Dark souls

6

    Opening her eyelids with difficulty, Jane was surprised to see a glass of water and a biscuit on the table by her bed. She didn't want to eat, but the thirst was strong. “God, what did I eat for breakfast? she asked herself, feeling her head. The head was like a big cast-iron cauldron: empty and heavy. - What am I doing here? I had to run away from here yesterday. Where did Mary go? Maybe she was drugged with the same stuff that I was, and she just can't get up? God, how I want to drink! Despite her thirst, Jane fought with herself as best she could. Although she ate and drank only at the common table, she had no doubt that her incomprehensible dream after breakfast had something to do with the dishes served on it. Jane distracted herself, but her gaze stubbornly returned to the glass of water. Finally, unable to control herself, she rushed to him like a hungry wolf to a sheep. quench my thirst, she was surprised to feel that her anxieties had gone somewhere, and the light from the candles and the fireplace in the room became brighter. Perhaps Bianca really is out of her mind, she thought lazily. “And brother and sister are a little strange. However, after the weddingand the Gladstone mok will be brought into proper shape. Bertrand de Gault will take care of it. And as for his wives, then about Gilles de Re *, the notorious Bluebeard, and not such rumors circulated. As far as I remember, half of them were fiction. It's just that people are bored with living an ordinary life, so they invent nonsense. And if a person is a little different from everyone else, then gossips are only happy to scratch their tongues and intimidate neighbors. Yes, the appearance of Guillaume le Mouy is ugly, and Bertrand de Gou had no luck with wives. But this is no reason to call their family cursed . Bianchi's religious fanaticism and abstinence are all mixed up in her head. Can the old dwarf be her son? This is just a crazy old man who was taken in by rich relatives out of pity. Son! Wow! What nonsense!

         Jane surprised herself. The rare glimmer of consciousness was invaded by the thought that something was wrong with her in this castle. But then a calming wave rolled over her, and she stopped worrying.

         She spent the whole day in the library, reading The Romance of the Maiden. When she picked up a book, she was pierced by a thought - this is not Virgil, not Dante, whom she loved as close relatives. And a love-sentimental chivalric novel, which she had not read since childhood. But this thought was followed by another: so what if you haven’t read since childhood? The head, like the body, must rest. And serious things make her very tired. And so the "Romance of the Maiden" lay in front of her, and next to it were several more books on a similar topic. Reading them, Jane brushed away involuntary tears. Sometimes she caught herself thinking that she had not cried for such trifles for a long time. “This is all a wedding and a gloomymok. My nerves can't stand it, - looking away from the book, she thought. - And who said that I should be a stone statue? God gave man the ability to cry and laugh not so that he would cover these abilities with dust. Then it would be blasphemy and disrespect for the gifts of the Heavenly Father.”

         Turning a few more pages, Jane slammed the book shut and picked up another. It was a collection of ballads about a beautiful lady. Opening it at random, which was also unusual for her, since she loved to read books from beginning to end, Jane burst into tears almost immediately.

Our herb has a strange effect on your bride,” said Guillaume le Mouy, watching Jane through a slit in the tapestry, as Bertrand quietly approached. - Togo's eyes will turn red.

And what? Afraid of being mistaken for a vampire? She's worse. Our Aunt Claude drank other people's blood until she got a pitchfork in her heart. And that blacksmith did the right thing: there is nothing to wander around the villages on a full moon and scare the peasants. Was it not enough for her those three virgins that she received every month along with pigs and cows?

         Guillaume le Muy frowned.

Don't frown, uncle," Bertrand chuckled behind him. “I know that you loved her. After all, I loved her too,” he added meaningfully.

         Guillaume le Mouy twitched his ugly shoulder and turned to Bertrand.

Is the seamstress already here?

Imagine, uncle, - Bertrand crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the stone wall. This impudent woman had the audacity to say that she was afraid.

What? Me or you? Or maybe a bride?

No, he is afraid to come to the castle .

Devil. So take her, - he poked at the tapestry. - To her. This Zhavot began to annoy me with its whims.

Her name is Joveta. And she can be accommodating, - Bertrand closed his eyes and smiled lustfully.

Damn bastard! When will you stop? cried Guillaume le Mouy.

Be careful, uncle,” Bertrand said coldly, narrowing his eyes. - How would you not wake up without a head.

         Guillaume le Muy frowned at his predatory grin and said more quietly:

How can you not understand. If all this reaches Pope Paul, he will not excommunicate us from the church, like King Henry, he will simply send the Jesuits to us, and they, with the help of the Inquisition, will send us to the stake.

Far from Paul the Third ...

No further than Henry the Eighth was before him. Despite the fact that Luther's religion * draws crowds of people, he was burned at the stake. And he was not a simple monk - a theologian with followers. Philip the Fourth did not regret not only Jacques de Molay, but the entire order. And among the Templars there were very noble families. Gilles de Re, the glorious marshal of the Hundred Years War, an ally of Joan of Arc, who, however, betrayed her, but that's another story. So, he, this beautiful warrior was forced to confess what we are doing, almost without hiding. And do you know how it ended? He was burned alive at the stake.

Why are you croaking, uncle, - Bertrand stretched lazily. - If you believe the legend, then only the thirteenth descendant will not be in trouble. And we are only at the top of the list, in the top ten.

Five or ten, I don't care. I don't believe in legends. I want to live the way I live now. Without fear that some monk in a klobuk or a peasant with an ax would smash my life and my castle to dust.

My lock , " said Bertrand coldly. Don't forget, uncle.

Good, - Guillaume le Mouy grimaced in annoyance. Yours, mine, what's the difference? After all, we are relatives.

More than, - Bertrand laughed. - Our grandmother invented a good joke to prevent Providence from counting generations.

Yes, our grandmother, Catherine de Gou, was something else, - On the gloomy face of Guillaume le Mouy, something like a sly smile flashed. - Despite these ugly growths that popped up on her like mushrooms after rain, she was a frisky old woman. How she whipped the servants before making love to them! The floor was all red with blood.

Imagine, uncle, one liked it.

I remember how, barely breathing, he crawled at her feet and asked her to flog him again.

And she put her huge foot on his penis and said: today you will be of no use. And then, as it should, she pressed on him, so that the poor fellow went into convulsions all over his body. Then he died.

How do you know all this?

Yes, I was in the front row. On that day, my grandmother took my innocence.

Yes? And I thought it was me...

No, uncle. You were later. But what a grandmother was a craftsman!

It was said in the village that she flies to the Sabbath every Friday.

For what? We have no worse place here, - Bertrand grinned, and they both burst out laughing.

So what about this Joveta? asked Guillaume le Mouy, leaning again to the hole in the tapestry.

But nothing. We have girls who will iron and clean the dress. In the end, anyone will do. Don't put off your wedding because of him.

 Guillaume le Mouy frowned at his nephew and moved away from the hole. Bertrand took his place.

         For some time, the uncle watched his nephew, then quietly left along the stone corridor. Bertrand looked back at him, his lips twisted into a smirk, and he again clung to the hole.