The Baroness von Hexe

We’d ridden through Lower Bavaria

And our horses were fading fast,

The evening mist was rising, and

We knew that they couldn’t last.

My cousin, Dietrich, pulled on the reins,

Then he turned to me and said:

‘I thought that we’d find an Inn by now

But there’s something up ahead!’

 

Then up on the side of the mountain in

The mist, and deepening gloom,

There loomed the walls of a fortress there

And I felt a sense of doom,

For up on the ancient battlements

There were gargoyles peering down,

With their mediaeval, evil eyes,

Grimacing at the ground.

 

And under the ivy covered walls

There were spikes, from times before,

When soldiers, thrust from the castle walls

Were impaled, to rise no more,

The moat was merely an empty trench

And the drawbridge was let down,

We rode on up to the iron doors

And knocked, a metallic sound.

 

From deep within there were footsteps grim

Like a shuffle of ancient bones,

And Dietrich shuddered, as I did too

When we heard those ghostly tones,

The iron door on its hinges creaked

And opened enough to see,

That the man who stood in the doorway there

Was all of a hundred and three.

 

His cheeks were sallow, his face was gaunt

And his eyes were fiercely bright,

‘What brings you travellers to my door

At the onset of the night?’

‘We beg for shelter,’ my cousin said,

‘And feed for a weary horse,

Our mounts have carried us fifty miles

Since crossing the watercourse.’

 

He stood aside, and motioned us in

To a long, dark flagstoned hall,

Then led us on to the kitchen through

An archway in the wall,

‘I only offer you bread and cheese,

For we live like simple folk,

But we have a cask of home brewed ale

And eggs with a double yolk.’

 

‘My servant will see to the horses, and

You can sleep in the tower room,

I only ask that you stay in there,

Not wander around in the gloom,

There’s a catafalque in the chamber there

And I caution you with a word,

The Baroness von Hexe lies there

And never must be disturbed.’

 

The name itself gave a chill to me

For in German, Hexe means witch,

She’d been condemned in the Wurzburg Trials

In sixteen twenty-six,

She should have been burned at the stake back then

But she was of noble line,

So they sealed her into a coffin alive

In the Castle of Frohmlinstein.

 

We ate most heartily, he and I

For we’d not stopped once for the day,

I said, ‘I’d happily eat your horse,’

And Dietrich laughed, in his way,

We went to sleep on an old divan

Each wrapped around with a cloak,

It must have been during the early hours,

I heard a sound, and awoke.

 

Dietrich wasn’t asleep, he’d gone

To wander round in the gloom,

I saw him stand by the catafalque

He stared at the ancient tomb,

I saw him lift up the coffin lid

Then start back, in surprise,

So I went to see what my cousin did,

And stared at the woman’s eyes.

 

She seemed as if she’d been laid to rest

Just a day or two before,

She clutched an amulet to her breast,

I gasped at the jewels she wore,

A ruby pendant hung at her neck

On her hands were three gold rings,

She looked so beautiful lying there

That I stood there, wondering.

 

But Dietrich, he was smitten, I saw

As he stood there, holding his breath,

He said, ‘I’ve never seen loveliness

So cruelly put to death,’

And then, before I could stop him there

He’d leant right over and kissed,

The cold remains of the Baroness,

Right there on her pale, white lips.

 

A moment passed as I held my breath

Then the corpse, it shuddered and sighed,

Her eyes just fluttered the lashes, then

They suddenly opened wide,

She sat up straight and she turned her head

To stare at my cousin’s face,

While he stood trembling by her side

At the thing that had taken place.

 

She climbed right out of the coffin then

And stood by the catafalque,

Laughed, in what was a high-pitched shriek,

Spun round, and started to dance,

She chanted something I’d never heard

In a strange and forgotten tongue,

And soldiers sprang from the cold stone walls,

Their death-throes now undone.

 

The old man came at a shuffle, cried:

‘Mein Gott! She’s here, von Hexe!

You’ve raised the devil they put to rest

In sixteen twenty-six,

The soldiers seized him and built a pyre

In the centre of the hall,

And put a torch to the old man’s cries

As we cowered against the wall.

 

The Baroness turned to face us then

And pointed my cousin out,

The soldiers hurried to do her will

But Dietrich tried to shout:

‘I was the one that brought you back,

I kissed your lips so fair!’

But she just laughed, and beckoned them go

To the battlements, by the stair.

 

And me, she simply waved me away

I left by the iron door,

I took my horse and galloped on out,

What would I stay there for?

I turned to look at the battlements

And watched the end of a tryst,

Saw Dietrich scream, and fall on the spikes,

The price of a stolen kiss!

 

I heard the Castle was torched that day

For the villagers lived in dread,

They came together once they were told

That the witch was back from the dead,

They watched her leap from the battlements

In flames, and out of her mind,

She lay impaled on the spikes she’d laid

At the Castle of Frohmlinstein.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[quinfinn]

you have a very vivid imagination, which is patently obvious in this chilling write. where you come up with all the brilliant ideas for your ballad type writes is beyond me, but you never fail to entertain, bewitch and bemuse with these powerful writes. this is one of your best to date.

[JR Darewood]

wow, delightfully dark and twisted

[A Soap Mess Stories]

Your stories are so vivid I feel as if I am lost in the stories.

[Daniel Malone]

That was just wonderful. Poetry seems to conjure thoughts of dreary introspection, but it is such a broad format. Yes, it can be extremely personal. At times it is cryptic. What I've found is that there are no concrete rules. Here is a piece that very easily could have been stretched into a novella, or even a novel, as its central premise is imaginative and bold. It works very well in this format as well. In reading it, I couldn't help but to draw comparisons to the songs peppered throughout Tolkien's work. They were poetic, had a wonderfully defined meter, and above all, they were fun. The best praise that I can give this particular work would be, while your words were filled with wonderful imagery, you didn't go into overkill with the description. You allowed the reader a chance to fill in the blanks. The castle in my mind may have looked vastly different from the castle in another's mind. Very imaginative. Wonderful command of rhythm. Beautifully worded. A fantastic read!