Juan saluted and added something in laughing Spanish, to which Alejandro replied with a few sharp words. Then he urged the stallion up the grassy verge and through a narrow gap in the hedgerow. The open fields lay just beyond, green and sunlit all the way across the valley and back to the darker, forested slopes of Woodstock.
The pace increased once we were clear of the trees, land flashing past in a blur under the horse’s hooves. Never much of a horsewoman, I began to feel queasy. As the black stallion launched into a powerful gallop, I clung to Alejandro’s flapping cloak with one hand, the other clutching Elizabeth’s letter like a talisman against danger, and turned my face into his chest.
I heard him chuckle. ‘Scared at last, Meg Lytton?’
I shook my head. ‘Sick,’ I muttered indistinctly, and Alejandro must have caught my reply, for his shoulders shook and I knew he was laughing again.
It seemed Elizabeth’s letter was less of a talisman and more of a beacon to show our enemies where we were, for no sooner had we entered the denser woodlands on the way to Woodstock than we heard voices ahead. Coarse shouts, like those of soldiers searching the woods.
Alejandro stiffened and led the horse carefully off the track. We rode in silence for a few moments. In a whisper, I started to ask if he knew a way round the woods, but he hushed me. I realized there was another group of men nearby, just out of sight behind a cluster of bushes.
We froze, listening to the men talk amongst themselves while Alejandro held the horse absolutely still, knowing that one movement could betray us. Alejandro’s arms came around me to grip the reins, and I felt a secret pleasure in the strength and warmth of his body against me.
‘Look, it’s simple. We were told to keep looking,’ one man insisted in a stubborn voice. ‘Keep looking until you find them, that’s what he said.’
‘No, he just told us to keep looking. He didn’t say who we were looking for.’
‘The witch,’ the first voice replied, clearly weary of having to explain everything. ‘The witch and the young Spaniard, those are the ones we’re looking for.’
A third man spoke up, his voice deep and perplexed. ‘And they went this way? But I don’t see why they should still be here when they left Woodstock . . . what, yesterday? The day before? It makes no sense to me.’
The first voice reprimanded him sternly. ‘It’s not our concern to make sense of his orders, just to carry them out. He knows what he knows.’
Man number three was still unimpressed. ‘But how does he know what he knows?’
‘I don’t bloody know. Maybe God talks to him in his sleep. It’s none of our concern, I tell you.’ The first voice sounded almost fearful. ‘Now stop arguing and keep your eyes and ears open. When Master Dent tells us to do something, we hop to it quick as we can. See? We don’t stand about debating how Dent knows the witch and her paramour will be here, we just look where we’re told to look.’
Master Dent. I was winded at the sound of that name, as though someone had just punched me in the stomach. Terror seized me and I could not even look up at Alejandro, though I felt his arms tighten about me. Through the back of my gown, the cool press of his silver cross made me shiver.
The second voice chimed in as they drew level with our hiding place. ‘I’m sweating like a pig in this sun. Will there be ale when we get back to the Bull, do you think?’
‘And who says we’re going back to the Bull?’
‘Aren’t we?’
‘If we find the witch, maybe. If not, we’ll be lucky to be allowed our beds tonight, let alone ale.’
‘Wait, what’s that over there? Something moved . . . is that one of them?’
The three men paused, clearly all staring at something nearby amongst the trees. I held Elizabeth’s letter firmly against Alejandro’s chest and closed my eyes. The fear of discovery twisted in my guts until I could hardly breathe. I did not dare look up.
Had they seen us through the ivy-thick trunks?
Then finally, the deep voice of man number three said, ‘No, it’s a turkey. Must have got loose from old Woolley’s farm.’
The men moved on and soon I could not even hear their voices. Alejandro let out a long-held breath and looked down at me. ‘This is going to be rather more difficult than I thought. With men searching the woods, it’ll be next to impossible for us to get back to Woodstock unseen. Unless we can find somewhere quiet to hide until nightfall, and sneak back under cover of darkness.’
I nodded, and was just about to suggest a good place to hide along the edge of the woodland when more voices approached us. This time the men seemed to be on horseback like ourselves.
One man was shouting after the others we had heard, ‘Have you seen anything yet?’
A faint shout of ‘No,’ came back.
There was a pause while the horses moved closer and stopped a mere ten feet from our hiding place. Then I heard a voice so chillingly familiar that I gasped and inadvertently sank my nails into Alejandro’s arm.
It was Marcus Dent himself.
NINETEEN
The Devil’s Mark
‘SHE’S HERE SOMEWHERE, with that young Spanish dog, and I intend to find her.’
The man’s voice belonged unmistakably to Marcus. The last time I had heard that voice, it had been whipping a crowd of villagers into religious fervour while they watched my aunt burn.
‘But these woods have already been searched, Master Dent, and not a trace found.’
‘Then let them be searched again.’
The witchfinder sounded worryingly sure of himself. But how? Malcolm was no friend of Marcus Dent’s. My cousin would never have told Dent where to find us, even in a fit of spite.
Besides, we had only left Malcolm and Tom Dorville a short while back. News of our whereabouts could not have reached Dent so quickly.
We must have been seen entering the wood. That was the only possible explanation.
Someone rode up at a smart pace and reined in beside the waiting men. ‘Still no sign of them,’ the newcomer admitted. ‘What now, Master Dent?’
Dent’s voice hardened. ‘Go back to the village and bring as many dogs and beaters as you can find. That should flush the pair out.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Their horses moved forward a few feet while the men discussed how long this new tactic would take.
Under cover of that noise, Alejandro nudged his black stallion towards the gnarled oak he had been eyeing.
‘Here,’ Alejandro whispered in my ear. ‘Climb up into this oak tree. We’ll slap the horse’s rump and let them follow it. Then we’ll wait until nightfall before continuing on foot.’
His plan was madness, and he must have known it. Once the dogs arrived, they would be bound to sniff us out, even hidden up a tree. Besides, by staying together, we increased the chances of us both being taken.
I gnawed at my lower lip. Just possessing Elizabeth’s letter, with its dangerously altered contents, would be enough to merit a charge of treason. But unless he was caught in my company, Alejandro was still innocent of all charges.
I looked at the gap between the horse and the tree’s leafy branches, and shook my head. ‘Can’t do it,’ I mouthed up at him.
‘Try,’ he mouthed back.
I pursed my lips and glared at him. ‘No.’
‘Meg,’ he whispered in a warning tone, then sighed. ‘All right, I’ll go first and pull you up into the branches. Here, hold him steady.’
‘Wait,’ I whispered, then closed my eyes, thinking of the two of us, the space around us dimming to a shadow, and spoke a single word of power. ‘Obscure!’
The spell of invisibility would not last, I knew that. My power was not strong enough. But it might give us both a chance to avoid capture.
Which gave me an even better idea . . .
Gingerly, I took up the reins as I heard Alejandro, invisible but warm beside me, pull himself up onto the lowest branch of the oak.
I knew how to ride side-saddle, but had nev
er been terribly keen on horses. Huge snuffling creatures that moved unpredictably, particularly when you were trying to make them stand still. Nonetheless, I gathered the reins together and patted the great lumping animal’s neck in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture. If I wanted to save Alejandro from a false accusation of treason, I would have to conquer my dislike of horses.
Once Alejandro was safely perched in the riotous green foliage of the oak, I heard the leaves rustle and saw the branch shake as he shifted position.
‘Meg, give me your hand!’
With all my strength, I wrenched the stallion’s head round and lashed him twice about the neck with the gathered reins.
‘Forgive me!’ was all I managed before the startled horse leaped forward beneath me and crashed through the undergrowth.
Birds flew up in all directions, fallen twigs cracked violently under the hooves, and the men who had been riding slowly away pulled up in confusion, shouting and pointing after my fleeing horse.
I was invisible now, though how long that state might last, I could not be sure. But no one would pursue me. Who would chase a riderless horse?
I let the stallion have his head – as if I could have prevented such a powerful animal from running away with me! – and we tore off through the trees at breakneck speed. Bent almost flat to avoid being struck by low branches, I clung on desperately, much as I had clung to Alejandro’s coat, and hoped the horse at least would have the good sense not to collide with a tree. With my eyes clamped shut in terror most of the way, I had no idea in which direction we were going.
Nor did I particularly care, so long as I put plenty of distance between myself and Alejandro before they caught me.
Eventually, the stallion slowed to a panting trot, its flanks heaving with effort. I was exhausted by then, barely able to hang onto the reins, my fingers laced frantically into the horse’s thick mane. There was the tinkling rush of a stream nearby, and the horse stopped abruptly, bending to the water.
The sunny woodland spun, my fingers loosened, and I fell to the ground with a thud. The horse lifted its head and eyed me resentfully, its long black muzzle dripping, before bending to drink again.
My hands tingled and I looked down, watching with horrified fascination as they returned to visibility. The rest of my body followed swiftly, though still a little shadowy.
The sound of pursuit reached me as I sat there on the bank of the stream, trying not to be sick.
Dent’s men!
I could hear horses crashing through the woods about a quarter of a mile away to the east, and men on foot somewhere to their north. They were shouting to each other and it sounded as though they were beating the bushes and woodland hollows as they moved forward, casting a wide circle so I could not escape.
Far off, I caught a muffled bevy of barking as dogs were brought into the chase.
I did not much care any more if they caught me, which seemed inevitable now. All I cared about was not dragging Alejandro de Castillo into my private war with Marcus Dent. I just hoped Alejandro had the good sense to stay in that leafy oak tree until those pursuing me had moved on.
The letter was crushed into the bodice of my gown. I drew it out and looked at it.
Should I destroy the letter before they reached me, or risk Elizabeth being charged with treason on the grounds of what this letter contained?
Yet if I destroyed it, Elizabeth would never be entirely sure that it was gone. She had said it herself: ‘Bring the letter back to me so I can see it safe.’
I staggered to my feet and searched about for a hiding place near the stream. I found one some ten feet away. A huge old beech had been stuck by lightning, its fallen branch gathering moss now in the undergrowth. One end was hollow. I thrust the letter inside and concealed it as best I could with leaves and mud.
I spread my fingers and turned in a full circle as I muttered the words, laying a quick concealing charm about the place. It would not hold for ever, maybe until the end of the day, but there was no time to perform a more complicated spell. At least anyone who rode through here in the next few hours would not notice the fallen beech.
The letter safely hidden, I dragged Alejandro’s stallion away from the stream and attempted to mount him again. It was time to find my way back to Woodstock if I possibly could. But the horse was having none of it. He seemed to sense that I was not only an inexperienced rider, but too exhausted to exert any influence over him. Every time I twisted my fingers in his mane and tried to hoist myself onto his back, the animal moved a few steps forward.
‘Stand still, damn you!’ I muttered, and fixed him with a stern eye. ‘Let me up.’
The horse looked quizzically at me, but neither of us had time to find out who would have won that particular battle, for at that moment a shout went up amongst the trees.
‘She’s here! The witch is here!’
So Dent’s men had found me at last. Did I have the energy to cast another spell and conceal myself from their eyes? I did not think so. My head was pounding and my legs could barely support me. Indeed, my capture seemed almost inevitable – as though fate had led me to this moment. I leaned my forehead on the horse’s warm flanks and waited for my pursuers to close in on me . . .
Rough hands pinioned my wrists behind my back and turned me, pushing me to my knees.
There were five men staring down at me: four on foot, and one perched on the back of an ancient-looking mule. I looked up at their curious faces, wondering which one would be most susceptible to my voice.
‘Cover her face!’ The oldest among them glared at me with undisguised malice. I recognized him as a man from Woodstock village, one of the church elders. ‘The witch can work magick with her eyes.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says Master Dent, that’s who. Now ride and tell him we’ve got her.’
The man with the mule grabbed at the stallion’s reins and led him away at a trot. One of the others threw a sack over my head, his eyes wide as though afraid I might smite him down before he could finish.
The inside of the sack smelled of old cabbages. I kneeled on the damp earth in darkness and listened to the men argue over who had seen me first. It seemed there was a reward for the man who caught me.
Before long, I heard horses approaching quickly. Then Marcus Dent’s voice was above me.
‘Well, well,’ Marcus said, and I caught a hint of triumphant laughter in his voice. ‘Meg Lytton brought to heel at last. Though we had better make sure this is the Lytton witch before we take her back to face trial. Pull off the sack for a moment.’
The abrupt sunlight dazzled me as the sack was lifted. I raised my head, and the men who had captured me took a few hurried steps back, as though in fear for their lives. Was I considered so dangerous?
Blinking, I stared up angrily into Marcus Dent’s face. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Silence, witch!’ He turned to the man beside him. ‘Yes, this is the Lytton girl. What about the man she was with?’
‘No sign of him, Master Dent.’
Marcus Dent narrowed his eyes but nodded. He looked back at me. ‘It’s about time we found out just how deep the rot goes in the Lytton women. First the aunt, now this girl—’
‘You’ll pay for murdering my aunt!’
He laughed at my furious outburst and put his boot in my face, pushing me to the floor. ‘Gag the witch. Put the sack back over her head. Let’s take her back to the village. I’ve sent ahead for a jury to be assembled. No more shilly-shallying – we’ll settle this tonight.’
The man next to him muttered something urgently in his ear, but Marcus shook him off with disdain.
‘Elizabeth? No one cares what that bastard whore says or thinks. It is only by the Queen’s grace that she has not yet lost her head.’ He nodded to the man behind me. Some filthy rag was pulled round my mouth as a gag, and the coarse hood of sackcloth was shoved roughly back over my head. ‘Besides, when Elizabeth hears the charges brought against this one, she will
not dare speak for her . . . unless she too is a witch.’
I was lifted bodily and thrown over a horse like a sack of wheat. Winded, I lay there groaning against the gag, my head and feet sticking out. Then the horses began to move, jolting me up and down, and I forgot the pain in my belly and focused instead on not being sick.
Soon Marcus Dent’s revenge would be complete. I was going to die, and probably in the same horrible manner that my aunt had perished. But at least the princess’s letter was safe. And they had not found Alejandro.
The ‘trial’ was a mockery of justice. The jury was a benchful of nervous-looking men, most of them little better than farmers dragged in off the fields, with Marcus Dent presiding in the absence of the magistrate. It was unclear on whose authority he was acting, but no one there dared question his right to pass judgement on me. Presumably they feared finding themselves next on his list.
They had chosen the nave of Woodstock church for my arraignment, since the landlord of the Bull Inn would apparently have nothing to do with this business. It was cold out of the sun, and the tortured body of Christ seemed to mock me from his crucifix, but at least I was in the right place to say a last-minute prayer not to wake up in Hell tomorrow.
I sat on a rickety stool in front of these good men, with my hands bound behind my back, and my fair hair loose about my shoulders – probably looking like a bird’s nest after the past few days without being combed. My gag and hood had been removed so that the jurors could question me properly. But I had been threatened with the gag again if I should speak out of turn or attempt to curse anyone present. I considered trying to turn myself invisible again, but the spell would not last long enough for me to escape with my hands bound.
Marcus Dent was holding up a leather-bound Latin book with the same reverence he might have shown to the Holy Bible. I read the name in gilt lettering on the spine and shivered. It was the Malleus Maleficarum, a book my aunt had warned me of many times. The Latin name meant The Hammer of Witches, for it was an evil and ignorant tract against the occult, telling men how to test and execute witches in their towns and villages. I looked at the book with loathing, certain that thousands of innocent women across the wide continent of Europe must have met an agonizing death through its teachings.
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