The Bard's Favorite Villainess

Illustration by BANE, Dennis McElroy

Three days of snow covered the village, draping the roofs and windows with blazing white.  Flaky chunks fell from the sky on the night for stories, but the children still came.

The older boys helped the Bard’s grandson plow a path to the cabin. He had grown much since the previous summer. He was thin and lanky, with limbs now longer than he was accustomed. 

The doors and windows of the cabin glowed from the fire built up in the hearth. 

The Bard was in his place, his silhouette black against the crackling tongues of flame shooting up behind him. 

The heat soothed the young until the room grew crowded with them sitting, lying, and leaning against each other for comfort and the cabin became hotter than summer, their sweat gluing them to each other. 

But tonight the young would bear with the heat. 

They were more excited than usual for this night’s tale. 

The week before, his own grandson challenged the Bard that Ella Bandita was not truly a seductress, but a vicious trickster.

The Bard sighed and was silent for a few minutes. 

Then he promised to prove the seductive prowess of the Thief of Hearts the following week.     

His grandson was laughing when he entered the cabin with his friends. 

The boys remembered to stop in the cold storage shed and brought with them bags of nuts, frozen berries, ground spices, dried herbs, and jars of mushrooms preserved from summer and autumn. 

The Bard watched the boy pull two large skillets down from the hearth and three village girls approaching him before he got to work. The Bard didn’t hear their talk, but he frowned when he saw his grandson’s eyes glint and his mouth curve in a smirking grin. 

The boy glanced at his grandfather and flushed.

With more warmth in his smile, he told the girls he had to get supper ready.

 Reluctantly they walked away. 

The Bard shook his head. 

Girls liked that boy more than was good for him and he was becoming precocious[jwwz1] . 

A few minutes later, he caught the scent of garlic and cayenne and smiled. 

His grandson had a nice touch when it came to cooking. The hash would be spicy tonight, perfect for winter and warming the blood.  

The children rumbled, impatient to hear tonight’s story. 

The Bard stared into the sea of young faces and hoped tonight’s tale scared the devil out of his grandson.

“Things change when one crosses the line between countries,” he began. 

“Our neighbors are different on the other side of No Man’s Land, the woods that separate us from the nation to the west. Their language is not ours, their customs aren’t the same, and their society is more intricate. Here, one is either Patron or peasant. To be Patron is to be noble, to be peasant is to be humble.”

“But there, the highborn are ranked according to their title, and to come from humble origins is to be less than common.  Such a society is cruel, often mercenary and always lacking in heart.

“Such a society is a rich hunting ground for Ella Bandita.”

           

*****

 

The hunt for Ella Bandita began with the women.

They raged with each new tale about the notorious seductress, these women who spent their lives caring for their beauty and enhancing their manners to appeal to the most desirable men in society.

Wives and courtesans worked hard for their pampered lives, fine gowns, and sparkling jewels.

Ella Bandita was a spit in the face of their world. Ugly in face and grubby in dress, how could this be a woman no man can resist? 

To be left as only shadows of their former selves once the Thief of Hearts moved on, her conquests would never be the same again.   

The wrath of the women grew alongside the terror of the men.

I’ve never heard of a time when married ladies and harlots of easy living cast their rivalries aside, but they did to stand against her. 

Ironically enough, the man who brought them together was more akin to a courtesan than a Patron. He was an easy conquest, not worth a mention if it weren’t for what happened afterwards.

He was a charmer, the one who set all the women against Ella Bandita.

He lived in the city, having arrived in society through a marriage of convenience.

In some ways, the Charmer was blessed amongst fortune hunters.

His wife was lovely, with fair hair and creamy skin. Her beauty would have been almost as appealing as her generous dowry had she not been a malcontent.

Her dreary accent and petulant nature challenged his polished manners every day, and her company grated desperately on his nerves.

The Charmer hadn’t been married a year before he pursued a courtesan who was as exciting as his wife was irritating.

He must have spent quite a bit of her fortune, for he stopped at nothing until he gained the favor of the most sought-after woman of her profession. 

She was known as Adrianna the Beautiful. 

Dark, fiery, and with a formidable lust, her appetite for pleasure was insatiable, her salons legendary. Her guests were the handsomest, the wealthiest, the most powerful, and the most brilliant men in the city. 

She had her pick of lovers from only the best, and she was selective. 

The Charmer was far beneath her usual choices, but he was witty and his courtship was relentless. He made himself irresistible enough that Adrianna allowed herself to be seduced.

But the Thief of Hearts ensnared his notice at the opera. 

The Charmer was with his wife in a balcony above the stage. His mistress was also present, escorted by a handsome young prince. 

They sat across from the Charmer and his wife. 

Adrianna the Beautiful even winked at her other lover when neither of their companions was looking. 

The Charmer smiled and winked back just before his wife turned to him with a complaint. He made his face a mask of attentive concern, caressing her hand and whispering gentle words until she was quiet. 

He saw Ella Bandita as soon as he could look away, his regard drawn to the common seats on the floor where she sat. 

The Charmer found her gaze startling and riveting, reminding him of the way a predator stares at prey.

But his attention was diverted when the lights faded and the velvet curtains lifted. 

The Charmer forgot about that strange woman in the common seats below, once the performance was under way, for opera was one of the few things he cherished.

Really, the Charmer was a satisfied man, so it was surprising he fell under her spell. 

He had a wealthy wife who seemed a Madonna in those blessed moments of silence, a decadent temptress for a mistress, and a life of elegance and leisure. 

He was still enjoying himself, the gift of privilege too fresh to take for granted. 

Yet perhaps his wife was especially tiresome that evening, or the sight of Adrianna in a blazing red gown made the reality of what she was painfully apparent. 

Maybe the Charmer sensed the boredom that would come.