The Last Will of Lord Halewyn
by Val Votrin
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
Finally, after going all the way through meandering corridors and the enfilades of dimly lit rooms, Cornelis reached his private quarters. Standing at the doorway, he looked around the room tenderly. Although few of the furnishings he remembered were left, and there were too obvious signs that somebody else lived in this room during Cornelis’s exile from the castle, the place still looked familiar.
The windows still overlooked the endless green plain with tall trees scattered across it, and Cornelis recalled long hours he had spent at the window watching the plain stretching out into the distance, dreaming of things that lay beyond the horizon. There was no more furniture of his but the painting, his favourite painting still hung on the wall. It depicted a boy feeding the horse. Its coat colour was quite unique, a pearl chestnut, and the horse had beautiful blue eyes. Cornelis would wonder where the boy would travel on this amazing animal, what future it will allow him to have.
Welter coughed cautiously and Cornelis woke up to the present.
‘The dinner is served, my Lord,’ said Welter. ‘The notary will arrive at 9 o’clock tomorrow.’
‘The notary?’
‘Yes, my Lord. He should read out the will.’
Cornelis turned round to him. ‘Why? I am the only heir. Am I not?’
‘This is how it is done by law, my Lord.’
‘Who invited him? You did?’
‘I only notified him of the Lord’s demise, as the late Lord instructed me to do.’
To Cornelis’s surprise, the table was laid for a single person — him — and not in the Great Hall but in a smaller room in the west wing. He remembered those grand dinners his father would throw, with scores of guests hard at work with their knives and forks over mounds of red meat and poultry. His lone dinner was in a stark contrast to those feasts of feasts. Nor was Cornelis very hungry. He barely touched the meal and, having emptied a glass of wine, beckoned in Welter.
‘I want to see the Lord’s chamber,’ he said.
Welter only bowed, staying still.
‘What? Can I see it?’ said Cornelis impatiently.
‘I have the keys, my Lord,’ said Welter.
‘And?’
‘But your father was exceptionally selective about who can enter his quarters, my Lord.’
‘My father is dead, Welter. Take me to his chamber, now!’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
Through the same meandering corridors and the enfilades of dim lit rooms again, and they stopped by the closed door. Within Cornelis’s recollection, this door had always been closed, and he had never seen his father coming in or going out of it.
‘Open it,’ said Cornelis.
Welter hesitated for a moment but obeyed.
The room behind the door was a large bedchamber with beautiful wood-carved ceiling but otherwise quite devoid of furniture, except for a sumptuous four-poster bed and a massive fireplace. There were windows once, but they had been bricked up. Cornelis realised just now why Welter had needed to light an oil lamp before they entered. In the flickering light, the room appeared to be dark and almost deserted. But then something captured attention of Cornelis as he saw that the walls of the room, every inch of them, were covered with various objects hanging from numerous nails.
‘What is this?’ he asked as he peered at the things.
‘Your father found them a great fascination,’ said Welter a bit vaguely.
‘Did he? But what is...’ started Cornelis saying coming closer to the wall but immediately saw what it was.
They were hair-locks - black, brown, blond, occasionally red. There were perhaps hundreds of them, each hanging by a nail, carefully arranged in rows. One wall had five long rows of them, each row comprising one particular colour. The hair-locks on other walls were mixed up as if the one who was arranging them got bored with this. As Cornelis walked around the room observing the walls, he started noticing other objects hanging from the nails - pieces of clothes, shoes, bands.
‘So this is the truth,’ uttered Cornelis finally. ‘He had been killing them. He killed them all.’
‘Well, if I may, my Lord,’ said Welter, ‘it is quite complicated.’
‘Complicated? Surely. Look at these hair-locks! He had been collecting them for years!’
‘Certainly his Lordship was not the most virtuous man,’ said Welter. ‘He had a great many passions to submit to. But surely one passion he could not possibly resist. Yes, he loved to sing. And what could he do if they were lured to him drawn by his magical singing. He did have a most beautiful voice.’
‘And then he would kill each and every of one them. And collect a trophy from each as if he had hunted down a beast.’
Welter shook his head. ‘I dare to say, my Lord,’ he said, ‘those were the wretched girls. They used to walk in the woods alone. They were looking out for... something like this. What is more, he did not do away with all of them. He let live at least one of them.’
‘You mean Godilde?’
‘Yes, my Lord.’
‘This is because he found her amusing.’
‘Yes, my Lord. His Lordship loved a good laugh.’
Indeed he did, thought Cornelis. Took the daughter of a neighbouring baron hostage, then captured her father in a battle and had him beheaded in front of her, forcing her to watch, then put her in a tower for the term of her life. He loved listening to her anathemas like others like hearing birdsongs.
‘Everything will be different under me,’ he said to Welter. ‘I will clean up this place. Be ready to burn all these... things. No more savage cruelty, Welter.’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ said Welter with a bow, and Cornelis could swear that he saw a shade of disappointment pass over his face.
‘You may go now,’ said Cornelis. ‘I am a bit tired.’
‘Certainly, my Lord.’
Cornelis indeed felt exhausted after a long, eventful day. He started walking along the corridor but almost immediately bumped into a closed door. He shook and pushed it several times and then looked around to find Welter but he was already gone. Cornelis turned back and passed several rooms, indistinct in the twilight, and soon after reached another closed door. His anger grew and he started crying out for Welter. But the castle seemed completely empty; the silence was almost palpable. Cornelis heard only an echo of his own voice.
He turned back again and after a few turns suddenly bounced into a room. He recognised the bedchamber of his mother, and there she was sitting in a chair quietly, as if waiting for him.
‘Mother!’ he exhaled.
She gazed at him, not uttering a word.
He came closer. ‘Mother,’ he repeated. ‘Mother, I am home!’
Still gazing at him intently, she slowly shook her head and said with deep melancholy, ‘You should go.’
Cornelis opened his eyes and saw Welter de Bussche.
‘You should go, my Lord,’ Welter repeated. ‘The notary is here. He is waiting for you.’
Cornelis looked around in bewilderment. He lay, fully dressed, in his bed. A gloomy morning looked into the window, cold drizzling rain dimmed the views outside.
Cornelis sprang to his feet. ‘You can’t even imagine,’ he said. ‘I seem to have lost my way in the castle yesterday. Not sure how I got to my room...’
‘My Lord,’ said Welter, ‘the notary is here. He is waiting for you. Everyone is waiting for you.’
‘Everyone? Who else is there?’
‘All the people, my Lord, all those who love you and the House of Halewyn, all those who care.’
‘Well then. Good. I am not going to make the notary wait any longer.’
They hastily came down to the hall.
‘Did you find the head?’ enquired Cornelis as they walked.
‘Not yet, my Lord. But they will find it. They are all experienced gamekeepers, my Lord, they—’
‘All right, all right, Welter. Let’s finish off with the main thing.’
Indeed, despite the morning hunger and the feeling of anxiety left after the night dream, Cornelis was keen to get done with the official ceremonies as quickly as possible. But when he saw how many people were waiting for him in the hall, he doubted that he would be able to get that out of his way fast.
There were many a man in the hall, mainly people from the castle and the local échevins but also a few priests. All of them had such a bearing as though something very important was going on, no less than the Coronation. Cornelis looked at them impatiently.
‘Where is the notary?’ he asked Welter.
The notary was a little man displaying great aplomb and perching on a high chair at the end of the hall. He nodded several times and slipped off his chair when he saw Cornelis.
‘Your Grace,’ he said in a hoarse voice. ‘I am Meester Egbald De Croo from Oudenaarde, always at your service. Your late father, God rest his soul, requested me to publish and read out his last will and testament, and I am here to do just that. And I must ask, by law and as instructed by your late father — God rest his soul! — will you, Cornelis Daneel Johannes Halewyn, accept the last will and testament of Hendrik Diederik Bernardus Lord of Halewyn, your father and the Lord of these lands?
All the heads turned to Cornelis, all eyes were watching.
‘I will,’ said Cornelis loudly.
Meester Egbald broke the seal and unrolled the paper.
‘I, Hendrik Diederik Bernardus Halewyn, being of sound mind...’ he started reading.
At this very moment, the door burst open. In the doorway, surrounded by the clueless guards, stood a young woman, bare-headed, her clothes in disarray, stained in red. She held a big game bag.
A sigh went through the hall. ‘Stop the reading!’ she said. ‘I have new evidence to bring in!’
‘What is this?’ asked Cornelis, looking round at Welter. ‘Who is she?’
Welter gaped at the girl wide-eyed. ‘This is Machteld, the miller’s daughter,’ he said. ‘She went missing in the woods a while ago. Everyone thought she was dead.’
In the meanwhile Machteld proceeded to where the notary stood and pushed him aside imperiously.
‘You all know me,’ she said to everyone. ‘You know my father, Geert, the miller. And you all know Lord Halewyn, this godless beast. You know what he was for this community. The scourge of God, particularly for young girls. I met him in the woods. He was singing, and by God, I was taken by his beautiful voice. He said he loved me with his whole heart, and I trusted him. He betrothed himself to me before he tried to kill me. But he did not succeed because I knew how to bite back.’
And she took out a knife and showed it to everyone. ‘Yes, I had this,’ she said. ‘And he only had his long sword. Guess which was quicker.’
As the whole congregation stood petrified at these words, Cornelis stepped forward and said, ‘She is the one who killed the Lord of Halewyn. She has just admitted to this. Guards, take her!’
Machteld gave him a calm glance. ‘You can’t give orders here,’ she said.
‘What? I am a new Lord!’
‘No, you are not. You used to be an heir but you are no longer the one. The will was changed.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Meester Egbald. ‘Who changed it?’
‘The Lord of Halewyn did,’ said Machteld with the same remarkable calm. ‘Actually, he can attest to this himself.’
Before anyone could react to her words, she took something out of the bag. A shout of horror arose from the congregation.
She held the head of Lord Halewyn by its hair. ‘Now, tell them!’ she ordered.
The head opened its eyes. Those were the eyes of a dead man, pale and blind. Then it opened its mouth and uttered huskily, ‘I acknowledge that this woman, Machteld, the daughter of Geert De Coster, will inherit all of my land and property and will become the Lady of Halewyn.’
Amidst the astounding silence, Cornelis shrieked, ‘This is sorcery! She forces this head to speak!’
‘She’s not forcing me to do anything, you lackwit!’ said the head. ‘She killed me, yes, but it was a fair fight. I would marry her if I were alive. Hey, notary, mark this down: this girl is my heiress, got that?’
‘Yes, my Lord,’ uttered the notary.
The head closed its eyes never to open them again, and Machteld stuck it back into her bag.
‘There you go,’ she said and looked at Welter de Bussche who suddenly turned up by her side.
‘I am Welter de Bussche, the castellan, my Lady,’ he said with a bow. ‘Would you like to see your castle?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said and smiled for the first time.
‘You may also want to change your clothes, my Lady.’
‘Oh yes!’
Nobody looked at Cornelis. He turned around, came out of the hall and found himself in the bailey.
‘Been disinherited, huh?’ he heard Godilde’s shrill voice from the above. ‘Poor young raven! I’ve got an idea for you, though. The Pope has declared another Crusade, have you heard? There is plenty to do for such men as you in the Holy Land: killing, looting, raping women. You will have a lot of fun!’
Cornelis looked up at her with loss. Well, he thought, that is probably not a bad idea after all.
Copyright © 2024 by Val Votrin
