by Luz Gabás
“You know you can’t touch me because of who I am.”
The man grabbed her again, harder this time, twisting her arm behind her back.
“Here you women are all the same,” he muttered.
He dragged her to the next room, that place she had imagined so often and now saw with her own eyes. In times past, it must have been the kitchen, as there was a large fireplace with a pot hanging from an iron chain, a stone ledge that occupied one side of the room, and wooden battens with hooks on the walls. Her stomach turned, and she had to try not to vomit. The smell was even more nauseating than in the room, where the women had to defecate in buckets; here, there were dried bloodstains on the floor. In a corner, she saw hair that had been cut off; in the fire, a pair of tongs and two red-hot irons; and hanging from the ceiling, some ropes on pulleys.
The heavy man approached her and handed her a piece of paper with some words in Latin.
“If you can read, read it. Otherwise, I’ll tell you what it says.”
Brianda translated aloud. “I beseech Thee, Almighty God, that as the milk of the Virgin Mary was sweet for Our Lord Jesus Christ, so will these ropes and torments be sweet to my arms and limbs. Amen.” Her body shook with fear.
The one-eyed man tied her hands behind her back with twine. To this he tied a rope that went through the pulley hanging from the ceiling.
“We don’t know how to make formal questions,” he said. “We only ask you one thing: Are you a witch?”
Brianda said nothing. She fixed her gaze on the open window in front of her. It was night. The light of the moon drew the silhouettes of the nearby trees on the rocky mass of Beles Peak.
They pulled on the rope and began to suspend her in the air slowly, until her feet left the floor. She felt a deep, lacerating pain in her shoulders and remembered poor Cecilia. Who would help her now if her shoulder was dislocated?
But she did not scream. She looked again toward the summit of Beles Peak and distracted herself by counting the stars that crowned its top. There were dozens, hundreds. Some twinkled; others did not. She had looked at them so many times on her night rides with Corso! Did the same ones always light up and go out each night? Perhaps when they went out they died forever while others were born? She felt her body lifted a little more. The pain was so heartrending that her mind abandoned her body. She had wings to fly to those stars in that other world she only shared with Corso. Nothing they did to her mattered. They could destroy her body, rip her skin, and spill her blood, but her soul would remain always intact, immune, and inviolable for Corso.
That was her triumph over the flesh, weak and short-lived.
They pulled on the rope again. Another hand’s length. Then another. She would not reveal her suffering.
“Let her down,” whispered one of them, unsettled. “The devil himself must be aiding her.”
She woke in the room when they came for her the following morning. Without a word, they led her to the yard and put her on the same cart that had brought her to Cuyls House the first day, escorted by two men on horseback. For much of the journey to Tiles, Brianda kept her eyes closed. The sunlight reflected off the frozen fields and hurt her eyes. Bit by bit, she got used to it and she contemplated the landscape distantly, as if the person who gazed along the fields, the walls by the roadside, the trees, and the stone houses was not Brianda of Lubich, but rather a feathery being like a butterfly fluttering here and there with innocent curiosity, waiting for the novelties of the upcoming spring.
The cart’s wheels crunched along the fork toward the church in Tiles, and Brianda saw a group of riders approaching. Corso was in the middle, and she stood up and looked at him. When their eyes met, he furiously spurred on his horse, reached her, and jumped onto the cart before anyone could react. The men quickly surrounded them and halted the cart.
“There is no law to prevent me going with her!” Corso roared, wrapping Brianda in his arms.
One of the men signaled the driver to continue.
Corso silently stroked Brianda’s head with the same tenderness as always, even though she no longer had her long dark hair but dirty, rough tufts. He then ran his hands along her body, as if to make sure she was missing nothing else, not even an inch of skin. He finally placed one of his large hands over her belly and frowned. He remembered perfectly how Brianda had changed, day by day, when she was pregnant with Johan. With his eyes, he asked for an explanation that she did not give and he understood that to name her present state would achieve nothing but add further cruelty to what she was already suffering.
Brianda considered his dark eyes without shedding a tear.
“You have to promise me something,” she asked him. “Come what may, look after Johan. He is the fruit of the union of our blood. He will perpetuate us while he lives.”
Corso nodded and his eyes shone with emotion.
“Your strength wounds me, and yet I admire it, Brianda. I’ve killed without remorse and have watched death with indifference, but the desperation I’ve seen in others now clouds my spirit as if I were a soldier in his first battle.”
“The blood of my father runs in my veins. But there is something greater than that, Corso. I survive because of you. I was already dead once, when I thought I had lost you. Each day since you came back has been a gift from heaven.” She lowered her gaze. “Has there been any word from the justice?”
Corso held her tighter but did not answer. Brianda understood that her battle for Lubich had been doomed from the start. Jayme’s revenge was nearly complete. He had stripped her of all that was hers, and now he would attempt to take her life.
The cart went through the silent crowd that had gathered in the graveyard and stopped. Corso helped Brianda get down and went with her, his arm around her waist, into the church. In front of the altar, the members of the council waited sitting down: the lawyer, Father Guillem, Remon, and Domingo the carpenter. Pere and Marquo kept their eyes down the whole time. Jayme pointed for her to sit before the Lubich chapel so that both the attendees and the tribunal could see her face when she answered. Corso went to the Anels chapel, directly opposite. Beside him, there were two armed men.
Arpayon got to his feet and said, “Be it manifest to all that, called, convened, and gathered, the General Council shall proceed with the present criminal action against Brianda of Anels, inhabitant of Tiles, accused of numerous crimes and misdemeanors, taken for evil and a witch.”
He brought over the book of the Four Gospels and asked her to place her right hand on it and to swear to tell the truth in everything she was asked.
“Like the rest of the accused and witnesses,” he added, “do you swear not to speak out of hate, love, fear, blackmail, willing-or unwillingness, but only to tell the truth?”
“I swear,” said Brianda, her voice trembling.
The notary sat down, and Marquo stood up. With his eyes fixed on Brianda’s feet, he said woodenly, “Answer if your name is Brianda of Anels and if you are an inhabitant of Tiles.”
“You know very well I am Brianda of Lubich and have lived here since I was born.”
“Tell us the truth about all you have been accused of. If you do so, we will treat you with mercy. Otherwise, we will use the full rigors of the law.”
“I don’t know what I am accused of, and I have already been tortured so I know the rigors you are talking about.” Marquo raised his gaze for the first time. He was frowning. Brianda looked at him with disdain. “Given that you are the justice, you must be aware of everything you order?”
“I didn’t—” Marquo looked at Jayme, who shrugged with exaggerated innocence. Marquo coughed before continuing. “Have you had any error in faith?”
“No.”
“Did you become a witch and as one attend witches’ gatherings?”
“No.”
“Have you killed babies or given poisons?”
“No.”
“Do you know any prisoners or other women who have done so?”
“No.�
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“Do you think you have ever been at a large gathering?”
“Yes. And so have you.”
“Have you ever had vile thoughts or imaginings?”
“Didn’t you have, when you fought for the count together with men like my father?”
Jayme interrupted. “Answer yes or no.”
“At this moment, yes, I do. I have vile thoughts and imaginings about you, Jayme of Cuyls. You unsettled this land, you ordered my father killed, and now you are leading this great farce.”
Jayme reddened. He addressed the lawyer: “Note down this accusation as an example of the falsehoods that come from her mouth. Note that she addresses the tribunal with a defiant attitude.”
Then he got up and approached her, waving Marquo away.
“We know a lot more than you suspect. Confess: Have you never been bewildered, out of yourself, not knowing what you were doing?”
Brianda remembered the previous night, when her wandering around the stars had helped her resist the pain of torture.
“You hesitate?” she heard Jayme say.
“No. I have always been aware of what I was doing.”
“Your friends have told us about the witchcraft you shared with them.”
“I don’t know what friends you are referring to.”
Jayme went to the table and gathered a bundle of papers, which he showed to the public.
“Like them, you took a toad and skinned it. You bit a hole in the skin on its head. You held the head of the creature with your hand and with your teeth you bit its skin and with one blow you left the animal alive and skinless. You kept the skin and minced the meat, which you added to a pot with brains and bones of the dead. You boiled it and then put it on some boards so the sun would dry it out. Days later, you made it into a powder and gave it to your friends, the witches of your coven.” He looked at those who were sitting in the front row and added ironically, “So much detail in the recipe could not be a product of imaginings.”
“I have never done what you say,” said Brianda.
“You witches always deny your actions, changing your facial expressions from downcast to arrogant. This is what makes the task of unmasking you so arduous. Listen to what another of the accused said of you and your friends. One night you entered Marquo of Besalduch’s house, you took Alodia’s newborn child from her arms, and you brought him to the kitchen. There, you took embers from the fire and put him on top of them to burn his skin. And once he was dead, you returned him to his mother’s arms without her being aware of it.”
Someone in the crowd began to sob. Brianda turned and saw Alodia near the door. Beside her, several people tried to comfort her and looked disapprovingly at the accused.
“I have never done what you say!” Brianda shouted, immediately regretting her reaction. She must remain calm to ensure that the mistrust of a few did not extend like a plague over the mood of all. She looked at Corso, who kept his eyes on her. His pose was defiant and intimidating, haughty, as if he wanted to show how proud he was of her. Look at me every time you answer, he seemed to say. I know you are telling the truth. Others have doubted their wives. I would never doubt you.
“Have you perhaps seen or heard any person doing or talking about the aforementioned?” asked Jayme impatiently. He began speaking more quickly, which forced her to pay attention.
“I have not seen or heard anything, and if any have said that of me, it is a lie.”
“Then neither is it true that by anointing under your armpits, your hands, your temples, your face, your breasts, your sex area, and the soles of your feet with certain ointments and poisons, you invoked the devil and on more than one night flew to the top of Beles Peak, where you gathered with your companions and the devil.”
“It’s not true.”
“Did you see the devil in the form of a man with horns? Did you kneel in front of him? Did you kiss his left hand, his shameful parts, and the orifice under his tail, and promise fealty? Did you feel over your mouth the hedonistic smell of his wind? The devil told your companions that he would give them money and make them rich.”
“No.”
“Is it not true that you were with him and he told them that?”
“I have not seen the devil, I have not done what you have said, and I don’t know what others have done.”
Brianda was growing weary. All of this was absurd. Why was the crowd so somber? Could they really believe the things Jayme said could be true?
“Did you see his feet?”
“No.”
“Would you like yours to be the same? Would you like to have the same feet?”
“No.”
“Well, what were they like, if yours are not the same?”
A murmur spread through the church. In her haste to deny everything convincingly, Brianda had fallen into a ridiculous but dangerous trap.
“I did not see his feet because I never went anywhere or saw anyone.”
“So, did you not dance with him or let him take you in all the orifices of your body and in the dirty parts? Did you not feel his cold, hard-as-iron member inside you? Did you not feel delight in his entry? Did you not feel his cold-as-ice humor in your sex?”
Brianda frowned, horrified that someone would dare even to put into words those sick ideas.
“No!”
Jayme also raised his voice.
“Confess, Brianda. Did you deny God, the Virgin Mary, all the saints, your baptism, your confirmation, your parents and godparents, and take Satan as your master?”
“No!”
“Is it not true that, after that encounter, you could not see the Host when it was raised in mass, or if you did, you saw it as black?”
“No!”
“Since then, have you induced others to become witches and have you taught them your tricks?”
“No!”
“You haven’t done it since then—”
“I have never done it!” Brianda shouted. The interrogation was becoming a battle between idiocy and wiliness, a multitude of questions without foundation. “Where is the proof you think you have? Are the lies achieved from the confessions of tortured women your only proof? What wouldn’t you say under torture?”
Jayme held silent for a while, too long. Some neighbors, uneasy, shifted in their seats.
“Do you doubt the words of those brave enough to confess the truth?” He asked the question very slowly. “Do you doubt the standing of this tribunal that only wants to cure this community of the sickness that afflicts it?”
Now it was Brianda who kept quiet. An affirmative answer fought to come out of her mouth, but prudence dictated that from then on, any wrong answer would do nothing but increase the hostility they felt toward her.
“I’m saying that you have no evidence,” she said finally.
“We have and we will present it.” Jayme took another paper from the table. “Was it you who brought that gypsy called Cecilia here?”
“Yes.” Brianda glared at Marquo.
“Did you know that, in the lowlands, her ilk are persecuted by orders of the king and, even so, you wished to save her?”
“They were going to kill her. That is called mercy.”
“Disobeying the king to save a witch is mercy? So confused are your principles that you see as Christian something that is not? Was it the gypsy who introduced you to witchcraft? Her guilt was demonstrated when she did not have the courage to face this tribunal.”
“Have any of the accused been exonerated in these trials?” Brianda asked.
“Were any innocent?” Jayme asked the crowd. Several people shook their heads. “We will continue then. Tell us, Brianda, is it not true that Aldonsa and you saved your husband from death? The apothecary declared that Corso of Anels was cured miraculously overnight by the strange remedies that you administered to him. Did she teach you or was it the other way around?”
“There was nothing strange in any of that,” answered Brianda, looking once more at Corso. “My husband
is a strong man. It wasn’t his time.”
“It’s curious. What is not strange to a witch surprises a man of science. I also find it hard to believe that a man like your husband, who had nothing, became the master of Anels. I can only think of one way for someone to rise to a position he doesn’t deserve.”
“It was by his own merits. I see no difference between you and him. At least he didn’t steal what wasn’t his—”
Jayme addressed the lawyer again.
“Be it noted that she has again accused me without proof or foundation.” He turned to Pere. “Tell us, Pere. Has the justice of the kingdom decided the action brought by the accused against my person?”
Pere shook his head.
“Have I ever interfered in the decision of the said justice?”
Pere shook his head again.
“Does she have the right, therefore, to speak in such terms? My deceased wife, Elvira, and I never threw this woman out of Lubich. It was she, of unruly nature, who married in secret, against her mother’s advice. And it was she who looked at her mother with such hate that she provoked her illness. Here we have more proof of her wiles, her spells.” He turned toward her and shouted, “You cursed your mother and killed her by grief!”
The murmurs of the crowd increased, and Brianda felt faint. Jayme’s attacks came with such speed and ferocity she had no time to think or reflect. She could never have imagined that the normal course of her life could be explained from such a perverse perspective. Jayme exploited her weakness to strike more boldly still.
“What would you expect from someone who grew up among heretics? Do you also deny that one of your father’s greatest friends was a certain Agut, a Frenchman who entered these lands to fight against our king? What was Johan of Lubich’s real intention: Was it to support the count or to favor the entry of the damned Huguenots?”
He now addressed Father Guillem. “In the western valleys, the king’s armies are still fighting against the heretical atheists of France who extend their poison by tricking ignorant and poorly proselytized people. Here we are fighting in our own way to the same end. Is not the extermination of witches the best way of showing the definitive victory of God in the battle against evil? Our strength comes from our fear of God. Where did yours come from when you killed that wolf by yourself, Brianda?”