To Snare A Witch

by Jay Raven

  “I know,” he replied. “That’s why I told them to play it. From now on, my love, anything you want, anything you wish, you shall have it. Whatever your heart desires.”

  I already have everything I desire, she thought with a buzz of pleasure, and let her flower-covered flaxen dress swirl, the hems dragging across the courtyard flagstones. Well, maybe not everything. Her dress wasn’t a proper bridal gown, Jack was too poor to afford fine silk and satin but wouldn’t hear of her family paying.

  “But when I return from my next campaign I shall be promoted and then I’ll buy you the most luxurious robes in all the land,” he had promised.

  A gust of wind made the flaming torches dip and snake, their orange tongues whipping from side to side. It was growing chilly. Several of the guests shivered, despite being full from the feast.

  “A game,” her new husband suggested, “to warm everyone up.”

  Excited voices shouted suggestions.

  “Fox and geese!”

  “Blind man’s bluff!”

  “Skittles!”

  “Tennis!”

  Elizabeth laughed, waving her hands. “No more, no more. Enough.”

  Jack grinned, looking at her questioningly. “Well? Bride’s prerogative. You choose. Which shall it be?”

  She thought for a moment. “None. None of these. I have an idea of my own,” and turning to the serving girl, she instructed: “Bring a candlestick. The tallest candlestick you can find.”

  Seeing Jack’s puzzled expression, she explained: “Just wait. You’ll see. It’s a merry amusement I recall from my childhood.”

  Many of the party, guessing what was going to happen, burst into a well-known rural rhyme. “Leaping brave, leaping bold, oh candle bright, tell me what my future holds”.

  They stamped their feet in time with the verse, repeating the words faster and louder.

  Jack laughed, completely baffled.

  The guests cheered as the serving girl came back with a tarnished brass candelabra about two feet in height, with a thick yellow tallow candle thrust into each of the three branches.

  “Light the wicks,” Elizabeth instructed excitedly. “Quickly.”

  It took a couple of attempts to bring the candles to life, the slight girl struggling to hold the weighty stick up to the nearest torch, and Jack had to intervene and take the heavy holder into his hands.

  “Now what?” he demanded, as the three tiny flames sizzled and swayed.

  “You jump,” Elizabeth replied.

  “I what?”

  “You leap over it,” she answered, enjoying his bafflement. “If the candles stay alight then you are guaranteed a year’s good fortune.”

  “And if they should be extinguished?”

  She didn’t reply, suddenly realising that in her intoxicated enthusiasm she hadn’t thought of the implications of that outcome. If the candles went out, then misfortune lay ahead. For a moment she again visualised the battlefield, of what might happen to her darling Jack in the months to come, picturing his body bloodied and twisted, herself in the new dress he had promised – but in black; widow’s weeds.

  Foolish woman! What a stupid idea for a game, she chided herself. She went to snatch the candlestick, but Jack blocked her way.

  “It’s fine my love, I understand. And I am not afraid. Now I have you, my future can only be bright and full of promise.”

  With that, he took three steps back then surged forward, launching himself into the air. For a moment the guests gave a collective gasp as the displaced air of his movement made the small flames flicker madly and almost die. Then, as he landed and they stayed alight, the courtyard burst into applause and a rejoicing roar.

  Jack made a mock bow, beaming widely. “See. I never doubted it for a moment. My year will be filled with joy and celebration. My happiness is assured.”

  Letting her breath out in a long, relieved sigh, Elizabeth went to hug her beau, then abruptly froze.

  Hidden in the shadows of the corner of the yard, a tall, willowy man she’d never seen before stepped forward and remarked to Jack: “Your happiness is assured? I would not count on it, Captain Tyler.”

  Jack was dumbfounded. Elizabeth was equally as astonished yet found her voice first.

  “What?” she blurted. “What are you saying? Who are you? What do you want?”

  The man scanned the wedding scene with a slow, deliberate, theatrical stare and replied: “I am Thomas Gaunt, inquisitor, and servant of our King, under warrant from Parliament to root out wickedness, necromancy and devilry wherever it festers.”

  He took several paces into the centre of the courtyard, knelt over and snatched up the candlestick.

  “And I have seen enough occult blasphemies here tonight to convince me that my services are in dire need.”

  He nodded, and others emerged from the shadows. Elizabeth had never seen the smaller, nervy man, also dressed in black. However, she immediately recognized the several brutes who took up position around the square – Sir Henry Cruttendon’s men.

  A trap!

  “What infernal witchcraft have we here?” Gaunt enquired, with a pained shake of his head. “Divination? Fortune telling? The use of amulets and magical objects?”

  “It’s only a candlestick,” Elizabeth argued, anger overcoming her shock. “A simple, ordinary candlestick!”

  “Used for the purposes of charming and black magic,” Gaunt retorted sharply. “Turned into an instrument of the Devil.”

  “It is innocuous!”

  “One might say the same of a simple rag doll,” the inquisitor observed, “claiming it is only a child’s toy – but we all know what evil such an object can be put to.”

  Jack moved across to put himself between his bride and the strangers. “This is absurd,” he declared. “It is merely a prop in a game. You cannot, in all seriousness, suggest that a harmless superstition—”

  Gaunt cut him short. “Superstition is rarely harmless. It is a matter of huge concern, as is the willingness of misguided fools to meddle in sorcery, failing to understand the many tricks and inducements of Beelzebub.”

  He threw the brass holder to his assistant. “We shall need this as evidence.” And, turning back to Jack, hissed: “And, believe me sir, I need no lectures from you about props or their significance.”

  The Earl’s men edged forward, drawing their weapons. Elizabeth cried out, unable to believe what was happening.

  “You shall not take her,” Jack yelled, looking around for anything he could use as a weapon.

  Gaunt’s expression was inscrutable. “Yes, Captain Tyler, in that assertion you are correct,” he conceded, without emotion. “We shall not touch a hair on your new wife’s head. She is not the one we have come to arrest. It’s you we want.”

  For every evil under the sun

  There is a remedy or there is none…

  She banged madly at the door, thumping it over and over, stinging hands bright red.

  “Open up,” she yelled, “open up. Let me in. I demand you let me in.”

  The solid oak didn’t yield. On the other side, Elizabeth could hear hurried scuffling footsteps and agitated voices.

  “Let me in. I will not leave this spot,” she warned. “You will admit me, I swear, even if I have to hammer all night.”

  She prepared for another onslaught, nerves twisting, mind still struggling to take in what had happened barely two hours before. It seemed like a dream, an unbelievable nightmare.

  As Jack had been dragged off in chains, the stunned wedding guests had comforted the shrieking bride, urging her to lie down, to recover from the shock. But no matter how distraught she felt, Elizabeth knew she had to pull herself together and act swiftly.

  Although her first reaction had been to ride through the darkness straight to the town’s prison and demand Jack’s release, she’d known that she couldn’t help her new husband there. The answer lay in a totally different location…

  She hammered again. “Tell your mighty lor
d and master that I won’t go away until he comes out and faces me.”

  Cursing herself for her naïvety, Elizabeth realised now that it had been inevitable there would be terrible consequences to her rebuffing the Earl’s grubby advances. Nevertheless, she’d never for a moment imagined Sir Henry would plot anything as unspeakably odious, or that Jack would be the target of his reprisals.

  But it wasn’t too late, she reassured herself, touching the knife hidden in her pocket. There was still a way to save her beloved’s life. If she had the stomach to do what must be done.

  Above her, illumination appeared at several windows in the huge sprawling manor house as candles were hurriedly lit and members of the household, rudely roused, strained to see what the commotion was.

  One man wouldn’t be a-bed, she knew. He was waiting. The puppet master, pulling all the strings, watching with delight as his diabolical plan unfolded. He’d be sure she was coming, for what other choice did she have?

  A sudden twinge of uncertainty crossed her mind as the large bolts on the other side of the door were suddenly drawn back and it swung open.

  An old woman in nightshift and cap appeared, holding a candle. “What on earth is all this racket about?” she said, irritated. “You are making enough noise to wake the dead. What do you want at this ungodly hour?”

  Elizabeth didn’t reply, shoving roughly past her into the grand, panelled entrance hall, and hissing: “Where is he? Where is he hiding?”

  “The master is in his study, reading,” the housekeeper replied. “You can’t go in.”

  Although Elizabeth had never been in this huge house before, she didn’t need to worry about locating the study. The woman’s nervous glance to a door on the left revealed which chamber it was.

  Dodging the servant, Elizabeth turned the ornate carved handle with a firm twist. The door was well oiled, and flung wide at her touch.

  Sir Henry Cruttendon didn’t react as she burst in. He was reclining on a couch, near to a fire that had been built high and now glowed dark red as the logs disintegrated. He was wearing a silk dressing robe, and had a jug of wine on a table by him. Elizabeth felt uneasy as she spotted that there were two glasses.

  He looked up casually from the old book in his grasp, peering at her over the top of the magnifying glass he’d been using, the dozens of candles reflecting in the distorting lens. “Well, well, well, my dearest Elizabeth, I should have guessed. Who else would dare make such a fuss and hullabaloo?”

  The housekeeper rushed in, puffing and red faced. “I’m sorry, Sir Henry. I tried to stop her but she just pushed past me. I told her—”

  He held up his hand. “It is of no matter, Edna. No harm has been done.”

  “I will have words with you,” Elizabeth told him forcefully. “You have wronged me and must answer for it.”

  If she expected him to show concern or guilt, she was disappointed.

  Raising an eyebrow quizzically, he asked: “Wronged you? And how, pray tell, have I done that?”

  “This very night a band of swaggering ruffians came to my wedding and dragged my husband away at sword-point,” she spat. “So-called witch-finders arrested him on falsified charges.”

  “Indeed? That is shocking.”

  “They have accused him of practicing black magic.”

  “That sounds dreadful and I am mortified to learn of this happenstance. You have my sympathies,” Sir Henry said, meeting her burning glare. “However, I fail to see what concern this is of mine.”

  “You sent them. They came to do your bidding.”

  His snort was both amused and dismissive. She took a step forward, hand reaching inside her petticoats for the stiletto.

  “Shall I fetch the grooms?” the servant asked in alarm. “And have her ejected?”

  Sir Henry shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. This young woman is obviously vexed and confused. We must offer her comfort and understanding.”

  Elizabeth remained fixed to the spot, glowering. “Don’t insult me by pretending that you have no knowledge of this outrage. I know you’d do anything to hurt me. You’re burnt up with jealousy. All these months you’ve been plotting your revenge.”

  The Earl sighed loudly, demonstrating that he was saddened at being the victim of such unreasonable accusations.

  Gesturing to the housekeeper, he said: “That will be all. I won’t need you until breakfast. I’ll deal with this.”

  The old woman hesitated, but Cruttendon assured her that he would be fine.

  The moment she left, his voice and face immediately darkened.

  “You invade my home. You insult me in front of my servants, and make serious allegations. You choose a reckless path, Elizabeth Tyler,” he warned. “I am a patient man, still you should think hard about the dangers of angering me.”

  Elizabeth swallowed hard, reminding herself of his reputation, the stories people whispered about him, but she couldn’t back down.

  “Do you deny the inquisitors were working under your instructions?” she demanded.

  “Of course,” he replied flatly. “Everyone knows inquisitors are the servants of the Crown, not local aristocracy. They are not answerable to me.”

  “They were escorted by your men.”

  “That is true,” he conceded. “That is because the inquisitors requested assistance in their assigned duties and as Lord of the Manor I was obliged to comply. They didn’t furnish me with any details of their intended quarry.”

  He sloshed wine into one of the goblets, and offered it to her. She shook her head. The thought of sharing a drink with this ogre made her retch.

  “I suggest you stop trying to incriminate me,” he cautioned, “for no-one will believe you. Besides, you aren’t smart enough to prove anything.”

  She had thought to hold her knife at his throat and force him to order Jack’s release. Now, as she saw the dark amusement in Sir Henry’s eyes, she realised that it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t intimidated by a mere woman.

  He held up the book. “Fascinating volume, this. I have been engrossed for hours. Malleus Maleficarum – an ancient tome, in the original Latin. The classic witch-hunter’s guide. You should read it, Mistress. I’d be happy to lend it to you. The torments that the accused are put to are ingenious. And explained in graphic detail.”

  He opened it at a selected page and flashed it at her. “The illustrations are particularly disturbing to behold.”

  Elizabeth shuddered.

  “What will they do to Jack?” she asked, fighting not to give in to despair. ”What is to become of my husband?”

  “I imagine he will be interrogated and if found guilty will be executed as a warlock. I’d say his death is certain.” He sniffed, philosophically. “Such a sad fate for such a young man, especially a young man who has just been wed but yet to enjoy the… ah… marital pleasures, of his blushing bride.”

  At that instant, Elizabeth understood why she hadn’t been arrested by the inquisitors, why Sir Henry wanted her free. She saw the Earl as he really was – a bloated black spider, sitting at the centre of his web, herself no more than a fly that had blundering into his trap.

  “You could stop all this, if you wanted,” she said, nerve breaking. “One word from you and they’d let him go.”

  “I could intercede, certainly, but how would that profit me?”

  “Look,” she offered desperately, “you want to see me humiliated, then so be it. I will prostrate myself and beg your forgiveness. I will grovel. I will kiss your feet. Surely that is enough?”

  Sir Henry fixed her with a cold, merciless gaze. “Don’t play the innocent, girl. We both know exactly what I require from you.”

  “No,” she whispered. “That is monstrous. I cannot do it, I won’t. You are a sick, loathsome leech. No better than a slug.”

  “And you are a bride who will shortly be a widow if she doesn’t co-operate.”

  He took a swig of the wine, letting it swirl around his mouth. “If it helps, think of it as
merely a small alteration to your nuptial plans or, as Master Gaunt would describe it, a last-minute change in casting. It seems such a shame to deny a beautiful woman her wedding night bliss.”

  Elizabeth fought the revulsion sweeping through her veins, but knew there was no other alternative. She’d been outmanoeuvred; left powerless.

  “Will you take me to your bedchamber yourself, or have your thugs drag me there?” she said, contempt failing to mask the defeat that swept over her. “Are you at least man enough for that?”

  The insult hit home.

  “Neither,” he snapped back. “There will be no bedchamber for you, my haughty, acid-tongued jezebel. Right here will serve perfectly.”

  He gestured to the rug before the roaring fire.

  “I offered you all I had, and you insulted me, threw it back in my face. Well now, Madam, the tables have turned and I shall sample all you have to offer. Be quick now…”

  And as she began to undress, Elizabeth wept and whispered to herself. They were words of comfort, words of abject apology to the bridegroom she was about to betray, and a promise to the old gods that this sadistic fiend would pay for his actions – in ways he hadn’t countenanced in even his most troubled and terror-filled nightmares.

  Pease porridge hot, Pease porridge cold

  Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old…

  The grey, lumpy, congealed paste had no taste - nothing save a dry, gritty, glutinous texture – but Jack wolfed it down, grunting, barely pausing to chew. Emptying the small wooden bowl in seconds, he scraped at the insides with his fingernails, desperately trying to salvage every last morsel.

  It was his first food in days, and to his frail, hunger-raddled body this was nectar. He sucked his fingers noisily, licking off every speck of the porridge.

  Although he wanted to yell for more, to beg for anything that would stop the pitiless gnawing in the pit of his stomach, he knew it was pointless. Starving him was all part of his captors’ game, a careful component in the ruthless stratagem to wear him down. That and the tiny dribbles of tepid water they allowed every other day; just enough moisture to keep him alive, but not enough to slake his thirst or stop his blackened lips cracking, or his throat chafing raw.