“The devil is everywhere and nowhere,” translated John with a shrug. “No idea what that’s supposed to mean. But she believes that you are the only one who can put a stop to the devil. She saw it in her dreams, and her mother, too, once said that a great wizard would come someday to vanquish evil.” He grinned. “It’s possible she’s getting you mixed up with tousled old Merlin. He is considered a powerful wizard around here and used to serve a king named Arthur. Good old Merlin is a few hundred years old, however, and is buried in Brocéliande Forest.”
Johann said nothing. He wondered what was meant by those words: The devil is everywhere and nowhere.
The old woman leaned forward and brushed her hand over Johann’s hair as if he were a child. She uttered soothing words in Breton.
“She wants to give you a cream,” said John. “She says she can’t stop your disease but she can slow it down.”
Karl rolled his eyes. “How? Ground snails mixed with crumbled wood lice?” He stood up. “Let’s go before she gives you something that worsens your illness.”
“Tell her I will gladly accept her cream,” said Johann to John.
The old woman understood. She opened one of the small wooden boxes and reached inside with her gouty fingers. When she pulled them out, on the tip of her index finger sat a viscous, resinous lump that didn’t smell bad at first—somewhat sweet, like beeswax—but beneath it lay the scent of decay.
Karl wrinkled his nose. “You can’t be serious. This defies any sort of science. Don’t do it—the salve might be poisonous.”
“I’m afraid science can’t help me any longer,” replied Johann.
He didn’t resist when the old woman leaned over him, took off his shirt, and rubbed his back, arms, and legs with the pungent ointment. She sang and murmured something that sounded like a nursery rhyme. When she was finished, a smile spread across her face, and for a brief moment Johann could imagine what she must have looked like as a young girl.
“Bennozh warnoc’h,” she said, squeezing Johann’s hand. “Bennozh warnoc’h!”
“She blesses you and wishes you good luck,” said John.
“Thank you.” Johann bowed. “God knows I can use this blessing.”
He was about to head for the exit when the old woman signaled for him to wait. She opened another small box and retrieved a pendant attached to a simple leather string. It was a small winged angel, whittled from a piece of alabaster, and it looked very old. She spoke to John.
“She says it’s a protective amulet,” he translated. “Apparently it helped her mother back then when the henchmen of the dark marshal were after her, and she wants—” He broke off in surprise. Then he looked at Greta. “She wants you to wear it. No idea why.”
“My own little guardian angel.” Greta smiled and allowed the old woman to put the necklace over her head. “Thank you. I appreciate this gift. Merci.”
The old woman nodded and squeezed her hand. When the woman smiled, Greta could see her last two remaining teeth.
“Bennozh warnoc’h!”
Johann stepped through the cloth covering the entrance. On a crippled birch nearby sat an old raven that seemed to be watching him. It flapped its wings and then took off, cawing.
“Tell your master I’m on my way,” said Johann softly, his gaze following the bird.
14
ABOUT THREE WEEKS AFTER THEIR DEPARTURE FROM Seuilly, the group finally reached Tiffauges.
The noontime sky was blue and cloudless, and a pleasant breeze carried the salty air of the Atlantic, even though the sea was forty miles away. It was as if the devil tried to mock Johann by painting the site of his gruesome doings in the brightest colors God’s earth had to offer. During the last few days they had passed through several villages that were clearly affected by the horrors of this area, their streets deserted, with no sign of any children. Johann had felt eyes staring at them from dark windows. In one of the villages, the inhabitants had thrown rocks at them and shouted angry words in Breton. The inns had been boarded up; no one wanted to accommodate strangers who might make off with the most precious thing these people had.
Their children.
The village of Tiffauges was situated on a small rise above a dammed-up river. Along with a smaller tributary, this long lake served as a protective moat to the castle that lay opposite the small town on the other side of the road. From afar, Château de Tiffauges looked like any other castle, albeit a rather large one. A bastion at the front protected the entrance, and the defensive fortifications stretched across a plateau upon which sat the burly keep, numerous outbuildings, and a manor house. Farther back, Johann could make out two large towers that secured the northern wing. He reminded himself that Tiffauges used to belong to a marshal of France and close friend to the French king. Gilles de Rais used to host extravagant feasts here until he ran out of money and turned to alchemy and, finally, devil worship.
The road led out of an oak forest full of rooting boars and through a deep valley, and eventually toward the small town and the castle. The landscape was scattered with sweet-smelling gorse hedges. Johann stopped his horse behind a crumbling watchman’s hut and waited for Karl to help him dismount. The old midwife had been right. The cream eased the trembling and convulsions, and some of his muscles seemed revived. But Johann feared this relief wouldn’t last long. Supported by Karl, he sat down on a low stone wall.
“What now?” asked Greta, scooping water from a stream with both hands to wash her sweaty face. The little angel the midwife had gifted to her dangled from her neck. She shook her hair and gave her father an intent look. “What is your plan?”
Johann said nothing. He’d been racking his
