by Niamh Boyce
When I came to my senses, the room was the same, though everything had changed. The life Alice had here, everything she owned, everything she built – was because of Otto’s death. If he had lived, he would’ve been the owner of all Jose Kytler possessed, not Alice. She had the ring he was wearing when last I saw him. Did she have a hand in his death? Did she take him from me, from his daughter?
Yes, I realized, she did. Alice had made herself Jose’s sole heir.
The knowledge pressed into my chest, till all I could do was to try to breathe each breath. I found myself kneeling on all fours like a woman labouring.
Laughter came from downstairs, rare visitors. Stephen le Poer and one of his women. They were laughing about the accusations. ‘Ale? Have some stew, some mutton? A drop of deadly nightshade? Some hemlock?’ mocked Alice. The woman guffawed back. ‘Yes, yes, Alice! Fill my cup, fill it up.’ They laughed down there, as her husband lay dying. Poisoned, I had little doubt now, by Alice. I would go down and tell the new seneschal what I knew.
In my mind’s eye, I could see it happen: their laughter stopping, her expression changing as I told what she had done to her brother, what she was doing now to Sir John. It would bring an end to her reign, an end she deserved.
I saw myself standing there in the hall, telling the truth, and I saw, too, that what I wished to happen, what should happen, would not. My word was worth nothing. I was a maid; she was a burgess. She would reveal that I was Irish, claim that I was mad. They might even laugh.
The phial of Spanish Fly lay on the floor beside me. It wasn’t to blame, though – our master was not bleeding. Something else sickened Sir John, some strong root perhaps. I rummaged through the chest but found nothing fatal amongst the remedies and relics, just the keepsakes, charms and powders that any woman might own. I picked up the phial, turned it about. A thought dawned – what would Sir John know of potions or herbs? And with his fear of Alice, wouldn’t he believe someone that others wouldn’t? He would take me at my word. I stumbled like a drunk towards his chamber.
Sir John pulled himself up and sat leaning back against his pillows. I was panting a little and my voice shook as I held up the phial.
‘I opened a chest of Alice’s and found this poison, and other evil objects – I can show you.’
He rose slowly from the bed and followed, shaky on his legs as a drunk. Once there in the anteroom, he recoiled from the open chest.
‘This is proof,’ he said, ‘that she is what they say; only a sorceress could possess such items. It is right, only right, you gave up your mistress. Maybe you, too, can be forgiven your sins and the part you have played.’
Part I played? I played no part. I should’ve left then; I should’ve taken my daughter and left, even if I had to pull her through the streets of Kilkennie by her hair. But I didn’t. I just stood there. Because I wanted Alice Kytler punished.
‘We must bring word of this to the bishop. No one but he will dare stand against your mistress.’
With that, at least, I agreed.
‘I must do one thing,’ I said, ‘and then we’ll go.’
I left John to dress himself and went to find my daughter.
I didn’t have to look far; Líadan was down the corridor in Alice’s chamber. Her head was veiled; she wore her mistress’s gown and sat at her desk. I told her quickly that Alice had been poisoning Sir John; that she must pack, for we would leave tonight. The rest, I would tell later, when I had more time. Líadan looked at me and released a long sigh. Here she was, my skin, bones and blood, sutured into a merchant lady’s life, with ink on her fingers, showing only disdain for her mother. I would tell her the full truth. She wouldn’t want to spend another night in this place once she knew. Just as I opened my mouth, Alice and Will entered the chamber.
I turned and saw Alice as if for the first time, saw the bloodless creature that she was. The rustling of her skirts made my stomach turn. Something, my expression perhaps, made her spin around and leave the room. I followed at her heel. Once in the corridor, she kept walking. I grabbed her elbow and pulled her backwards.
‘How could you?’ I whispered.
‘How could I what?’ Alice stepped close, close enough to kiss me.
I held up Otto’s ring. She shrugged as if it were nothing, meant nothing.
‘You seem unwell,’ she said.
‘I know the truth, I know it, and so soon will she.’
I pointed towards the door behind which my daughter sat: a living imitation of the woman who had disposed of her father. Alice’s face remained a mask: even her eyes told nothing. It was her hands that gave her away. She kept a tight grip on her wrist, because another word from me, and she would’ve reached out and slapped my face. I felt afraid. That was the least of what she would do, if she knew my plan. If I didn’t go now, I mightn’t live long enough to carry it out.
39. Basilia
After my mother and Alice rushed out, Will and I were left alone. He was glad he’d lost the vote. He’d never wanted to be seneschal, he confessed; he’d prefer to travel, but, before he left on his adventures, he was going to avenge Sir Arnold’s death by storming the bishop’s house, kidnapping him and burning down the cathedral. Then everyone could be buried and there wouldn’t be so many rats and such a stink about Hightown. Will jumped around, going through the different moves he could make with his dagger. He talked as if it were all happening in a distant land. He was very young to be a man.
‘Look at you frown. You needn’t worry; I’m not going to kiss you. I came only to please Mother.’
That wasn’t what worried me. I was sad that my mother, of all people, believed the accusations against our mistress. The way she had looked at me, studying my clothing with scorn. She was accusing Alice, just like the twins, just like the bishop. Had nobody noticed that Helene was never out of Sir John’s room, running back and forth from Hattons’, smuggling parcels from his daughters? Whatever was wrong with Sir John, it was not my mistress’s fault. I wouldn’t do as Mother asked; I would not pack. She had brought me here, and here I would remain. Someone had to protect my mistress. Alice was not a poisoner, no matter what the bishop called her.
After Will left, I removed my outer surcoat and tried to untie the laces at the back of the gown but couldn’t reach. I felt trapped. Why would anyone wear clothes they couldn’t remove? I went to Alice’s desk. If I could snip one lace, the rest might pull free. Her drawer was unlocked and slightly ajar. The summons was in there – I saw the edge of the scroll. I opened it out, but it was all in Latin. I couldn’t read a word. I realized how very simple my lessons had been – I was no more ‘learned’ than a pup. I recognized some words on the page – Petronelle de Midia. I looked over the rest and read ‘Alice Kytler’. I couldn’t understand anything else.
Everyone believed that Alice alone had been charged with sorcery. If my mother knew this, she would be so frightened; she would’ve already fled. I understood then why my mistress did not tell – she could not bear us to leave. I put the scroll away. There was a decanter on Alice’s desk. I tipped the bottle and swallowed a mouthful. It burned my throat, and everything it touched on its way down. I drank a quart more and then used Alice’s knife to cut my laces free. I put on my own gown and fixed my girdle belt around my waist, checking that my poppet was tucked safe and snug in my purse.
Feeling queasy, I climbed on to Alice’s bed and rested against her pillows. I didn’t know how she could sleep so propped up. The room seemed to shift about me and then it stopped. My mother’s name was on that summons. She should know to be careful. Where had she said she was going? Had she said? I lay back, making plans to set everything to right.
40. Petronelle
I was relieved to find Sir John dressed and waiting outside the door. He was leaning against the wall, chatting to Ulf as if it were any ordinary day. He winked at me and took my arm. He moved slowly – it took a long time to escort him up Low Lane. I kept looking back, worried Alice was going to appear. We finally got to the bishop
’s house, to be told he was over in the cathedral.
Friar Bede stood at Saint Canice’s porch, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his frayed robe while John told him how I, Kytler’s maid, had found poison in one of the dame’s chests. He handed him the philtre of Spanish Fly.
‘There was this, and much more,’ said Sir John.
‘Now we’ll rid, rid, this town of Kytler,’ said Bede. ‘We’ll destroy that house, wrench her –’
‘The house is mine,’ Sir John said, before limping off at a faster rate than I thought him capable of.
‘Sir,’ I called after him, but he didn’t turn.
The twins appeared then and assisted their father. Each took an elbow, and they strode away together. I tried to follow them, but the monk caught my arm and steered me into the cathedral.
‘Don’t worry; I’ve heard you are devout,’ he said.
He ushered me up the aisle and around the corner to where the bishop sat on his cushioned throne. His grey hair was swept back from his forehead. His eyebrows seemed to sweep, too, away from eyes that were deep-set, watery. Bede announced my presence.
‘The maid Petronelle, your grace, from the house of Kytler, come to confess to the sorcery and poisoning there.’ He handed the bishop the philtre.
‘Begin, my child,’ said Ledrede.
The way he said ‘my child’ felt like a knife grazing my skin. And what did Bede mean? I had spoken of no sorcery. Oh, why did I run to Sir John and say what I said? Why did I not just take my daughter and leave this place?
‘Begin,’ he insisted.
‘I was wrong, mistaken. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘The Blessed Mother, Holy Virgin, came over you. She is here now, urging you to continue on the path you were on when you first spoke, when you first told of the great wickedness of that viper, which you revealed like a true Christian. Our Lady is looking after you; can you feel her, child, feel her close to you?’
From the tall glass windows of the cathedral I did indeed feel light and heat travelling over my shoulders, up my neck and over my head, till my crown tingled. If I did not speak, no one would. Alice would go unpunished and another man would die. I didn’t claim Spanish Fly had sickened Sir John, for I didn’t believe it had. I simply told the bishop about the philtre, and how I found it in my mistress’s possession.
When I had finished speaking, the bishop raised his hand. Bede reappeared by his side and without a word led me to a small room at the back of the cathedral. For some reason, I thought he was going to give me food and drink. He didn’t follow but bolted the door behind me. There was a window high up in the wall, stained in blue and red. It was round and let some light in; and then less, and less. I stood as if I were a statue, I did not move, and I did not stop watching the painted glass. If I did nothing, barely breathed and kept perfectly still, maybe nothing else would happen, nothing bad. I led my thoughts nowhere but on to the red glass, and then the blue, as they both darkened. I closed my eyes and breathed in the dry air and listened to the crows outside, and to the slap of leather against tile, coming closer and closer, and then to the metal bolt drawing back and the door opening and the same monk saying, ‘You may leave – it is done.’
I ran through the dusk, and as I passed through Irishtown gates, the watchman cried out as if I were a phantom. I made my way up the town, hearing only my breath, my feet on the ground. When I got there, Kytler’s was guarded by armed monks. Relieved they hadn’t seen me, I moved near the wall, where the shadows were darkest. Where was Ulf? What had happened? Torches appeared at the far end of the lane and moved closer. ‘Le Poer,’ muttered one of the monks. They all lifted their daggers and surged towards the townsmen. I didn’t wait to see what happened, but slipped forward and pushed at Kytler’s door.
There was no one in the hall, but the fire blazed. The pup whimpered from the alcove. The board and benches had been overturned. Everywhere there were wooden crosses, tacked to the walls, the beams, the nooks. The tapestry lay in two halves, as if sliced by a sword. I thought of the thread that had led to the chest and to the ring. I ran upstairs and checked every room, then down to the kitchen, down further into the cellar. There was no one home, they had taken everyone – they had taken my daughter.
I went through the kitchen and out the back. I crossed the stable yard and the orchard, running towards the black square that was the Hattons’ house. Yells came from Low Lane, as the monks and the townsmen disputed who had the most right to guard Kytler’s. I tried the Hattons’ back door, beat it hard, but none there answered. When I went to the window, the shutter slammed. I heard Lucia’s cluck, her lapdog’s yap, and then there was silence. I noticed that the quarrelling in the lane had stopped. There was a strange quietness, as if there’d been a hue and cry and everyone had left.
On arriving on to High Street, I saw the crowd. They filled the road all the way down to the Tholsel. As I neared, some turned to look. They stared as if I were someone unknown.
‘What’s happening?’ I touched an ale wife’s arm.
‘Kytler’s sect were seized and taken to the Castle Gaol.’
I moved swiftly away. The bishop’s voice carried from outside the Tholsel; he was on a plinth. The crowd quietened when he spoke. His message spread from one person to another. Alice Kytler and her sorceresses were imprisoned, so now, at last, the interdict could be lifted. Cries of joy, and caps were flung up in thanks. Heaven’s gates were open again to the people of Kilkennie; all they had to do now was testify!
I walked against the crowd, shivering with cold. The whole household had been taken because of me, because of what I had said. The bishop took my words, and added to them the ones he wanted to hear. Even had she done it, there was no sorcery to tipping poison into a wine cup. But there was poison in that house, I was sure of that. I thought of the taster boy. That child had drunk Sir John’s wine, eaten from his plate – and now no trace of him could be found. He might be dead. Gaol was the best place for my mistress, however she had worked her evil. When I reached Stephen le Poer’s house, their servant Catherine answered. She shooed me away before I’d uttered a word. Everyone was busy, she said, no one could be disturbed.
‘Sir William’s mother has been imprisoned.’
She relented and opened the door. Will and his manservant were pacing the hall, arms around each other’s shoulders, hats askew. One might’ve been holding up the other, but it wasn’t apparent which. The servant called Will over. The men veered in our direction. Their lips and teeth were wine stained.
‘Tell the master what you just said.’
‘Sir William,’ I said, bowing, ‘your mother has been gaoled by the bishop.’
Will laid his head on his serving man’s shoulder, half smothering a guffaw.
‘Mother in a cell – how peculiar. I’d like to see her expression. I’d wager it’s quite sour!’
‘My daughter was taken, too.’
‘Basilia?’
Sir Stephen entered then with some of the Greater Twelve. There was a fresh cut under his eye. He took one look at me.
‘Yes, yes,’ he said, ‘I know – the bastard arrested Alice.’ ‘Were my uncle still alive, he would not have dared.’
I stepped aside with the servant, and we stood with our backs to the wall. We remained silent. Stephen shook a smirking Will by the arm.
‘He’s telling the crowd he’ll burn Alice for witchcraft.’
‘Unheard of,’ said Will.
My throat went dry; could there be truth in that? No, no one would allow it. The men sat around the table discussing the situation. Stephen and his men had secured Kytler’s but Ledrede had gained an advantage: the interdict had turned the town against Alice. There were many who would now take the bishop’s side in this. Stephen didn’t seem overly sorry that Alice had been arrested. It was all about Ledrede. If he were seen to overrule them in this matter … well, they would have as much authority as that wench over there. They all glanced over at me.
&nbs
p; I wanted to grab Stephen and beg him to free my daughter.
They needed to see the bishop’s papers, Stephen decided; the arrests probably weren’t legal. His men nodded in agreement.
‘A bribe will change the bishop’s mind,’ one said, ‘quicker than any negotiation.’
Will, who had quickly sobered, decided to go straight to the gaol. Sir Stephen left shortly after him. When they’d gone, the other men discussed how Stephen was faring as seneschal. He compared poorly with Arnold, but was made from finer cloth than Will. They speculated on Alice, if she really was a magician; it was only what had long been suspected. The men imagined what a witch would be like in bed. ‘Greedy,’ one said, and they all laughed. Catherine glanced at me and nodded towards the back door.
‘The bishop will excommunicate anyone who shelters a –’
‘I’m going,’ I said.
I had barely stepped from the house when I was seized. Fingers snagged and scratched at my person, my wimple was torn, and my hair tugged till I feared my head would come off. Sorceress, they said, sorceress, heretic, witch.
41. The Bishop’s Court
The court was crowded. The people of the town were, finally, eager to talk and braced the cold in droves. A boy was testifying. Known as Morris from Wales, he had seen the mute transform spittle into pearls and let them spill from her mouth. She did this to enchant him, but the boy was not so easily seduced. A young scribe at the bishop’s left-hand side was there to record proceedings.
‘A mouth that turns fruit to gold, what powerful alchemy, what witchcraft,’ said the bishop. ‘Make note of that.’
Margaret Dun, a commoner, stepped forward. Whatever about Alice, she said it was lunacy to claim Petronelle de Midia had relations with a demon. Said demon stood as much chance of getting under those skirts as the king of England himself, which was no chance at all – not that it was skirts the king of England was after. There was laughter amongst those listening, but the bishop was not amused. ‘Get thee from here,’ he said, and ordered the tramp to be put in stocks.