Another Kind of Magic by Elizabeth Davies

Author:Elizabeth Davies
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elizabeth Davies
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Killing becomes easier the more often you do it, or so it is said. The first death is an assault on the soul, however much that death is deserved or justified. By the fifth, the mind must inevitably have become accustomed to it. How else could men live with themselves after battle, men like Hugh, seasoned fighters, who were at the peak of their profession. He had probably killed hundreds of men on the field, and several off it. I wondered if he had ever killed a woman.

Five men had died at my hand, and all of the killings had been justified. They had been in self-defence, except one, Idris, but he had deserved it most of all. I had used a knife on two of them, poison on the other three.

Poison was a woman’s weapon of choice, easily concealable, easily administered, not needing strength or ferocity, and a person did not have to linger to witness the results. The poisoner could be many miles, and many days, away from her victim. Depending on the skill of the person preparing the potion and the poison selected, death could even appear to be from natural causes. You didn’t have to be a witch to use poison. Plus, the method was considerably more dependable than a curse or an incantation.

I carried the pouch containing the ground root and the dried berries with me at all times, tied to a cord around my waist and buried deep underneath my clothes. The cord, although made of soft, fine-woven silk, rubbed and chaffed my skin. The contents of the pouch rubbed and chaffed my mind.

It was irritating me right now, as was Hesta, who had forgone morning mass to stand sentinel and now stuck as close to me as a shoe on a foot, hardly leaving me sufficient room to wield my spoon as I broke my fast. I ate my boiled oats in silence, the atmosphere in the great hall subdued and sleepy. I envisaged plenty of sore heads this morning. Looking around, I saw no one I recognised. Neither Lord William nor his wife was in the hall, and nor was Hugh.

As soon as Hesta rose to fetch a portion of bread from the trestle table on which the breakfast foods were laid, I made a dash for the door. Solitude was what I craved, and I wouldn’t find it with Lady Eva’s terrier on my heels.

Some days my burdens were heavier than others. Today they threatened to crush me. I had to be alone. The presence of others stung my mind, like salt rubbed into a wound, so I headed for the one place to guarantee serenity – the chapel.

Cold air, bitter and sharp, stung my nose as I hurried across the bailey. It was December and winter would not be denied, creeping with relentless determination over the land into halls and hovels alike. A hard frost lay on the hills, and the tops of the mountains were draped in cloud. Smoke rose in slanted columns to mix with the mist, their wraith-like tentacles reaching skywards.

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