jolan nearly fumbled the tray, but managed to save it at the last moment without spilling a drop. She wiped her hands against her threadbare tunic to remove the sweat from them. The sun was just spilling light into the room, but not enough to reach all the recesses or the marriage bed. There was a lump which she assumed was Count Nadasdy. In her perusal of her new charge, a harsh hand gripped her by the chin, turning her to face the Countess, "I did not give you leave to ignore me." The fingers tightened, forming bruises under them, "how old are you, girl?"
It was hard to speak with half her jaw being held in a vice-like grip, "E… eighteen summers, ma'am."
There was a tsking noise and suddenly the hand pushed her face away with enough force to make her stumble, "is this the best my land has to offer? Nevermind. Go wash my husband. Be thorough and don't mess up the bed."
Jolan dropped her head in a nod and was careful not to make eye contact after that as she rushed to do the Countess' bidding. Now she knew where Dorottya had gotten her mean spirit. Both could practically will one to die with just a glance.
Dark eyes stared at her from the bed, face sallow from sickness. Idly, Jolan wondered if the man would spread whatever he had to her, but dismissed the thought. The Countess wouldn't be up intimidating the castle help if he were. At this point, the fear was too strong for her to even think of disobeying her superiors.
He was wearing sweat stained clothes and the closer she got to him, the worse the smell was, and when she threw back the covers, the stench nearly knocked her over. She swallowed vomit back, and took a small hand towel from the side bar, dipping it in water. She'd wash his exposed skin first while she worked up the nerve to expose herself to her first naked man.
His nudity was the least of her worries. The sick man's hands made themselves busy, pinching her and giving her body rough strokes here and there while he practically stared her down. A glance at the Mistress showed she had no sympathy for the poor girl's plight. If anything, there was a hungry gleam every time Jolan was unable to avoid the touches.
She rushed where she could, but manhandling someone who out weighed you by nearly 6 stones put her in easy groping range. She left the room covered in bruises and welts and a battered soul. The other girls looked like they fared the same, though the youngest was missing. Little Ada hadn't returned from mopping the floors with Marta. When questioned, Marta had whispered that a guard had come in and purposefully stepped on Ada's hand while she was trying to dry the floor with cloth. He'd broken all of her fingers. Dorottya had come and ushered the girl away and Marta hadn't seen her since.
Jolan had bit her bottom lip and looked to the door of their room, wondering if she could get more information from the castle keeper, but fear of the whip had her hunker down in her cot, "maybe she's with the healer and we'll see her tomorrow." Right. Dread was her supper for that night and would be for the next few nights as their little group of five quickly dwindled in a matter of days. Marta failed to show up for bed two nights after Ada disappeared, Helena somehow went missing between waking up and breakfast and Barbara went to bed huddled in a cot next to Jolan, but wasn't there when Dorottya had given the wake up call. The elder woman refused to answer questions, ignored pleas, and rewarded them with a sharp backhand that had rattled her brains and knocked loose a few teeth. The guard in the hall had helped a slight bit more, saying that the girls had probably gone home because they couldn't handle castle life. Right. They were all here to protect their families, but being so young, they may not be thinking of all the consequences of going home. Their fathers would be in debtor's prison and unless their mothers and siblings could handle the farm on their own, they'd be removed from the land to be subject to fate. They'd had bad crops this past year, and whatever hadn't been damaged by the elements had been stolen by the Ottomans.
Jolan had curled in on herself, walking where she needed to via the copious shadows. She'd earned more marks on her body while tending the Count, by both the Count and the Countess. She was beginning to think that roaming the countryside with her mother would be better than being a handmaiden to the Count, but she couldn't do that to her beloved father. So, she'd remain here until she couldn't.
The Countess was nowhere to be seen that morning, which relieved Jolan as there would be one less person to abuse her poor person. The Count was his usual handsy self and she was able to avoid some of his touches that morning which put her in a slightly better mood. Once he'd been cleaned and fed, she took his soiled linens downstairs to the laundry to be taken care of. That's when Dorottya seemingly appeared out of the shadows, gripping her by her shoulder wordlessly and half dragged and half shoved her deeper into the bowels of the castle. Every complaint that slipped from Jolan's lips, resulted in a tighter grip and rougher treatment until she fell silent, though part of that was the stench coming from below, gagging them both.
It was when they were half way down a long, narrow staircase, that that gripping hand shifted to the middle of Jolan's back, and with a mighty shove, her body was propelled forward. Each step somehow found new ways to make the young lady suffer, until she was left sprawled in a heap on the landing. There were various broken bones, bruises, and blood was leaking out of her at an alarming rate.
"Was that absolutely necessary, Dorottya? Look at all that waste." A voice called out from the darkness, barely heard by the crumpled woman, "no helping it now. Gentlemen, if you will, string her up before we lose all that precious blood."
In and out of waves of darkness, Jolan came to as the agony sharpened, sending screams ripping from her throat and soul. The world flipped upside down and the Countess stepped into her line of sight. A wicked grin curled the woman's lips just as silver gleamed in the dim light of the flames. She was already suffering so much that she barely felt it when her neck and wrists were slashed, sending a flood of heat over her face and hands. Jolan was too battered to fight and what little she had left was rapidly flowing out of her. She was swinging slightly from her movements and the Countess flashed in and out of her vision interspersed with views of young girls chained to the walls in various states of decomposition and damage. The Countess Bathory had been wearing a simple cotton robe, which easily pooled around her feet as it dropped from her shoulders. The beautiful woman moved forward and stepped into the marble bathtub below Jolan's head. Congealing blood enveloped her feet up to the shins before the Mistress of the manner reclined herself, eyes watching Jolan swaying helplessly above her. There was a sigh of bliss, the last noise that Jolan heard, as the dying girl watched the blood drip from her fingertips, plip, plipping as each one joined its brothers in the darkness below.
Now, though, she'd be rubbing elbows with noblemen and knights alike and her chances of marrying in a higher class were greater. Therefore, she went willingly when the guards came for her, noticing the other hopeful faces of girls picked to be the tribute and save their families. Would they be competition for a suitable beau? She'd know soon enough.
Cachtice Castle was easily the biggest thing she'd ever seen, being a country girl, and she wasn't the only one gawping at the stone monstrocity. Inside the gates, everyone was somber and not meeting eyes. They went about their business with a single mindedness, though there was a slight shock that there weren't any young girls in the streets, selling wares, or causing havoc. There were babes in arms and matronly women, but… but perhaps they had fathers like her who didn't want them gaining the eye of a man who spent the majority of his life out on patrol. That had to be it. Right?
A matronly old woman met the group outside one of the side entrances, eyes flicking over the lot of them, "I am Dorottya, and I'm caretaker of this castle. You are under my command unless the Master or Mistress say differently. The Master is unwell and he will not be disturbed. Understood? You're not here to socialize, you're here to work because your family can't pay their taxes. No hanky panky is going to be happenin' under my watch or there'll be harsh consequences. Now, any questions?"
A few mouths opened to speak, only to snap shut as dull grey eyes stared them down. "Right. No questions. Come this way. I'll show you the kitchens and your room. You will eat, then go to bed. We rise at dawn to get the castle's day started. If you want to eat, you will be up before dawn to do so. There'll be a pot on this fireplace," Dorottya talked as she walked, leading the girls through a large kitchen as she did. It was immaculately clean, though the three other women in the room cowered away from Dorottya, pretending to be busy peeling vegetables. The woman droned on in a crisp, almost condescending tone, dishes to be washed immediately, the kitchen staff were for nobility and not the help, she'd give out duties in the morning. Tardiness was punishable by l… lashings? Really?
Jolan made a mental note not to upset anyone if she could possibly get away with it. Their tour stopped in a small room without windows and only a few sconces for light. Three cots lined two of the walls and a table with a pitcher of water and a bowl was against the far wall with a chamber pot in the far corner. There were only 5 in their group, so they left the cot closest to the chamber pot empty. For obvious reasons. They huddled on their beds, still stunned and a bit too intimidated to talk for fear of the domineering woman who had her fist around their little lives.
Morning kicked them all in the gut like a mad donkey, leaving them groggily trying to wash up and race to the kitchens for their breakfast. Nothing had been said about any noon or evening meals and none of them dared to ask. It turned out that breakfast was a thin gruel that was flavorless, but filled the belly with some heat. They were mid-clean up when Dorottya made herself known, scowling at the five, "are you not done yet? The Master and Mistress are waiting and you're here being ungrateful little shits." Spattle flew from her lips, leaving her bottom lip and chin covered. A meaty hand wiped at it as those stone cold eyes made each one of them cringe into themselves. "I'll let you have today, but if you're not ready tomorrow, I will take a riding crop to your bare arses. Now…" She pointed to the youngest two, roughly 10 summers old each, "floors. Main hallway. I want it so clean that you can eat off of it." Her finger swung to the next two, "laundry. Take care. The Master and Mistress have their clothes handmade and imported in. Any damage, and I'll whip the meat from your bones." All four rushed off, not even knowing where they were going, but anxious to be away from the woman. They'd get directions from someone who looked a little bit less likely to beat them senseless.
That left Jolan under Dorottya's scrutiny, "old, aren't you? I reckon you'll be strong enough to help the Mistress with the Master. He's a bit much for her to handle alone. You are to be at her beck and call from this moment forward, even if it's in the wee hours of the morning. What happens in that room, stays in that room, or…" Or she'd get whipped. That much was understood. Jolan dipped her head and gave a small curtsy of respect that the woman hadn't earned. "Right. Off with you. Quietly. It's still early and the court hasn't properly woken." Jolan nodded and started speeding towards the doorway, "with the tray, you daft girl!" Exasperation preceded a sharp agony that raced across her backside. The crack was almost an afterthought. Her hands moved to cover her aching bottom as she stared at the angry woman, slack jawed.
"I… I'm sorry…" She reached for the tray, noticing her hands trembling in fear and made herself calm down. She'd most likely get worse than a riding crop across her bottom if she managed to spill the tray. She swallowed thickly, taking the tray in both hands, under the eyes of Dorottya, and carefully walking out of the room. A guard was stationed in a hallway and he unbent enough to give her directions to the master bedroom. It seemed as if he was used to giving directions to people.
The Master bedroom was in one of the most defensible parts of the castle and though the door was closed, a smell of sickness was emanating from the room. Her family was so far out in the kingdom, that only trickles of gossip reached their ears and there was a large chance that all that they heard was made up. The one about the Master getting injured fighting the Ottomans seemed to be true, though.
With both hands full, Jolan tapped lightly on the wood and iron construct that made up the door, "ma'am. I have breakfast ready for you." There was a silence that somehow felt irritated before the tapping of expensive shoes marched across the room, stopping as the door swung open.
The mistress was beautiful, with shining mahogany hair in an updo and porcelain skin that rarely saw the light of day to darken it. The scowl was the only thing marring her perfection, well, that, and the sparkle of anger in her eyes, "do you have to be so loud?" Her voice was cultured, making Jolan feel like what she was, a country bumpkin. Her own dark hair was a wind whipped tangled mess and her skin was toasted and freckled from many days toiling under a hot sun in the wheat fields. "Well? Go set the tray down and go to the window so I may get a good look at you." Mother Mary, please watch out for her soul before this demon woman sipped from it.
Jolan nearly fumbled the tray, but managed to save it at the last moment without spilling a drop. She wiped her hands against her threadbare tunic to remove the sweat from them. The sun was just spilling light into the room, but not enough to reach all the recesses or the marriage bed. There was a lump which she assumed was Count Nadasdy. In her perusal of her new charge, a harsh hand gripped her by the chin, turning her to face the Countess, "I did not give you leave to ignore me." The fingers tightened, forming bruises under them, "how old are you, girl?"
It was hard to speak with half her jaw being held in a vice-like grip, "E… eighteen summers, ma'am."
There was a tsking noise and suddenly the hand pushed her face away with enough force to make her stumble, "is this the best my land has to offer? Nevermind. Go wash my husband. Be thorough and don't mess up the bed."
Jolan dropped her head in a nod and was careful not to make eye contact after that as she rushed to do the Countess' bidding. Now she knew where Dorottya had gotten her mean spirit. Both could practically will one to die with just a glance.
Dark eyes stared at her from the bed, face sallow from sickness. Idly, Jolan wondered if the man would spread whatever he had to her, but dismissed the thought. The Countess wouldn't be up intimidating the castle help if he were. At this point, the fear was too strong for her to even think of disobeying her superiors.
He was wearing sweat stained clothes and the closer she got to him, the worse the smell was, and when she threw back the covers, the stench nearly knocked her over. She swallowed vomit back, and took a small hand towel from the side bar, dipping it in water. She'd wash his exposed skin first while she worked up the nerve to expose herself to her first naked man.
His nudity was the least of her worries. The sick man's hands made themselves busy, pinching her and giving her body rough strokes here and there while he practically stared her down. A glance at the Mistress showed she had no sympathy for the poor girl's plight. If anything, there was a hungry gleam every time Jolan was unable to avoid the touches.
She rushed where she could, but manhandling someone who out weighed you by nearly 6 stones put her in easy groping range. She left the room covered in bruises and welts and a battered soul. The other girls looked like they fared the same, though the youngest was missing. Little Ada hadn't returned from mopping the floors with Marta. When questioned, Marta had whispered that a guard had come in and purposefully stepped on Ada's hand while she was trying to dry the floor with cloth. He'd broken all of her fingers. Dorottya had come and ushered the girl away and Marta hadn't seen her since.
Jolan had bit her bottom lip and looked to the door of their room, wondering if she could get more information from the castle keeper, but fear of the whip had her hunker down in her cot, "maybe she's with the healer and we'll see her tomorrow." Right. Dread was her supper for that night and would be for the next few nights as their little group of five quickly dwindled in a matter of days. Marta failed to show up for bed two nights after Ada disappeared, Helena somehow went missing between waking up and breakfast and Barbara went to bed huddled in a cot next to Jolan, but wasn't there when Dorottya had given the wake up call. The elder woman refused to answer questions, ignored pleas, and rewarded them with a sharp backhand that had rattled her brains and knocked loose a few teeth. The guard in the hall had helped a slight bit more, saying that the girls had probably gone home because they couldn't handle castle life. Right. They were all here to protect their families, but being so young, they may not be thinking of all the consequences of going home. Their fathers would be in debtor's prison and unless their mothers and siblings could handle the farm on their own, they'd be removed from the land to be subject to fate. They'd had bad crops this past year, and whatever hadn't been damaged by the elements had been stolen by the Ottomans.
Jolan had curled in on herself, walking where she needed to via the copious shadows. She'd earned more marks on her body while tending the Count, by both the Count and the Countess. She was beginning to think that roaming the countryside with her mother would be better than being a handmaiden to the Count, but she couldn't do that to her beloved father. So, she'd remain here until she couldn't.
The Countess was nowhere to be seen that morning, which relieved Jolan as there would be one less person to abuse her poor person. The Count was his usual handsy self and she was able to avoid some of his touches that morning which put her in a slightly better mood. Once he'd been cleaned and fed, she took his soiled linens downstairs to the laundry to be taken care of. That's when Dorottya seemingly appeared out of the shadows, gripping her by her shoulder wordlessly and half dragged and half shoved her deeper into the bowels of the castle. Every complaint that slipped from Jolan's lips, resulted in a tighter grip and rougher treatment until she fell silent, though part of that was the stench coming from below, gagging them both.
It was when they were half way down a long, narrow staircase, that that gripping hand shifted to the middle of Jolan's back, and with a mighty shove, her body was propelled forward. Each step somehow found new ways to make the young lady suffer, until she was left sprawled in a heap on the landing. There were various broken bones, bruises, and blood was leaking out of her at an alarming rate.
"Was that absolutely necessary, Dorottya? Look at all that waste." A voice called out from the darkness, barely heard by the crumpled woman, "no helping it now. Gentlemen, if you will, string her up before we lose all that precious blood."
In and out of waves of darkness, Jolan came to as the agony sharpened, sending screams ripping from her throat and soul. The world flipped upside down and the Countess stepped into her line of sight. A wicked grin curled the woman's lips just as silver gleamed in the dim light of the flames. She was already suffering so much that she barely felt it when her neck and wrists were slashed, sending a flood of heat over her face and hands. Jolan was too battered to fight and what little she had left was rapidly flowing out of her. She was swinging slightly from her movements and the Countess flashed in and out of her vision interspersed with views of young girls chained to the walls in various states of decomposition and damage. The Countess Bathory had been wearing a simple cotton robe, which easily pooled around her feet as it dropped from her shoulders. The beautiful woman moved forward and stepped into the marble bathtub below Jolan's head. Congealing blood enveloped her feet up to the shins before the Mistress of the manner reclined herself, eyes watching Jolan swaying helplessly above her. There was a sigh of bliss, the last noise that Jolan heard, as the dying girl watched the blood drip from her fingertips, plip, plipping as each one joined its brothers in the darkness below.