Blood and Clay Read online

  Jennet watched Chattox as she thought for a while before spitting in her hand and holding it out to Demdike. Demdike did the same.

  “In one week’s time” said Demdike.

  “Aye a week.” Said Chattox.

  Jennet’s heart sank. With Lizzie back there would be no way for her to fight her way out of the background. No familiar, no powers and no chance of getting in the coven until she was older. The anger and spite that had been slowly building inside her burnt hot and red and she thought she would explode with jealousy. Jennet set off at a run, kicking the bucket of sheep blood over as she passed it. She heard angry cries ringing out behind her but she kept running. Off to the clearing to make plans of her own.

  Chapter Twenty

  I looked around the cell. It had been less than a week but it already felt like I hadn’t seen the sky for a year. I missed Gabe so much that my stomach hurt. The cell was small and there was just a bucket in one corner to be used as a toilet and a pile of straw in another to use as a bed. Though I didn’t want to sleep on the damp, mouldy straw I usually passed out at some time in the night and woke up to find myself itchy and covered in ticks which I then had to spend a time picking off my skin. I wondered if Gabe would still claim to be in love with me now, as he had on the walk to the peddler’s house. I’d said it back and meant it with my whole heart but I still couldn’t quite believe Gabe could feel the same as I did, especially if he saw me now.

  My hair had been shaved off the day I had arrived at the gaol. Not everyone had shaved heads. Some of the prisoners were treated better than other; those with money to buy better treatment. I had no money and not much else to offer in exchange for a bit of comfort. That didn’t stop the Warden visiting my cell every night though. I coped. I went into my own mind and pictured my clearing in the forest. I went over and over that day with Gabe at the clearing. When the Warden had left I would pray to God for forgiveness for what I’d done and what he’d done. I accepted my circumstances and treatment with an empty heart and without a fight. Perhaps this was my punishment. Perhaps it was all I deserved. No matter how close I tried to be to God I would always be a child of the Device family; a child of the Devil.

  I didn’t spend much time with the other prisoners. Those that weren’t gibbering and infected with madness kept away from me. I was the only witch in the gaol, I did think of myself as a witch now, and there hadn’t been another for some time. I saw nervous looks being shot at me wherever I went so I stayed in my cell most of the time and prayed or thought of Gabe. I was lying in the centre of the cell and trying to conjure up a memory of my clearing in the summer months when the cell door flew open and crashed into the wall. I sat up to take my bowl of watered broth; the same lumpy, grey food that the prisoners had for every meal. The same broth that gave my stomach cramps and made me vomit, or worse, about an hour after eating it, making the cell stink of my own rotting body waste.

  I turned to take my bowl but was surprised to see the Warden standing in the doorway and not the cook. I shot a nervous look past him into the big room where the prisoners walked and spent most of their day and was relieved to see a lot of people there. Perhaps the Warden wasn’t so brave when it was light and there were others watching. The Warden gave me a big grin and shook a chain hanging at his side. The chain was attached to shackles which matched those already around my ankles.

  “The Magistrate wants to see you girl. Waiting in the Judge’s chambers he is. Mind you don’t say anything about our little friendship. He wouldn’t believe you anyhow but still. Wouldn’t want to fall out would we? Us bein’ so close an all.”

  I looked down. I felt ashamed and humiliated at the way that the Warden treated me but God did nothing to stop it. He didn’t even give my strength to survive it. What reason would I have to tell the man who sent my here in the first place?

  “I’ll keep your secret Warden” I said, looking at him but unable to meet his eye “but your secret is known by God. There’s no hiding from Him.”

  “A witch who speaks of God. Why the bare faced cheek of it! God doesn’t come here you little Devil bitch. This place is empty of God.”

  The Warden broke into a fit of laughter which made his stomach ripple and his shoulders shake. He laughed until his face was red then spoke to me as he wiped a tear from his eye.

  “Ha! That was a good joke girl. I haven’t laughed like that for ages. No more joking though lass. Let’s get off. The Magistrate is too important to spend an age waiting for the likes of you.”

  The Warden crossed the room to me and roughly shoved my wrists into the shackles. He then ran the loose chain which hung between my wrists to the one between my ankles and fastened then together before using the leftover slack to pull me out of the room. As I was dragged through the room most of the prisoners ignored me. The odd few who did look either jeered or spat at my feet. In a prison full of murderers and thieves I was still the enemy. The Warden dragged me up three flights of stairs, barely slowing whenever I stumbled and grazed my already raw knees on the stone stairs. Just as I thought that I couldn’t walk any further we arrived at the main floor.

  “Don’t touch anything.” Warden Ainsworth snapped at me, as if I could even move away from him with the shackles and chains holding me fast.

  Ainsworth acted differently above the prison floors. He walked with a straighter back and less of an arrogant swagger, as if on his best behaviour. It made I wonder if I should tell the Magistrate about his treatment of me. He seemed less confident here. Perhaps he was less well thought of than he made out. As Ainsworth’s walk slowed a little I got a chance to look around me. The carpet I was now walking on was a rich tapestry of greens, blues and reds. I felt bad that my dirt covered, bare feet would make marks that someone would have to clean up. My shoes had been stolen by one of the other prisoners the day I arrived.

  Other than the rug the corridor was quite bare but at regular intervals along the hall were paintings. Some of judges, some of courtrooms and some of criminals being tortured or swinging from the hangman’s noose. These were the ones which held my attention and I could not draw my eyes away from them. My heart sped and I silently prayed that this would not be my end.We finally reached the end of the corridor and the Warden gave my chains a vicious and unnecessary tug to signal that I should stop. He knocked on the polished oak door in front of us.

  “Enter” called a voice which I recognized as that of Roger Nowell.

  The Warden opened the heavy door and we went in; him walking and me shuffling in the shackles. The room was decorated in the same style as the corridor. A heavy tapestry rug covered most of the wooden floor and a desk in a similar wood to the door, sat in front of a large window. The light coming from the window was the first real glimpse of light I had seen since for a long time. Since entering the gaol the most light I had seen was the thin shafts which came through the tall thin gap windows in the cells. This great expanse of white light made me blink for a while as I tried to stop my eyes from stinging and watering. Once my eyes settles I could see Roger Nowell properly. He looked at me silently for a moment and I considered telling Roger how the Warden had been treating me but I never got a chance. Just as soon as I gathered my senses enough to talk Mr Nowell addressed me.

  “Miss Device. You have now been in Lancaster Assizes for six days. It is time that we arranged your trial. My nephew has begged me for your freedom but he is young and I dare say he does not fully understand the situation. Naivety and love do not a defence make.”

  He stared at me for a moment and I was at a loss about what I was meant to say. My heart had lurched at the mention of Gabe. I had almost begun to convince myself that those few days of happiness had been nought but a dream. Mr Nowell kept staring and so I nodded. He nodded back then continued to speak.

  “You are to be tried a week on Tuesday for the crime of witchcraft. You may be found innocent and released, you may be found guilty and remain in prison for the remainder of your life or you may be found guilty and pu
t to death. Do you understand?”

  I nodded again. All thoughts of telling him about the Warden had now flown from my mind. There was no space in my thoughts now for anything but the pictures I had seen along the corridor of condemned women and men going to the hangman’s noose.

  “Right. Is there anything you would like to.....”

  Suddenly the whole room shook. Cascades of dust and chunks of stone work showered around us as a huge crashing noise echoed around the room. The pictures shook on the walls and the window rattled.

  “What in God’s name?” Roger exclaimed as he stood up and ran to the window. The Warden shoved me roughly into a chair as he ran to join him.

  Just as soon as they had run to the window they ran back to the Centre of the room. Another loud banging crashing noise rang out and yet more dust and stonework came away from the walls.

  “Saddle my horse at the back gate and get her back to the cells!” shouted Roger as he ran for the door. “Gather the staff and get them some swords. I will ride to get reinforcements”

  I had no idea what was happening. Were we at war? I knew nothing of the country’s wars and battles. My head span. Perhaps it would be better to die here in the battle than dangle from the hangman’s noose. The choice was not to be mine though. The Warden half carried, half dragged me back to the goal and threw me into the middle of the panicking crush of prisoners, shouting and screaming as the gaol shook with increasing blasts.

  I fought and clawed my way through the throng and collapsed into my cell, shivering from the shocks of the past half hour. It seemed that God had not forgiven me and that my death was coming, by one means or another.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Roger’s bones jolted as he rode back to the gaol. The horse had been spurred to canter as fast as it was able and Roger had not spared the whip. He had been gone just twenty minutes since riding off to get the local constabulary yet so much could be done in twenty minutes. He feared that his return would be greeted by bands of witches or even worse empty cells and dead gaolers.

  Behind Roger rode ten men. It had been a gift of God that they had all been at the ale house, all but three finished with their duties for the day, the rest about to start drinking. Lancaster had the largest constabulary in the County, thanks to the regular drunken brawls that spilled out onto the streets and the many light fingered street thieves. As Roger rounded the corner Lancaster Gaol came into view. It was still standing, thank the Lord, but the orange sparks flickering into the inky evening air hinted at the many small fires which Roger eventually saw dotted around the grounds as his horse galloped onto the drawbridge. One section of the gaol wall was little more than rubble and Roger and the constabulary dismounted then rushed through the hole in the wall into the main entrance hall of the gaol, following the cries and shouts of the fight.

  The sight which greeted them was one of a pub brawl. Though the witches and their men folk had a wild and terrifying look about them they were armed with only rakes, spades and homemade weapons which were not standing up to the swords and muskets of the assembled men of the town. Many of the witch’s men were injured or dead and some of the witches were tied to the banisters in the main hall but there were still more than thirty left fighting and they were vicious. Even the oldest looking crones were wild eyed and were leaping at Roger’s men, grabbing their hair and scratching at their eyes and faces. Curses were spat out and several broken clay dolls were scattered about the floor.

  Roger grabbed his little used, mainly decorative sword out of its scabbard and swung it as he leapt into the fray. He swung it with a practiced aim, though this was the first time he had used it against a human. He cringed as a jolt shot through his arm and he realised his sword had connected with something fleshy. Using both hands to pull the sword out he tried not to look at who he had struck but he had no choice. His sword finally came free and the young woman it had stuck in fell to the ground, eyes wide and hands clutching her side where blood gushed from between her fingers. Roger felt his heart lurch. He had never even struck a woman before and now he had killed one. He stared at her body and said a silent prayer. His moment of stillness was a mistake. He was knocked to the ground as someone landed on his back. His face hit the floor and he heard his nose crunch and saw stars. As tears blurred in his eyes he felt someone rolling him over then sitting astride him.

  Roger squinted up and blinked the tears of pain away. On top of him sat a woman who looked almost forty years in age. Her eyes were almost all black and her hair stuck out at all angles. As she smiled at him her mouth gaped so that he could see just three brown teeth. She gripped Roger’s face until his teeth bit into his cheeks and he tried to free his arms but she had knelt on them securely enough to slow him down and her face was inches away from his before he could start to make a plan. Then her eyes showed a look of shock and her head tilted sideways before her full weight was upon him. Roger looked down at the woman to see a sword being pulled out of her back, then the heavy boot of the Warden kicking her off Roger.

  Roger sat up and surveyed the room. In the few moments that he had been down it seemed that muskets and swords had won the battle and the embroidered rugs of the main hall were littered with bodies. Blood coated the delicately embroidered flowers and butterflies of the rugs. Howling in anger the remaining witches were all tied to the banisters. They numbered twelve and were tied at each side of the stairs. Roger climbed to his feet, clutching his swelling, bloodied nose.

  “Take them to the cells.” He said. “Take the old one to the witch room and re-unite the rest with their whelp. We’ll have no more waiting before we send them to the Devil. We go to trial tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Roger stood at the back of the witch room and watched Warden Ainsworth with disgust. The man served his purpose, he kept the prisoners in line and saw to unpleasantness like this, but his pure enjoyment of inflicting misery and pain turned Roger’s stomach. This room had only been used once and Roger had not been the magistrate on the trial that followed so this was his first time in the witch room. It was all that he had imagined and he feared that the use of the implements in this room would take him one step close to Hell than he wanted to be. This was evil beyond anything he had witnessed in the past and it was being dispensed in the name of justice. Not for the first time Roger wondered if justice and God sometimes ran in opposite directions.

  Warden Ainsworth finished strapping the old wretch Demdike to a chair and stood back with a greedy leer as he cracked his knuckles. Roger tried to ignore him as he stepped forward to speak to the woman.

  “Mrs Southerns, the one they call Mother Demdike. We bring you here to see, first and foremost, if you are a witch and what’s more the head of a family of witches. Secondly we bring you here so that you may deliver your confession and spare yourself a trial.”

  Demdike spat on the floor causing Warden Ainsworth to leap backwards in disgust.

  “Mrs Southerns, are you a witch?”

  “What of it? What business is it of yours?”

  “Mrs Southerns, witchcraft is illegal and there have been numerous complaints about you and your kin over the years. Complaints of causing crops to fail, animals to die, sickness and death of the good people of Pendle. I ask you one last time, are you a witch?”

  Demdike leered at Roger than laughed, a long crackling chortle erupting from her throat.

  “Aye lad that’d be me.”

  “This is your opportunity to give me a full confession and spare your daughter and granddaughter the upset of a full trial.”

  “They can take it. I’m not afeart for those little witches. They’d see me dead soon as look at me an’ all they would. No reason for me to make their lives easier. You won’t get nowt else from me Roger Nowell. I’ve seen you round the County since you were a scrat of a lad. You don’t scare me and I won’t be doing no more of this bickering with you. My brain isn’t addled enough to tell you all just for you to hang me. You and that wretched family of mi
ne can rot in Hell.”

  Demdike spat again, this time hitting Ainsworth square on the boot. He looked at it with a glare then hit Demdike hard across the face, flinging her head backwards. When she lifted her head again she had blood coming out of her mouth, mixing with phlegm to make a slimy red smear down her dirt covered chin. A brown and yellow tooth hung from the front of her mouth from a thin thread of gum. She cackled. Ainsworth let out a cry of rage then leant forwards and yanked the loose tooth out of her mouth but the only response he got from Demdike was further laughter.

  “Enough!” Shouted Roger. “Mrs Southerns you give us no choice. If you won’t give us your confession willingly then it leaves me no choice but to sanction the use of the methods allowed to us by our King to elicit confessions from witches such as yourself.”

  Roger nodded at Ainsworth. Ainsworth made his way to a heavy wooden table in the corner of the room on which a number of metal and wooden instruments were arranged. Roger moved back towards the doorway. The door was closed but he felt more removed from the situation at this distance. Although tortures such as these were sanctioned by both the King and the church he still felt unclean at the thought of being involved in them. He hoped that the first torture would bring forth a confession so that further tortures were not necessary. Ainsworth returned from the table with two strips of iron held apart by a thick screw at each side. Along the insides of the iron strips were small but sharp spikes, little more than pointed nubs on the metal. Ainsworth put Demdike’s thumbs together and tightened the screws until any slack in the fitting was gone.