WITCHERY
The lady has gone to her secret bower,
The bower that was guarded by word and by spell.
SCOTT, _The Lay of the Last Minstrel_.
“MASTER SQUIRE,” said the principal man-at-arms of the garrison to Pierce
Hardcastle, “is it known to you what this laidly dame’s practices be?”
“I know her for a dame worthy of all honour and esteem,” returned the
esquire, turning hastily round in wrath. He much disliked this man, a
regular mercenary of the free lance description, a fellow of French or
Alsatian birth, of middle age, much strength, and on account of a great
gash and sideways twist of his snub nose always known as Tordu, and
strongly suspected that he had been sent as a sort of spy or check on Sir
Leonard Copeland and on himself. The man replied with a growl:
“Ah ha! Sans doubt she makes her niggard fare seem dainty cakes to those
under her art.”
In fact the evident pleasure young Hardcastle took in the Lady
Castellane’s society, the great improvement in his wound under her
treatment, and the manner in which the serfs around came to ask her aid
in their maladies, had excited the suspicion of the men-at-arms. They
were older men, hardened and roughened, inclined to despise his youth,
and to resent the orderly discipline of the household, which under Ridley
went on as before, and the murmurs of Thora led to inquiries, answered
after the exaggerated fashion of gossip.
There were outcries about provisions and wine or ale, and shouts
demanding more, and when Pierce declared that he would not have the lady
insulted, there was a hoarse loud laugh. He was about to order Tordu as
ringleader into custody, but Ridley said to him aside, “Best not, sir;
his fellows will not lay a finger on him, and if we did so, there would
be a brawl, and we might come by the worst.”
So Pierce could only say, with all the force he could, “Bear in mind that
Sir Leonard Copeland is lord here, and all miscourtesy to his lady is an
offence to himself, which will be visited with his wrath.”
The sneering laugh came again, and Tordu made answer, “Ay, ay, sir; she
has bewitched you, and we’ll soon have him and you free.”
Pierce was angered into flying at the man with his sword, but the other
men came between, and Ridley held him back.
“You are still a maimed man, sir. To be foiled would be worse than to
let it pass.”
“There, fellow, I’ll spare you, so you ask pardon of me and the lady.”
Perhaps they thought they had gone too far, for there was a sulky growl
that might pass for an apology, and Ridley’s counsel was decided that
Pierce had better not pursue the matter.
What had been said, however, alarmed him, and set him on the watch, and
the next evening, when Hardcastle was walking along the cliffs beyond the
castle, the lad who acted as his page came to him, with round, wondering
eyes, “Sir,” said he, after a little hesitation, “is it sooth that the
lady spake a spell over your arm?”
“Not to my knowledge,” said Pierce smiling.
“It might be without your knowledge,” said the boy. “They say it healed
as no chirurgeon could have healed it, and by magic arts.”
“Ha! the lubbard oafs. You know better than to believe them, Dick.”
“Nay, sir, but ’tis her bower-woman and Madge, the cook’s wife. Both
aver that the lady hath bewitched whoever comes in her way ever since she
crossed the door. She hath wrought strange things with her father,
mother, and brothers. They say she bound them to her; that the little
one could not brook to have her out of sight; yet she worked on him so
that he was crooked and shrivelled. Yet he wept and cried to have her
ever with him, while he peaked and pined and dwindled away. And her
mother, who was once a fine, stately, masterful dame, pined to mere skin
and bone, and lay in lethargy; and now she is winding her charms on you,
sir!”
Pierce made an exclamation of loathing and contempt. Dick lowered his
voice to a whisper of awe.
“Nay, sir, but Le Tordu and Ned of the Bludgeon purpose to ride over to
Shields to the wise, and they will deal with her when he has found the
witch’s mark.”
“The lady!” cried Hardcastle in horror. “You see her what she is! A
holy woman if ever there was one! At mass each morning.”
“Ay, but the wench Thora told Ralph that ’tis prayers backward she says
there. Thora has oft heard her at night, and ’twas no Ave nor Credo as
they say them here.”
Pierce burst out laughing. “I should think not. They speak gibberish,
and she, for I have heard her in Church, speaks words with a meaning, as
her priest and nuns taught her.”
“But her face, sir. There’s the Evil One’s mark. One side says nay to
the other.”
“The Evil One! Nay, Dick, he is none other than Sir Leonard himself.
’Twas he that all unwittingly, when a boy, fired a barrel of powder close
to her and marred her countenance. You are not fool and ass enough to
give credence to these tales.”
“I said not that I did, sir,” replied the page; “but it is what the
men-at-arms swear to, having drawn it from the serving-maid.”
“The adder,” muttered Pierce.
“Moreover,” continued the boy, “they have found out that there is a wise
man witch-finder at Shields. They mean to be revenged for the scanty
fare and mean providings; and they deem it will be a merry jest in this
weary hold, and that Sir Leonard will be too glad to be quit of his
gruesome dame to call them to account.”
It was fearful news, for Pierce well knew his own incompetence to
restrain these strong and violent men. He did not know where his knight
was to be found, and, if he had known, it was only too likely that these
terrible intentions might be carried out before any messenger could reach
him. Indeed, the belief in sorcery was universal, and no rank was exempt
from the danger of the accusation. Thora’s treachery was specially
perilous. All that the young man could do was to seek counsel with
Cuthbert Ridley, and even this he was obliged to do in the stable,
bidding Dick keep watch outside. Ridley too had heard a spiteful whisper
or two, but it had seemed too preposterous for him to attend to it. “You
are young, Hardcastle,” he said, with a smile, “or you would know that
there is nothing a grumbler will not say, nor how far men’s tongues lie
from their hands.”
“Nay, but if their hands _did_ begin to act, how should we save the lady?
There’s nothing Tordu would not do. Could we get her away to some
nunnery?”
“There is no nunnery nearer at hand than Gateshead, and there the
Prioress is a Musgrove, no friend to my lord. She might give her up, on
such a charge, for holy Church is no guardian in them. My poor bairn!
That ingrate Thora too! I would fain wring her neck! Yet here are our
fisher folk, who love her for her bounty.”
“Would they hide her?” asked Pierce.
“That serving-wench—would I had drowned her ere bringing her here—might
turn them, and, were she tracked, I ken not who might not be scared or
tortured into giving her up!”
Here Dick looked in. “Tordu is crossing the yard,” he said.
They both became immediately absorbed in studying the condition of
Featherstone’s horse, which had never wholly recovered the flight from
Wakefield.
After a time Ridley was able to steal away, and visit Grisell in her
apartment. She came to meet him, and he read alarm, incredulous alarm,
in her face. She put her hands in his. “Is it sooth?” she said, in a
strange, awe-stricken voice.
“You have heard, then, my wench?”
“Thora speaks in a strange tone, as though evil were brewing against me.
But you, and Master Hardcastle, and Sir Lucas, and the rest would never
let them touch me?”
“They should only do so through my heart’s blood, dear child; but mine
would be soon shed, and Hardcastle is a weakly lad, whom those fellows
believe to be bewitched. We must find some other way!”
“Sir Leonard would save me if he knew. Alas! the good Earl of Salisbury
is dead.”
“’Tis true. If we could hide you till we be rid of these men. But
where?” and he made a despairing gesture.
Grisell stood stunned and dazed as the horrible prospect rose before her
of being seized by these lawless men, tortured by the savage hands of the
witch-finder, subjected to a cruel death, by fire, or at best by water.
She pressed her hands together, feeling utterly desolate, and prayed her
prayer to the God of the fatherless to save her or brace her to endure.
Presently Cuthbert exclaimed, “Would Master Groats, the Poticary, shelter
you till this is over-past? His wife is deaf and must perforce keep
counsel.”
“He would! I verily believe he would,” exclaimed Grisell; “and no
suspicion would light on him. How soon can I go to him, and how?”
“If it may be, this very night,” said Ridley. “I missed two of the
rogues, and who knows whither they may have gone?”
“Will there be time?” said the poor girl, looking round in terror.
“Certes. The nearest witch-finder is at Shields, and they cannot get
there and back under two days. Have you jewels, lady? And hark you,
trust not to Thora. She is the worst traitor of all. Ask me no more,
but be ready to come down when you hear a whistle.”
That Thora could be a traitress and turn against her—the girl whom she
had taught, trained, and civilised—was too much to believe. She would
almost, in spite of cautions, have asked her if it were possible, and
tried to explain the true character of the services that were so cruelly
misinterpreted; but as she descended the dark winding stair to supper,
she heard the following colloquy:
“You will not deal hardly with her, good Ralph, dear Ralph?”
“That thou shalt see, maid! On thy life, not a word to her.”
“Nay, but she is a white witch! she does no evil.”
“What! Going back on what thou saidst of her brother and her mother.
Take thou heed, or they will take order with thee.”
“Thou wilt take care of me, good Ralph. Oh! I have done it for thee.”
“Never fear, little one; only shut thy pretty little mouth;” and there
was a sound of kissing.
“What will they do to her?” in a lower voice.
“Thou wilt see! Sink or swim thou knowst. Ha! ha! She will have enough
of the draught that is so free to us.”
Grisell, trembling and horror-stricken, could only lean against the wall
hoping that her beating heart did not sound loud enough to betray her,
till a call from the hall put an end to the terrible whispers.
She hurried upwards lest Thora should come up and perceive how near she
had been, then descended and took her seat at supper, trying to converse
with Pierce as usual, but noting with terror the absence of the two
soldiers.
How her evasion was to be effected she knew not. The castle keys were
never delivered to her, but always to Hardcastle, and she saw him take
them; but she received from Ridley a look and sign which meant that she
was to be ready, and when she left the hall she made up a bundle of
needments, and in it her precious books and all the jewels she had
inherited. That Thora did not follow her was a boon.