It seemed like she spent an eternity lost in thought in the tower, watching the comings and goings of those in the town below. What must it have been to live their lives? Freedom of sorts. To toil in the wash house or amongst the ovens would seem to hold some simple pleasure. She saw it in the eyes of the serving staff as they busied themselves about the castle. Despite their poor situations, they had something that she lacked now more than ever.
Even in their hardships these women had some chance to better their situation. Many of those below would have more luck in marriage, Perchta thought. Afterall few could be as unlucky to find so miserable a wretch for a husband. A man that would treat their wife with contempt, even scorn. So that now she stayed protected in her father’s castle, alone, hidden from the world to spare him from embarrassment. It was a mutual avoidance however as Perchta harboured her own resentment.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, she pulled her robe tighter to keep out the chill. The frigid air was a sharp reminder that she would soon have to return inside, to the letter that had sat on her writing desk for several days. Her attempts to ignore it had left her in a spiral of melancholy. Perchta knew what she must do, she would answer her husband’s call one last time. Her own virtues made this decision clear, but she loathed leaving the sanctuary of Krumlov, especially to return to that hateful place.
The thought of Mikulov once more was enough to almost dissuade her from returning. Arriving there the first time she had been filled with anxiety at meeting her betrothed. Afterall, she knew little of Jan and they had only met once briefly in Kromlov when he had accompanied his father there years before on a visit. She could not have pictured the man before stepping out of the carriage. Even then they spent such little time together over the preceding days before the wedding that she had no way of recognising his true character.
It wasn’t until they were alone that his sadistic nature took control. She still shivered at the thought of his hands on her throat, squeezing the life from her. Each time after that first encounter, he found new ways to torture her. These acts would excite him as he took what he wanted, the husband’s right. He was always quick to leave her room afterwards as she lay broken and in tears. At some point she stopped crying and just curled up once he was gone. The hardest part in those early days had been seeing him the next morning as he would act with an almost doting attitude. A reminder that she too must continue to act the part.
She remembered a momentary glimmer of hope that providing an heir might earn her some reprieve from his brutality. That quickly vanished the day of the tournament held in honour of their son’s birth. Of course, she did not attend after her confinement, but Jan had once more indulged himself to excess before seeking comfort in the arms of his mistress. This had not bothered Perchta and had been a welcomed impact of her pregnancy and afterwards she felt like the distraction might continue. Unfortunately, such hopes were short lived. Once finished with his whore for the night Jan had come for his son who nestled quietly in Perchta’s arms. On unsteady legs he had pulled their baby from her arms leaving her to weep alone.
It had been symbolic of her relationship with her children. Never given the freedom to form meaningful connections, each tender moment in their quickly shattered. As they grew, Jan began taking more interest in their son’s education, specially making sure that he installed in him the values that drove his own cruel heart. She shuddered at the thought that the boy she held as a child might be so much like his father. Leaving him behind had been the hardest part of her decision to flee back to her family home and her brother’s protection, but by then it already seemed too late. After so many years, how could she bring herself to look at him?
She was determined, despite these misgivings, that she would do her duty. It was laughable in some ways that Jan no doubt expected her to follow his wishes as he lay dying. He knew she would not deny such a request, her values that he had teased mercilessly after all would dictate her actions as they had when her father arranged the marriage. Perchta was as much a victim of her own education and virtue as anything, it pained her to think about her own culpability, but she knew in both instances that it was the right thing to do.
A day later, she was at his bedside. The miserable frame she watched in the bed gave her some satisfaction as she thought with each rasping breath that it was a just end. Not some quick passing but a slow decline with time to contemplate his actions. Her thoughts betrayed those values she held dear as only God should sit in judgment and she admonished herself as she waited for the figure in the bed to speak.
“Dear Perchta, you came.” His voice lacked the strength that had once terrified her, and the effort exhausted him. Yet, she recoiled at being addressed as such. It was a lie that only someone of such low moral standing could utter.
“You knew I would.” If he had expected any affection or sympathy she couldn’t tell, but the slight nod was enough confirmation.
“I need one last thing” he began breaking into a coughing fit. “I need your forgiveness”, her eyes twitched at the request, and she could feel her temper rising. “I treated you poorly, drove you away.” He paused and seemed to consider what more to say. “Things should have been different.” His eyes stayed on her as he waited for a response, she could feel him counting once again on her duty to absolve him from his sins. That thought disgusted her more than anything.
“Do you even know your faults? What you ask me to forgive?” He looked away. “I see that you don’t. God will not absolve you if you can’t name the sins you have committed, why would you expect less from me?”
“Perchta, I have voiced my regret. It is for you to forgive and let God judge.” There was some truth in what he said but for once her virtues did not hold sway and she would not be party to her own misery on this occasion. She said nothing and rose from the chair by the bed to leave. “Fine. Then I curse you with internal torment, absent the God you hold so dear.” This last he spat at her, and it seemed to drain the last of his strength, collapsing back into the bed, wheezing. Leaving the cold place, she imagined it would not be long.
Outside her son stood a statue of emotionless restraint. Whether he had heard the exchange she couldn’t tell as his expression masked his thoughts. If she had known him better, it would have been possible to glimpse some slight sign of approval. As it was that distance could not be repaired. She had seen enough to know that he was not intemperate like his father but seemed detached in way that she feared had started as a means of protection before morphing into something else. It made her weep, but she knew she could not save him now, perhaps ever.
She waited, as was her duty, before returning to Krumlov. Perchta could not help but reflect on his last venomous words. It was fitting that their last meeting would end that way rather than the lie he wanted to create. Afterall it was how she would remember their marriage. Now that it was over, she looked out over a different landscape.
It had happened, Perchta reflected as her form swept through the halls of her ancestral home. He had prevented her from resting. Her visage cursed to haunt the sanctuary she sort from his tyranny. She lamented the absence of the peace she wanted, she deserved. She had been punished in life, her spirit knew this now and yet her tormentor still held sway in her soul as it haunted the empty halls. Cursed to an eternity of regret. Not for her actions at the end but everything before. She only hoped that he found himself in a hell of his own making. The thought that she may have sent him there gave some comfort to her eternal loneliness.
Read more of my gothic short stories – The Immortal and The Procession
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