by Sara Pascoe
Raya burst out laughing. ‘You’re all nuts, you know that?’
Rebecca clapped her hands and laughed, too.
Bryony and Anne West scrambled to quiet the girls. Hopkins acted as though he didn’t hear a thing. He turned to the first page of papers, cleared his throat then proclaimed: ‘I hereby summon the following persons to be tried tomorrow on the seventeenth of July this twenty-first year of His Royal Highness, King Charles’s reign, at the Chelmsford Assizes.’ Hopkins then read out the name of each woman and the accusations against them – injuring or killing people or animals, thievery or ruining goods – all by ‘sorcery and witchcraft’. The praying and crying got louder.
Rebecca said over and over, ‘You’re all nuts, you’re all nuts,’ clapping, giggling and spinning in circles. Anyone could see Rebecca was losing it.
‘Stop!’ Hopkins said. Hoy’s lantern swung above him. Dracula shadows danced on the walls. But Rebecca was in her own world now, singing, talking to herself, telling herself everything was going to be all right. Her mother stepped between Hopkins and Rebecca and put her arms around the frantic child.
‘That’s quite enough!’ Hopkins bellowed to Hoy. Hoy kicked Anne West’s feet out from under her and dragged the shackled and flailing Rebecca out of the cell. Anne threw herself at Hopkins.
‘Take me instead. I BEG you. She’s just a girl, she doesn’t know what she does.’ Hoy kicked Anne, launching her away from Hopkins, who turned with another flourish and left.
Raya’s fear mushroomed, became focused and sharp. This was no game, no TV show. On top of all that, she felt responsible, at least partially, for starting Rebecca off. Bryony went straight back into trying to conjure them home. The other women prayed incessantly, their voices blending into one mournful undulation. Raya hugged Oscar.
* * *
The keys clinked in the outer and inner doors again and Hoy appeared with another prison guard, but no sign of Hopkins or Rebecca.
‘Where’s my daughter, you monster?’ Anne West was almost spitting. But Hoy paid her no mind. Instead, he worked with the other guard unshackling the women’s leg irons. Hoy stood and glared at Anne.
‘Master Hopkins got the truth out of that girl – it is you who is the witch, not that simple lass. Your daughter will not be tried now, but will testify against you,’ Hoy said to Anne, and spat onto the already sodden straw.
Hoy and the other guard immediately herded the women out of the cell. Some limped, others rubbed their sore and bloody ankles. Anne West sobbed openly. Bryony nudged Raya lost in thought, clutching Oscar. Her heart beat like a drum, she was in a cold sweat; faced with Rebecca having to testify against her mother, condemning her to death, in order to win her own freedom made her want to vomit. Wait – I remember that now from school. Rebecca DOES testify, and Anne is…
Was this really that much different than when she had to tell the social services about all the crazy stuff her mother did? It felt like such a betrayal – twice – once for telling them, and once for failing to keep her mother safe to begin with. All the adults kept reassuring her that it wasn’t her job to keep her mother well, and that it was for both of their goods that she needed to tell people what had been going on. It sure didn’t feel like it. And the treatment didn’t really work, her mother could never stick with it, and Raya never lived with her mother properly again.
‘Bryony?’
‘Hmm?’
‘You know, I had to testify against my mother–’
Bryony hugged the filthy girl around her shoulders. ‘No, Raya. That WAS different. Listen to me – it really, really was.’
Big tears dropped to the stone floor as she walked on.
Hoy took up the rear of the group of sad women, taking joy in shoving them up the stone steps and through the cold hallways. The halls widened and the ceilings got higher. The stench of human waste weakened, replaced by a more general dankness. Raya recognized the route. They awkwardly spilled out of the huge archway, squinting, shading their eyes from the light, clattering onto the wooden bridge over the fetid moat. Even sunlight filtered through clouds on this overcast day blinded these poor souls, some of whom had not seen natural light for months.
They followed another group of prisoners, some of them men, across the bridge. Three open wooden wagons waited. Raya recognized the driver who had taken her to and from that weird ordeal – the Watching. She found it odd that she felt almost fond of this driver and tried to get onto his wagon. Recognition flashed across his face.
‘Get along now. Onto the next wagon with you – this one is full,’ he said.
Raya looked at the half-empty wagon and started to get on anyway, but Bryony pulled her away.
‘Leave him, Raya. He can’t bear to bring you where we’re going. Don’t you understand?’
Raya was shoved onto the second wagon and jammed against other prisoners. Oscar was a warm mass in her lap, his heart giving slow, weak beats. Bryony was wedged next to her. Hoy clambered in next to the driver of the first cart and they were off.
The ride was a bone-jarring, teeth-clattering three hours. Finally, the buildings became more frequent and the road became cobbled. In town, people shook their fists, spat, swore, and called them names. The wagons rode into the market square. The driver of the first one tied up his horses and spoke to the other drivers before marching off in the direction of a stone building at the end of the square. Throughout the town centre, people were setting up stalls, carting bottles, carrying boxes and baskets of freshly baked pies and other food. Raya’s empty stomach lurched awake and hollered. Carpenters hammered away at a couple of wooden structures. She elbowed Bryony.
‘What’s all this?’ Bryony started to answer but was interrupted by Rebecca’s mother, Anne.
‘Aye, this is for us,’ Anne said, giving a rueful laugh that turned into a wheezing cough. ‘Come now, surely this can’t be your first hanging.’ Anne gestured with her head towards the busy square. ‘These people will make more money tomorrow than they have in the last three months. They will feed the hungry crowds, and slake their thirst, and sell them trinkets to remember the show…’
‘Souvenirs?’ Raya said. ‘That’s disgusting.’
Anne was consumed again by the terrible cough, but not so much so that it kept her from pointing to one of the wooden structures the men were building in the centre of the square.
Raya looked at Bryony.
‘Gallows,’ Bryony said.
* * *
The first driver returned and the prisoners were herded off the wagons into a dilapidated building. They were hustled into a cramped, dank room on the ground floor. The women took turns looking out the small grated window. The commotion and noise increased as day turned into night. People amassed in the square. Some even camped out.
Bryony stood with her eyes closed, speaking in hushed tones. Raya wanted to contact IHQ herself, if for no other reason than to say goodbye. She missed them. She wished more than anything to apologize to Jake.
The night dragged on inside the cell, but outside was a party. People talked and laughed, some drunk and noisy. Others worked on their stalls for the next day. Raya thought about her life – what she would have done differently, what she missed out on, like proper sex and even finishing school. But mostly it was the small things she thought about: tasting more of Emma’s new muffins; learning cool stuff from Pavel; even hanging out with Jake. These were the moments she would miss the most. She even thought about Angie. She would do anything for one of her DVD nights. Part of her couldn’t believe they might die and the other part of her tasted terror with no end.
She hadn’t known how intense hunger could be. She quickly vowed to give food to every down-and-out she’d come across, should she ever get home, even if she thought they were really after money for drink or drugs.
‘Oscar, I hereby solemnly swear to give food to every homeless person I see from here on – you are my witness,’ she told the cat telepathically.
‘Nice one,
kid.’ Oscar opened one eye, waking from another nap and looked at her.
Raya gasped and squeezed the cat. ‘Are we going to get out of this?’
‘Beats me. Where are we? Catch me up,’ Oscar said and sat up.
‘They brought us from the Colchester Castle Gaol to Chelmsford, to something called the assizes. That must be what they called the court back in those days,’ Raya told Oscar, but he seemed distracted. His nose and whiskers were going.
‘Hey. You listening, or what?’ Raya said.
‘What? No. I mean yes, I am listening. I just could have sworn I smelled kebab,’ Oscar said.
A few hours after the cruelly early British summer sunrise, church bells rang and someone made long sounds on something that sounded like a trumpet. Raya pushed in with the women at the small window. Bryony remained in the corner, lost in her work.
Outside, there was a parade of sorts. In contrast to the usual sea of drab, there were men on horseback with metal armour on their chests and helmets. Others marched, carrying long spears. One of these guys carried a colourful flag, nothing Raya recognized. The crowd cheered their appreciation; what for, she didn’t know. Then she saw two men behind the spear and flag men, also on horseback, one behind the other. It seemed the second was the important one as his outfit was fancier, and because of the way he nodded to people.
Mr Important had long hair and a moustache that swooped up, like a permanent smile above his mouth. He wore red knee-length trousers and a jacket, an extra-fancy metal armour chest thing, an amazing large brimmed black hat with feathers, and tall boots.
‘Let me see,’ Oscar urged. Raya held him up to the window.
‘Who is that guy?’ Raya asked.
‘Must be Robert Rich, the second Earl of Warwick.’ Oscar gestured with his head to Mr Important. ‘He’s here to preside over the trials.’
Raya looked out the window with Oscar. The Earl of Warwick dismounted along with the second guy, clearly his helper. They walked into a church at the end of the square. The throng dispersed and went back to enjoying the fete.
The next hours were excruciating. They were given no food, only disgusting water that would likely kill them if they lasted long enough. Their fear formed a stupefying fog in the cell. Raya’s stomach taunted again, bringing her thoughts back to kebab. She shook those away too and walked over to Bryony.
She squatted down next to the grown-up witch and touched her shoulder. Bryony startled, opened her eyes – pools of pure fear.
‘I’m trying, Raya. I don’t understand, IHQ doesn’t understand. I’ve time travelled plenty and…’ Bryony looked away. ‘…all my Time Travel Retrievals have been successful.’
‘So far,’ Raya added. She could see Bryony was doing her best – but a growing anger pulsed at her core. Yeah, she knew it was her fault she was here, but kids make mistakes, right? And adults are supposed to help sort them out. This would be yet one more grown-up who let her down, whose problems or weaknesses, or dying inconveniently, screwed up her life. And she was bloody sick of it.
Two men burst through the door. One held a document and read out a list of names including Raya, Bryony, Anne West, and the old woman with one leg, Elizabeth Clarke. They shuffled out of the cell and up the stairs, helping Mother Clarke. As they passed a window on the landing, the onlookers roared outside. You would have thought it was a football match. Her anger doubled. Up a few more steps and a couple of turns and an official sort of man in another funny outfit opened a large wooden door to the courtroom.
The women slunk in with Raya, who held Oscar. It wasn’t like the courtrooms she’d seen on TV. There was a buzz of talk and laughter from the people in the rows at the back. Some had bread and cheese spread on cloths on their laps with bottles at their feet.
‘Jeez, our lives are on the line, and they’re having a fucking picnic? Like it’s the best show they’ve seen all year!’ Raya said to Oscar.
‘All year? Try all decade,’ he said.
The onlookers jeered and spat. The noise increased, and finally the Earl, who was sitting at a long table in the front, banged a wooden gavel and told the noisy crowd off, which worked briefly. At the Earl’s side were six men, all in ornate outfits, although not as nice as the Earl’s.
The guard led the prisoners to a pen. Raya looked over her shoulder at the audience. She caught a glimpse of Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder Jerk General. She shuddered. She opened her arms slightly and saw the black stripe on Oscar’s back narrow in front of her eyes.
‘Oscar, hold on!’ He didn’t respond, only buried his head under her arm. Raya reached for Bryony’s hand and placed it on Oscar. His black stripe thickened. ‘Oscar, even if we don’t make it, you can – just run for it after we’re gone.’ The gavel sounded again and there was a brief silence.
One of the two men seated in front of the prisoners walked over to a stand near the Earl’s table and called on each of the women prisoners to swear them in and read them their charges. One by one, they all pleaded ‘not guilty’. Raya had to nudge Bryony quite hard to get her out of her mind work. She put up her right hand and swore to tell only the truth. The clerk read the charges. A hush went through the crowd.
‘And how do you plead?’ the court official asked Bryony.
‘Not guilty, sir,’ Bryony said. The crowd roared like their favourite team made a goal. They ate their picnic lunches, booed and hissed, drank their ale. The throng outside pressed at the windows, yelled, shook their fists, wishing them all swift trips to hell.
* * *
One of the two men seated in front of the prisoners called the witnesses against Anne West: Matthew Hopkins and Rebecca West, daughter of Anne. The crowd gasped. Raya twisted around to see. The girl looked like a zombie as she approached the bench, eyes glassy. The hair on Raya’s neck stood on end and cold sweat trickled down her back. She cried for Rebecca, she cried for herself.
Rebecca answered the questions robotically, ‘Yes, I saw my mother convening with other witches. Yes, I saw her lay with the Devil. Yes, I heard my mother swear allegiance to Satan, himself.’
The crowd whooped, cheered, booed and yelled, despite the Earl’s repeated admonishments.
Anne hung her head. She recanted her prior confession, but it made no difference. Other witnesses testified, describing how Anne had caused the death of a boy and a pig (a pig!) by wishing it, after she argued with someone. Others testified about her familiars, which sounded like ordinary pets. Finally, the Earl asked the jury for their verdict.
‘We of the jury of the Chelmsford Assizes,’ the foreman declared, ‘find Anne West culpabilis of Witchcraft and Sorcery, to be sentenced by suspension by the neck until dead.’ The words hung for a moment before the cheers crescendoed to a roar. Rebecca crumpled to a heap, sobbing, screaming and wailing. Others tried to calm her, to no avail. Raya trembled. This was beyond anything she could have imagined.
Two more women were tried, then Bryony. Raya felt like she was watching something on television – it seemed unreal. Then the sounds became distorted, or she heard nothing at all, people’s mouths moving like silent puppets.
Raya was next. She placed Oscar in Bryony’s lap. Matthew Hopkins testified against her, of course, wagging his finger and screwing up his face. Hopkins ranted, although Raya couldn’t hear a thing by that time; creepy cartoon music in her imagination drowned out all else. She read the lips of the jury foreman when he read out her sentence – ‘suspension by the neck until dead.’ The Earl smashed down the gavel.
* * *
As Raya walked through the courtroom towards the gallows, her numbness was chased out by exquisite awareness. She heard every strand of conversation, smelled the cheese and yeasty bread of the court watchers, felt the change in temperature as they left the courtroom for the cooler hallway. The dappled light through the window was beautiful. The onlookers outside sounded like a murder of crows.
The sweet sting of sun outside made her smile. Then she saw them – the first three condemned lurched
and gagged as they swung from the gallows. Relatives begged for permission to tug on them to put them out of their misery, but witches were denied this last humanity. The sounds of the world blended into a buzz. Finally, the bodies hung limp and were removed. Raya couldn’t feel her legs as she was marched up the gallows’ steps. She wanted to let go of Oscar, but she couldn’t – desperate to feel warmth and fur and friendship for as long as possible. I’ll let go of him soon enough. They slipped the noose around Bryony, next to her; she, faced forward, eyes open but unreadable.
The noose was slipped around Raya. Then her empty stomach spoke up, demanded her attention. She smiled at her memory of meeting Pavel and watching him eat that kebab. She could hear the traffic, feel the cooling evening, and boy did that food smell wonderful. That would be one of the regrets of her short life, never getting one of those kebabs. Raya laughed. Laughed at the ordinariness of hunger – of life’s persistence in spite of everything. The precious world was blotted out with swirling colours. They started to pulse to faint music. She strained to hear it – a weird old song her nan used to like. The hangman got his command. Everything went black.
The kebab smelled amazing. A stout, bearded man in a long green coat and turban poked sizzling meat on a grill at a kiosk. It took all of Raya’s strength not to grab the kebab and wolf it down. She must have been staring, because the kebab seller elbowed his friend and nodded towards her. The two men exchanged what seemed like banter although she couldn’t understand the language.
‘Raya? You OK?’ Bryony said. Raya widened her gaze. They were on a cobbled pavement in front of an archway with a busy market beyond. People bustled about, all in long, colourful outfits. The women were veiled and most of them wore funky little hats that sat off centre, like cool new fascinators. Have to look for one of those, she thought. Then a tsunami of joy and relief crashed over her.