The Witch Hunter's Tale

by Sam Thomas

  Martha and I stepped past her and into the cold winter wind. The door slammed behind us as we wended our way back toward St. Andrewgate.

  We had far too many hours to wait until Rebecca’s scheme would begin in earnest. Martha and I busied ourselves about the house as best we could, but it was impossible to focus on any one task for more than a few minutes. I could sense Hannah’s growing annoyance, and thanked God for sending such a patient servant to me.

  Eventually the appointed hour arrived. Martha helped me into my most luxurious gown, and the two of us walked to the Council Hall. Before we entered I peered over the river and saw that ice now covered the hole through which Mark Preston had fallen. For a moment I wondered where his body might be, whether it would surface in the spring or be washed out to sea, but I pushed that a thought away. It would take months for me to wash the blood from my hands—if such a thing were possible—but now was not the time to start. I gathered myself for the task ahead, and Martha and I stepped into the Council chamber.

  Chapter 23

  When we entered the Council Hall, we found Joseph standing at the end of the table opposite the Lord Mayor. He had his back to us and was in the midst of a speech about God’s will. It galled me that such sentiments came from so heartless a man, and I took comfort in the fact that—if all went well—these would be the last words he spoke to the Council. I said a prayer of thanks that none of the Aldermen noticed our arrival. Martha and I remained quiet as Joseph spoke, keeping to the shadows behind him so that he would not notice us. The less warning he had, the better our chances of success.

  Eventually Joseph ended his sermonizing and took his seat. Lord Mayor Greenbury asked if anyone else had business for the Council. For a moment I thought he glanced past Joseph in our direction, but I dismissed the idea. How could he know what we had planned? I took a breath to gather myself and stepped out of the shadows.

  “Yes, my Lord Mayor,” I called out. “I do, and I must address the Council.” My voice echoed through the Council Hall with more authority and confidence than I felt. I counted it as a blessing.

  Nearly every head turned in my direction, perhaps surprised that a woman would take such liberties. Joseph merely cocked his head to one side, but it was clear he recognized my voice.

  The Lord Mayor peered at me, his eyes glittering in the torchlight. “This is unusual, to say the least. What business do you have?”

  “It is a matter of greatest and gravest importance to York, the city which I love beyond measure,” I replied. I kept behind Joseph as I approached the table. If Joseph wanted to see me, he would have to turn his back on the rest of the Council. “It concerns the plague of witches that has so recently descended upon the city.” My mind went back to the night when Rebecca Hooke had spoken similar words to the same men, and I hoped I could speak half so effectively.

  “We were told by ministers and magistrates alike that we must cut the cancer of witchcraft out of the city before the Lord God will bring this endless winter to a close. Since then the city has arrested dozens of witches. Some we have hanged, and the rest sit in prison, laid in double irons. We have done all that the Lord asked of us, yet the killing cold endures.”

  Joseph rose to defend his actions. “To question the will of God in this way is blasphemy,” he cried out. “The cold continues because the Lord still finds fault with the city. It means that we must continue to labor in His vineyards.”

  “I am not questioning the will of God, but the actions of men,” I replied. “The horrible truth, the truth that holds us in these frozen fetters, is that even as we have sent some witches to the gallows—and praise be to God for that—we have missed Satan’s Adam, his very first witch, the one who lured all others into that damnable art.”

  “Speak plainly, Lady Bridget.” The Lord Mayor’s voice seemed curiously strong coming from such an aged body. “Who is Satan’s Adam? Who is this witch?”

  “He is here in this room,” I replied.

  Complete silence greeted my words. While most on the Council looked around the room wondering whom I meant, Joseph sat still as a stone. I could not imagine that he understood my plan—or, to be fair, Rebecca’s plan—but it seemed clear that my words had taken him unawares.

  “You might wonder how your colleague, Mr. Joseph Hodgson, has become so skilled in finding witches,” I continued. “And it might seem strange that he is so adept in gaining their confidence and confessions. After all, what instruction has he had in that work? There were no witches in Parliament’s armies, and there were none in his household. He has never been to university, nor did he study demonology under some master. How then does he know so much of witches and witchcraft?”

  The Council sat in silence, every one of them now looking past Joseph at me. For a moment I wished I could see Joseph’s face to better judge his reaction, but I kept my place behind him. All in the room must have known, or at least guessed, what I was about to say, but nevertheless they waited for the words.

  “The truth is that the devil counts Joseph Hodgson among his most loyal agents.”

  Joseph leaped to his feet shouting his objections, and most on the Council began to shout along with him, drowning out his protests. The Lord Mayor pounded on the table, hoping to restore some semblance of order, but it only added to the din. Joseph turned to face me, his eyes alight with fury. He started to speak, but I could not hear him for all the noise. After a moment he realized he’d turned his back to the Council and risked losing them. He cursed, turned around, and resumed crying up his innocence.

  “You may wonder how I know this,” I cried.

  A few of the Aldermen closest to me heard my words and stopped their chattering. Others soon followed suit.

  “You may wonder if this is not some fantasy born of overheated dreams,” I said. “But I have a witness, one who can attest to the truth of my words. And she is here now.”

  Rebecca Hooke’s footsteps echoed through the chamber as she stepped out of the shadows. I had left the hall’s door ajar so that she could enter silently. She continued past me until she reached the Lord Mayor’s side. Now we stood at either end of the table, the City Council between us, owned by us.

  “Members of the Council,” she said, her voice still weak from the throttling I’d given her. “For these last weeks, I have been Mr. Hodgson’s helpmeet in his search for witches. During that time I believed that he had an especial talent for finding those who had joined Satan’s ranks. And I was happy to be a solider in the army of the Lord.”

  I could not help admiring how skillfully she had reduced her role in the hangings from war-captain to mere foot soldier.

  “But I have recently discovered that I have been an unwitting aid to the devil himself, and that Mr. Hodgson owes his success in finding witches not to the Lord our God but to that fallen angel, Satan himself. Not ten days ago I found in his possession a bead-roll of all York’s witches, a list of every last one. And each name had been written in the same infernal and unnatural hand. Joseph Hodgson has been able to find witches because he is among their number and because the devil has told him who they were!”

  The Aldermen leaped to their feet, and once again chaos reigned. Some demanded to see this book, some shouted for Joseph’s arrest, while Joseph insisted over the din that there was no such book. It took some doing, but at last the Lord Mayor imposed order on the crowd. The Aldermen turned to face Rebecca.

  “You must wonder why I did not expose Mr. Hodgson as soon as I saw his book.” Some on the Council nodded in agreement. “The truth is that I feared for my life. And it was not until I learned that Lady Hodgson shared similar suspicions that I could muster the courage to confront Mr. Hodgson.”

  The Aldermen looked between Rebecca and me before their eyes settled on Joseph. He remained still, but I had no doubt he was considering how best to defend himself. The answer seemed obvious: He would cast both Rebecca and me as witches and see us hanged. The question was whether he could accomplish this end.

>   “And my fears were well founded,” Rebecca continued, her voice rising as she spoke. The Aldermen’s eyes returned to her. “For today, mere moments after I determined to tell the truth about Mr. Hodgson, one of his devils—perhaps it was his familiar—burst into my chamber and did this!” Rebecca violently pulled down her scarf to reveal the bruises, by now a bright and angry purple, that I had given her just a few hours before.

  The Aldermen gasped as one, and I choked back a cry of amazement at her audacity. Joseph started to speak, but Rebecca would not give him space.

  “Even as I was at prayer this creature burst into my chamber and laid violent hands on me. Oh men, his black-scaled hands were hard as glass and cold as ice. I have no doubt that he had come to murder me, and I can only thank the good Lord that I did not perish at that demon’s hands.”

  Rebecca glanced in my direction, and I thought a smile dashed across her face. I was the demon, of course.

  “But it was not the Lord’s will that I should die,” she continued. “Nor was it His will that Mr. Hodgson should triumph, for neither Satan nor his agents ever will. But if the Council wishes to cleanse York of the stain of witchcraft, you should turn your attention to one of your own. The chief witch in all York is Joseph Hodgson.”

  The Aldermen looked at Joseph with a mix of fear and uncertainty. They had followed him for so long and were reluctant to turn against him. This was the moment when the battle would be decided, either for good or for ill.

  Joseph stood to speak. “My Lord Mayor, these accusations are baseless, slanderous, and a crime against God’s truth. It is well known that, through no fault of my own, Lady Hodgson has become my avowed enemy. And I need not remind you that her nephew has been taken for the murder of George Breary. Nor do I need to say that a boy from her household has been accused of witchcraft. I bear no malice toward her for her wanton words. She is merely a woman, a widow without a master to govern her, who will say anything in order to save her murderous family. She does not care that they have committed the most hateful of sins, she thinks only of her private interests. Let us drive this woman from the Council chamber and return to business.”

  It was a weak reply at best, and for that I had to give credit to Rebecca. How could Joseph argue with the bruises she had displayed? She had shaken him to his bones.

  “And what of Mrs. Hooke?” The Lord Mayor’s voice echoed through the hall, cold as stone and steel. “The meanest beggar in York knows that she hates Lady Hodgson above all others in the city. Why would she turn against you and run into the arms of her enemy?”

  Joseph stared at the Lord Mayor and Rebecca, trying to find an answer to this question. Why had Rebecca betrayed him? His answer did not come soon enough. The Lord Mayor inclined his head to the side, and two bailiffs stepped forward to seize Joseph by his arms. As they did, Joseph began to berate all who were present in the most horrible terms. He called Rebecca and me lying whores, and he accused the Lord Mayor and the rest of the Aldermen of being bewitched by the two of us. The Alderman shouted back at him, and confusion ruled the day.

  I watched Joseph’s face as the bailiffs bound his hands and saw him come to some sort of realization. He straightened himself and set his shoulders. “My Lord Mayor,” he cried. “You must hear me! It was James Hooke! He—”

  Before Joseph could say any more, Rebecca took a candlestick from the table and struck him a vicious clout to the mouth. Joseph tried to continue, but Rebecca’s blow left him spitting blood and teeth onto the floor. The bailiffs dragged him from the hall before he could say another word. I found Martha in a corner of the room, where she had hidden. She stood there, wide eyed and open mouthed.

  “She did it,” Martha breathed when I reached her side. “She brought him down.”

  “That is not all,” I said. “I know who killed George Breary.”

  Martha looked at me in confusion. “Not Mark Preston? Or Joseph Hodgson?”

  I shook my head and gestured for the door. It would not do to have this conversation in public. We slipped outside, and I guided her to the shelter of a doorway where we could speak without fear of being overheard.

  “When we were at Grace Thompson’s travail, the gossips were talking of the Lord Mayor’s wife,” I said.

  “It was Agnes Greenbury!” Martha cried. “She had Mr. Breary killed!”

  “It was not so simple,” I replied. “They said that James Hooke was pining for Agnes Greenbury. They had seen him waiting outside her window, just hoping to catch a glimpse of her face. He was in love with her.”

  “It was James?” Martha considered the idea. Her face lit up when the pieces fell into place. “As soon as Joseph mentioned his name, Rebecca clouted him with the candlestick.”

  “Aye,” I said. “That was when I solved the puzzle. Perhaps James saw George as his rival and killed him for it. Perhaps Agnes demanded it of him. We may never know, but it explains everything.”

  “Could Rebecca have demanded he do it?” Martha asked. “Mr. Breary was her enemy as well. He intended to remove her as the city’s Searcher and put you in that position. She could never allow that.”

  “She is certainly capable of doing such a thing,” I said.

  “Joseph must have recognized James’s guilt,” Martha continued. “And that is why Rebecca turned against him. To save her son.”

  Martha and I stood in the doorway and watched as the Aldermen and their followers drifted out. Soon enough Rebecca and her footman stepped through the door and started walking toward her home in St. Michael’s parish. Martha and I fell in behind her. When we were safely away from the Council Hall I called her name. Rebecca and her man stopped and waited for us to approach.

  “We must speak,” I said.

  Rebecca understood the tone in my voice. “Wait at the corner,” she told her man. He bowed and disappeared into the shadows. “What is it?”

  I saw no reason to mince my words. “Your son murdered George Breary.”

  “Another murder accusation?” Rebecca asked. “You have done this before, and it did you no good. Must we put on the same old play?”

  “George was my friend,” I said. “Your son killed him, and I must know why.”

  “Why?” A harsh laugh escaped Rebecca’s throat. “Who knows with such a blockish boy? Sometimes, Bridget, I think you were lucky to lose your children so young. They never reached an age when they could disappoint you.”

  “You pushed him to do it,” Martha said. “Mr. Breary was going to rob you of your power, and you would not have it.”

  Rebecca laughed again. “And you think I would send James on such a mission? Have you met him? I cannot send him for a loaf of bread without something going wrong, let alone to murder a grown man. No, it was his doing.”

  “He did it to protect you,” I said.

  “I wish that were the case,” Rebecca replied. “At least there would be some sense to that. No, he did it for that whore.”

  “Agnes Greenbury,” I said. “He thought that if George were dead, she might turn her attention to him.”

  “Perhaps that is why,” Rebecca replied, shaking her head in despair. “Or perhaps she convinced him to do it so she could be rid of that old goat. Whatever the case, the matter is near its end.”

  “How did Joseph find out that James killed Mr. Breary?” I asked. “That is why you decided to betray him, isn’t it?”

  When Rebecca smiled, her teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “My fool of a son went to Mr. Hodgson and announced that he’d done it. He hoped that Joseph would offer him a reward for ridding him of so troublesome a man.”

  “And you couldn’t let that stand,” Martha said.

  “I might as well have tied a noose around my own neck and handed the loose end to Joseph,” she replied. “I cannot allow anyone to have such an advantage over me. No, once James confessed his crime I had no choice but to act against Joseph.”

  “Joseph can still accuse him of the murder,” I pointed out. “Even through broken teeth.”r />
  “And who will listen to an accused witch?” Rebecca paused for a moment. “But you make a good point. Perhaps I’ll speak to the Lord Mayor and add Mr. Breary’s murder to the charges against Joseph. Just to be sure.” Rebecca nodded in satisfaction, leaving no doubt that she intended to do exactly that.

  “I will see you at Joseph’s trial,” she said with a cold smile. “It should be a first-rate spectacle.”

  * * *

  The week that followed Joseph’s arrest passed with the pace and pain of a difficult birth. I did my best to think of other matters, but I could never draw my mind away from Will, Tree, and Elizabeth. Soon we received word from Samuel Short that Will and Tree, along with Stephen Daniels, had been sent to the Castle. Thanks to their escape from Ouse Bridge gaol, the Warden decreed that they would have no visitors, but Samuel had seen them when they arrived, and he said that all seemed in good health. I offered a prayer of thanks and sent enough blankets and food to keep them and their jailors more than comfortable. Of Elizabeth, we knew less, and it was this that kept me awake until the early morning hours. We knew that Joseph had sent her to live with a poor widow but, in an act of pure malice, he refused to say who it was, or if she even lived in the city.

  Thankfully, the Lord Mayor sent word of Elizabeth’s disappearance throughout York, and by God’s grace she was discovered in Micklegate. It tore at my heart to know that she had been so frightened, and the joy I felt when she rushed into my arms was matched only by the enduring sorrow at Tree and Will’s absence. I tried as best I could to live as if all would be well, but even Elizabeth could sense my worry. She wondered where the guards had taken Will and Tree, and if they had gone to live with poor widows as well.

  “They are back in gaol,” I explained. “But the man who put them there is soon to be punished, and then they will come home.” That was what I prayed for, at least.

  And there were signs that the storm had indeed passed. Rebecca Hooke recanted her testimony against the women still in gaol, and she claimed that Joseph had bewitched her into finding the Devil’s Mark upon them. When Rebecca swore to this, the trials of other witches stopped. All told, Rebecca’s scheme to overthrow Joseph seemed to be proceeding apace. But Grace Thompson’s death had shown me—as if I needed reminding—that an easy travail did not mean an easy birth.