Black Duchess

Black Duchess

Maria Lobzova

Editor Sheila Boyd

Cover designer Sheila Boyd

© Maria Lobzova, 2024

© Sheila Boyd, cover design, 2024

ISBN 978-5-0056-9533-8

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

All the characters and events described are fictional. Any coincidence with real people or events is an accident

Historical facts, dates, events, persons have been changed to achieve the greatest artistic expressiveness of the text

⁙

© 2022 Maria Lobzova. All Rights Reserved.

Editing, Layout, and Cover Design by Sheila R. Boyd.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without written permission from the copyright owner.

Dedication

To my beloved mother, Tatiana, who devoted her life to her children and never regretted it. Her feat is proof that the power of maternal love can work miracles and protect in the most difficult moments.

Chapter 1. The Malleus Maleficārum

O fortuna velut luna, statu veriabilis, Semper crescis, aut decrescis.

~Carl Orff

Oh, Fortune, like the moon, you are changeable, Ever waxing, ever waning.

~Vagants’ poems about fate, 15th century

The Black Duchess’ diary

15.05.1428

Danger is approaching my home. I’ve got no choice; I must protect my family because I am the landlady of the estate. My family can be called a happy one. My husband, the duke, and I love each other. We have four beautiful children. We spent a lot of days filled with happiness in our summer castle, my daughter’s favorite place.

Ashanti’s (Bertha’s) diary (a maid brought from Africa, who in Europe was baptized and named Bertha)

15.05.1428

The landlady is strong. For every trial she dresses as if for a big party. This day she had on a green dress, richly embroidered with ermine fur. She wore a high hennin to show her position before the clergy. Under it there was a delicate, white silk veil. She used Italian lipstick and whitewash and had made up her eyes. Her skin was unnaturally white; it was white, not pale. She was beautiful but at the same time, scary. It was cold in the courtroom. She tightened her hands under her breast and fingered the cord. I was the only one who knew that the cord was magical.

17.05.1428

The landlady, full of condescension, entered the courtroom. A bunch of scavengers came to watch the sunset of the Black Duchess. However, they knew nothing about her; she was a great woman and the greatest witch of her era. No one knew her soul, but it opened to me at the very moment we met in Africa.

She came to our wild country to study some ancient Egyptian spells. She saw me at the market, an 11-year-old girl who was beaten every day. I was a slave and did the dirtiest of work. No one considered me as a human being. She was the only one who felt sorry for me; she was the only one to treat me as a person. She did not fear what those in high society thought of her as she brought me to her castle and gave me the opportunity to work, eat regularly, and wear warm clothes… she really treated me with respect.

Her servants even had everything they needed. She was strict and possessive. But could she be different… having such power? No one treated me as well as she did; so I will follow her till the very end… till the last minute of my life.

The court record on the charges of witchcraft against the Duchess de L*, the “Black Duchess Case”

18.05.1428

“Do you admit that you have the ability to move objects?”

“Everything I answer at this trial, Your Holiness, will be interpreted incorrectly and against me. You don’t hear what I say; you hear only the things you want to hear. Is there any point in this interrogation?”

The Black Duchess exuded confidence. Even men rarely show such self-control during interrogations. The Duchess had a heavy, cold-blooded stare that demonstrated her unusual character.

“However, we have witnesses who saw you moving objects without touching them. Have you formed a pact with the Devil?” The prosecutor was serious.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Your Holiness. A pact with the Devil is a deal of no advantage… only a crazy or fearless person dare do that. I’m not one of them. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to stay in church or wear a cross. Your accusation has no grounds.”

Another inquisitor, Bishop Le Brillon, intervened in the conversation. He was extremely emotional and bent his body back is if he himself was a demon.

“Respected audience, I want to object the Duchess’ words at once! We have known and unmasked witches so skilled in witchcraft that they could wear rosaries and crosses. Therefore, I suggest checking her innocence in a more effective way. Bring the broyanica! I learned that these rosaries, made in the monastery of Serbian Despotate, will unconditionally identify witches and any other supernatural creatures.”

Bishop Le Brillon was very excited and licked his lips, anticipating the victory over this most powerful witch.

Bertha’s diary

19.05.1428

The landlady abruptly leaned toward me and Meriem and whispered, “Someone has betrayed us. I will make this sacrifice for the sake of my children. When you get home, plant sage and honeysuckle around the house and buy broyanicas for the whole family. Tell this to the others. This will protect you. This will save you from – hostile – spirits.”

“But how, Madam?”

Meriem did not understand why this would protect them and from what. She was shackled by fear for her madam and for herself.

The inquisitor took the broyanica and slowly, with a sly grin, approached the Duchess.

“Duchess, hold out your hand,” the inquisitor said loudly.

The landlady stretched out her hand slowly and firmly. It was ermine white. The priest put the rosary on her palm. She endured the pain until the broyanica began to burn through her skin. Then she howled as a wolf. She became really angry. With one gesture she put the inquisitor on the floor, forcing his arms and legs to curve in different directions.

She shouted to me, “Tell everyone that I’ll be back! They won’t be able to destroy me!”

The courtroom gasped in unison. People arose from their benches to see this creature because it was not just a witch, it was a monster of which only legends spoke. A broyanica always unmasked them.

Bertha’s diary. All entries are made with a trembling hand.

19.05.1428

The last thing she asked me to do before she died was that I would swear that I would make sure everyone believed that her children died of the plague… for no one had seen their bodies except for us, the servants. I thought that with the “death” of the whole family, all the troubles would end… but it was just the beginning.

Chapter 2 Diary of a Russian Journalist

Fortune plango vulnera

Stillantibus ocelllis quod sua michi munera subtrahit rebellis.

~Carl Orff

I mourn the wounds inflicted by fate And my eyes are filled with tears. She makes gifts to the living,

But she stubbornly bypasses me.

~Vagants’ poems about fate

Anton’s diary

12.04.2017

The story that I will publish in my book will horrify you and raise distrust. However, all the described events actually did happen. And the hairs on my neck bristled much more than on the neck of those who listened to this story or read about it in the press because I was the witness of the events themselves.

Why am I taking the risk and telling the story? It is not that I am a journalist and that my job is to look for some “spicy” news. I am doing this because I want to reveal to everyone the fact that miracles do exist, and I myself have witnessed a lot of them. I would like to say that the power of love can really sweep away any obstacles and resurrect change to the march of time… and every one of us should know that love is the key to any door; for love is magic.

The main female character of my book is a real witch. Such people don’t exist anymore. There are fairy tales and legends composed about them, but one can’t make friends or communicate with them. Do you think that witches are scary creatures from a horror movie? No, witches are the people who are able to change reality by changing their own thinking, those who knew the laws of physics long before they were discovered… and you can’t even imagine how scary it is to see in real life someone change the law of gravity and lift an object into the air – and the capabilities of real magicians are not limited to that!

Oh, and those eyes! The most distinguishing facet of her appearance was her eyes. No one has ever looked at me like that. It was as if she was burning through me with a laser. I felt her reading my mind, seeing through me. This was a common thing for her… as common as to look at a watch for us. Her stare… it was like the stare of a hawk, the stare of a landlady of Gothic castles full of secrets. There was an impression that her eyes lived their own life, independent of their owner; and I would not be surprised if I learned that it was with her eyes that she could move objects.

There was another important thing: her indomitable power – animal strength – as if she had unlimited power and nothing could frighten her. I didn’t know then that this woman had experienced much more fear in her life than an ordinary person. She was an incredible human being… but was she a human being?

In order to tell of the events with maximum accuracy, I must include in my story the diaries of the participants of the events. The events not depicted by the eyewitnesses themselves will be described by me. Remember one thing: if you trust only what you see, you will notice nothing of what is really going on around you.

Anton’s diary

07.09.2016

Moscow, 2: 00 a.m.

All night long my wife would sleepwalk. For many years we visited different doctors, spiritual healers, and other specialists… all in vain. One healer said that sleepwalking was the consequence of an ancient spell and that he was unable to deal with it. I could hardly keep from laughing out loud. If only I knew in what all this would result.

I did not sleep well again. I jumped up at 2 a.m. I woke up to the fact that she was sitting at the table – again – tapping her fingers. You will be very surprised: she spoke old French. My wife and I are both journalists and philologists, and we know foreign languages well. Therefore, I immediately recognized that she was specifically speaking old French. Later, when I told her about it, she did not believe me because she did not know the dialect, although she studied modern French seriously.

She addressed someone, “The hour has come. We’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Be patient. I’m coming to you; I will set you free. We will reunite.”

It wasn’t the first time she tried to “reunite” with her invisible “friends.” This was followed by a tirade that “they” could lose their souls if she was late.

“The priest warned me,” she said, “so I knew what I was up against. I wanted everything to end well so much.”

Early in the morning we had to leave for France on a trip of which Eleanor – simply Nora – had dreamed since childhood. France had always attracted her. She wanted to stay in a real castle, and I bought such a tour for our wedding anniversary. We were going on vacation to the Loire Valley. I booked a room in the Chateau of the Count Dupré. Nora was fascinated because it was a real hereditary castle with an ancient history… as she wanted.

However, the night before the flight, something changed in her somnambulistic conversations. She kept saying that it wouldn’t be long. I was afraid of those words. What if something happened in France? Although it is nonsense, for sure.

Two Aeroflot tickets for 7:20 a.m. lay on the table. At 11:30 we were supposed to land at Charles de Gaulle airport. Nora was pale, but this was not surprising: she had been sleepwalking all night long and did not rest at all. There was a trace of sadness on her face, which was strange because this trip was supposed to cheer her up. “Anton, don’t forget the documents.” She sounded serious as if she was going to a meeting rather than on a vacation.

“You look pale. How are you?” I was worried.

“Everything is fine. It’s just that my heart seems to be frozen and beating at the same time.”

“After another walk …,” I concluded.

“Yes, I have a very strange premonition… a strange feeling… as if something important is about to happen. But at the same time, I am scared. Maybe it’s before the flight?”

“Forget it,” I answered with a smile because I realized that she needed to be comforted. “It’s all because you’ve been wandering around all night. Everything will be fine. As soon as we arrive, you will feel better.”

Chapter 3 Loire Valley

Anton’s diary

09.09.2016

Paris

We spent two days in Paris. It is an ancient and beautiful city. We walked through the streets and went to cozy, local cafés. We visited the Louvre and Notre Dame before the fire. We happily witnessed the medieval original.

Nora went there four times in two days; I even started calling her a nun. She said she was drawn there, that she was very calm there.

Indeed, it was a place with an unusual, strong energy. The choir that sang under the arches only enhanced the feeling. It was extremely calm and soulful there, albeit loud.

Nora wandered along the temple, examining the graves and icons. She prayed at a bench as is customary in a Catholic church. She said that she had a feeling that she had been there before and that she wanted to come back there. That’s why we went back there… four times!

We could never have imagined what role France as a whole would play in our lives.

A couple of days later we boarded a train toward the city of Tours. We were on our way to the Loire Valley. It was no less a fabulous place.

Nora’s diary

09.09.2016

The trip took two hours by train. We managed to see the suburbs. Most of all I liked our car journey to the Dupré Castle. After all, outside the car window were the Loire Valley and its castles, which are considered to be among the wonders of the world. The Loire Valley… there is so much romance in those words in my opinion. The beautiful valleys, carefully cultivated by local farmers, were quiet and calm. The sun flooded all the fields with light, and they looked as if they were honey.

I felt that the Middle Ages were sleeping there… a fabulous time of kings, princesses, and knights. That time is not dead; it is just sleeping… and it felt like it might wake up.

On the way to our castle, we stopped at the castles of Langeais and d’Ussé – fabulous places. Langeais is a majestic castle that remembers history: spiral stairs in towers, elegant bedrooms of high-ranking people, and medieval furniture. All this created a certain flair. It was something close to me. It is mine; it is me. I can’t explain the feeling, but it felt like I was at home. Maybe I lived here in my previous life?

Anton’s diary

10.09.2016

Check-in at Dupré Castle

We arrived in the evening, looked around a little, and made plans for the next day.

At the door we were met by the owners of the castle, the Count and Countess Dupré. Their names are Jean and Agnes… the emphasis, of course, on the last syllable. The castle has belonged to their family since ancient times.

They were an ordinary French couple: both were moderately thin. The countess pinned back her short, halfgray hair with a metal clip and smoked Marlboros as if in the good old ’90s. The count was tall; slightly bald; and wore large, round glasses. He had some sort of an acerbic smile. He was dressed in simple, country-style clothes… maybe too simple for a person of his caliber. He seemed to be kind and polite.

They welcomed us cordially; however, they stared a lot at Nora. The countess looked at Nora as if she was a bear and, therefore, did not want to check us in.

The countess repeated twice their rule: do not open the windows at night. I joked that we risked suffocation, but the owners sounded quite serious. Well, in September it is not so difficult to fulfill such a request although it seemed quite an unusual rule.

After they showed us to our room, the count and countess moved aside and began to whisper quite loudly and lively about something.

“Stop it! She doesn’t look at all like …,” the count’s voice trailed off as he tried to reassure his wife.

“She does, and it’s no good!” the countess replied firmly and excitedly.

“Not here!” Dupré abruptly cut off his wife and pulled her by the elbow to their part of the castle.

I wonder why my wife has scared them so much. It is funny because she is the kindest-hearted person I have ever known… and in general I think she is the most beautiful woman in the world.

Here I will add a description of my wife – I think it would be useful: she is of average height, about 170 cm. or about 5’7 “and was 25 years old at the time. She has a beautiful, Russian, round face; big eyes; straight nose; fair hair; and lips larger than average. Recently she got a popular haircut, a stupid bob where there is more hair in the front of the head than at the back. I don’t like that.

At the same time, she has good manners, always asking permission before taking something or disturbing someone. She feels sorry for all the cats, dogs, and children, and cries at every love story at the cinema. How could such a woman frighten anybody? Eh, nonsense!

Nora’s diary

10.09.2016

Evening supper

We bought everything we needed for our first evening at the castle: wine from the beautiful city of Saumur, my favorite brie cheese, and some fruit. The owners allowed us to use the living room for such occasions.

However, the most important thing is that the castle just fascinated me… the medieval windows and doors! This part of the castle had been finished in the 19th century according to the owners… very curious. Of course, the owners have changed a lot of things: electricity and heating were added, and at some time they changed the windows. However, despite all the modern technologies, the castle remained medieval.

Our room was small. It had a fireplace and an ancient, double bed with a sort of ciborium. It was terribly uncomfortable but impressive. A Gothic, dark wardrobe with a mirror stood at the left side of the bed. A huge window overlooked the former stable – now a garage for the owners’ cars – and a small forest surrounding the castle. A 15th-century table rested below the window.

The side room had been converted into a large bathroom. Previously, it might have been a maid’s room, for example. However, times had changed; and such a room was often outfitted as a bathroom. It had not been a luxurious restoration, which is understandable because improvements to the castle required a lot of money. Therefore, the bathroom was covered with inexpensive wallpaper. There were two sinks and an ordinary small bathtub plus a wooden chair that served as a towel stand.

Chapter 4 There Is No Castle Without a Secret

Anton’s diary

10.09.2016

We ate a late dinner in the living room and accompanied it with a bottle of wine we bought on the way to Saumur. Saumur is one of the best local wines… just an amazing taste.

“Let’s stop drinking,” Nora suggested. She was a little drunk and smiling.

“What else can we do here? I warned you it might be boring! After all, I really did warn you.”

“I’ve already had a couple of glasses of wine, and I am eager for adventure!” My wife was in a playful mood. “We must get into the tower! Come on… please! It draws me; I want to get deep inside a real hereditary castle. After all, there is so much that we haven’t seen yet. And this is the family castle!”

Suddenly she lowered her voice and looked into my eyes intensely as she spoke, “What if they’re hiding something there?”

The count made it clear that the towers were closed to visitors. Although – as we already understood – in Europe they do not close anything to outsiders. So, I thought that nothing terrible would happen if we looked around a little in the new place.

This is not the tallest castle in France that we have seen. The castle is built almost in the form of a square. If you looked at it from above, you would see a square castle with a square lawn in the middle.

The castle has four towers, one at each corner. Each tower had its own number the owners explained to us. So, if you are standing in front of the main entrance to the square, tower number one is on the left; tower number two is on the right; tower number three is on the far left; and number four is on the far right. Each tower also has four floors. Between the towers there are rows of rooms.

There is a huge ditch, a moat, behind the castle. There used to be water in it to protect the castle in case of an attack.

Initially, we went to tower number three, the one that was closest to the forest. On the ground floor there was an office of an ancestor of the Duprés, some count. This room was open for tours. Everything was clean: the cabinets with ancient books along the walls, weapons, and a coat of arms, along with a couple of hunting trophies on the wall. In the middle of the room there stood some medieval game, very incomprehensible but similar to modern table football. It was necessary to throw a wooden cap so that it hit other caps, causing them to tumble… such as table bowling.

Of course, we decided to go up to the rooms that were closed from strangers’ eyes.

We climbed up the spiral staircase and came across a small door in a niche.

“Anton, what is it? Let’s have a look.” Nora couldn’t wait to explore everything here.

I opened the creaky door, turned on our flashlight, and saw an ordinary toilet… nearly like what is in every Russian village house.

“Wow!” Nora laughed, “a medieval toilet! And I thought they had none in castles, that they used night vases!”

I have never understood why women are so amused by the toilet theme, but there is no limit to their laughter regarding it.

To the left of the toilet there was another locked door, a very old one. I easily opened it. It was immediately clear from its interior that it was the priest’s room.

“Why do they need a priest’s room in the castle? That is, why does the priest live here on a permanent basis?” Nora questioned.

“Maybe he was a relative.” I suggested. What a mystery!

It was clear that people were not allowed into these rooms since there were no funds to repair them. The room was completely shabby; however, it held a charm of antiquity! Everything was historical here. There was a huge, man-sized fireplace and a narrow, lancet window. Next to the fireplace was a real spinning wheel complete with a spindle as though from a fairy tale and an armchair with rose print fabric. A flag of heavy, red cloth with an embroidered portrait of a clergyman rested against the wall.

There was a large bed with a wooden shelter, and a Catholic icon hung above the head of it. The bed itself was all dirty and had a blanket spoiled by mice. On the right there were a desk and a chair where apparently the owner of the room wrote his letters to the Pope… or maybe to someone else.