THE TRIAL OF THE WITCH
At this point came my master back, looking exceedingly disconsolate. A
starveling, furtive-eyed monk accompanied him.
"The Bishop," he said, "is gone forth of his house. He is in attendance
at the trial of a woman for witchcraft, one whom some of the common city
folk hold to be a saint. But the young Duke and others swear that she is
a witch, and hath murdered the Duke Casimir. Haste thee with the horses,
sirrah, and attend me to the Hall of Justice. I have sent a messenger
forward with my credentials to the Bishop Peter."
So to the corner of the yard I went and rubbed down the horses with a
wisp of straw which Peter of the Pigs brought me, and which smelled of
his charges too. Then, with another piece of money in his hand, I sent
him out to the nearest corn-chandler's to buy some corn for our beasts,
the which I gave them, and stood by them till I saw them eat it too. For
in such a poverty-stricken place, and with a gentleman of the capacity of
Master Peter of the Pigs, one that is in any way fond of his horses
cannot be too careful.
This done, I announced myself to my master as ready to accompany him.
Then, through the streets of Thorn, all strangely empty, we took our
way. Women were leaning out of windows; every head turned castleward up
the street.
They hardly deigned a glance at my master or at myself, but continued to
gaze. And as each passenger came down the street from the direction of
the Wolfsberg they cried questions at him, so that he ran the gantlet of
a dropping fire of shrill queries.
"What are they doing to the sweet saint up yonder?"
"Hath she been put to the Question?"
"Who could be executioner in such a case? A man would be sent to
hell-fire for daring to lay hand on her."
The popular sympathies ran clearly with the accused, which is not, as our
old Hanne had reason to remember, the rule in trials for witchcraft.
Soon we were passing the gate of the Red Tower. It was barred and closed.
The windows of my father's house looked barrenly down, like the eye-holes
of skulls. I saw the window from which I used to gaze wistfully down upon
the children, who would not play with me, but spat upon the tower when
they saw me looking at their play and pipings upon the streets.
There above was the window of my father's garret, with the edge of the
black flag blowing out above it.
The streetward door of the Judgment Hall was open, and a great crowd of
people stood about, silent, anxious, respectful. Some of them talked in
low tones, and whenever there was a word passed out of the door, within
which men looked ten deep, it scattered all about like a wave which comes
into a sea-cave by a narrow entrance, and then widens out till it breaks
gently in the wide inner hall.
"She is not to be tortured; only the Hereditary Executioner may do that.
They have threatened the old woman. She has confessed all!"
So ran the words about the crowd, and ever and anon, one would detach
himself from the press, elbowing his way out, and then speed down the
long street, crying the latest tidings of the trial.
It was manifestly impossible for us to obtain entrance by this door. So
we looked about for another.
Then I minded me of the private passage which led from the inner
court-yard which I knew so well. We skirted the crowd, with our attendant
following, till we came to the side door, which led directly into the
Hall of Judgment behind the judges' high seats.
It was the way by which many a time I had seen my father enter, either in
his dress of black or in that of red. And I was always glad when I saw
him put on the scarlet, because I knew that then the worst was over for
some poor tortured soul.
But when my master proposed that the attendant of the Bishop should carry
a letter into the hall to his master to inform him that we waited
without, the man trembled in every limb, and the hair of his head shocked
itself up in sheer terror.
"I cannot--I dare not," he cried; "it is the place of torture--of the
engines--the strappado--the water-drop, the leg-crushers!"
And at this point the vision of what was contained within the fatal door
became so appalling to him that he picked up his skirts and fled, looking
over his shoulder all the while to make sure that the Red Axe was not
after him full tilt.
So Dessauer and I were left standing. And if the matter had been less
serious, it would have been comical to see us thus deserted upon mine own
middenstead, as it were.
"Bishop Peter of Thorn seems a prelate somewhat difficult of
approach," said the Chancellor. "I wonder if we shall ever lay any
salt on his tail?"
"Let us risk it and go in," said I. "We are putting all our cards on the
table, at any rate. And at least we can see all that is to be sees. If
there is any risk of Von Reuss penetrating our disguises, it is as well
to gulp and get it over at once, rather than suck gingerly at it till
the fear of death chills our marrow."
"Go on, then," he said, somewhat crossly; "there is indeed naught to be
gained by standing here as a butt for the eyes of evil-doers."
So I opened the door carefully, and with a trembling heart. The hum of a
great assembly breathed turbidly upon us in a hushed chaos of sound. The
warm, stifling atmosphere, heavy with a thousand respirations, the sound
of a voice speaking loud and clear, the thunder of continuous heels on
the paved floor, the voices of the ushers crying, "Silentium!" at
intervals--these all came suddenly upon us as we shut out the air and
sunshine and went into the Hall of Judgment.
We could not see the full assembly at first. We stood, as I had supposed,
directly behind the judges' rostrum. Only the corners of the vast crowd
which covered the floor and filled the galleries could be seen--a blur of
white faces all bent towards one point. But at the corner, not far from
us, a tall, spare, gray-headed ecclesiastic was speaking.
We stood still, in order that we might not interrupt by entering till he
had finished.
What was our surprise when we heard his words.
"My Lord Duke," he was saying, "it is fortunate for the elucidation of
this great mystery that I have this moment received word concerning a
most learned and notable jurisconsult, a Doctor of the Law, wise in
controversy and specially skilled in such cases, who has even now arrived
in the city of Thorn, on his way to the Emperor at Ratisbon, before whom
he is to dispute for the honor of truth and our holy religion.
"His name is the Learned, Venerable, and Reverend Doctor Schmidt, and I
trust that we of the city and faculty of the Wolfmark shall have the
honor of welcoming him as so distinguished a man deserves."
The pattern of the Bishop's speech is one that does not vary while the
world lasts.
"Lord, they have made me a Doctor of Theology as well!" whispered the
Chancellor to me. I gave him a little push.
"Now is your time," said I, "the hour and the Doctor!"
I lifted the skirt of his long black robe. He took hold of his marvellous
beard, a triumph of the disguiser's art, and we stepped forward. I could
hardly conceal a smile.
We had come in the very nick of time.
Then after this I have a vague remembrance of my master bowing this way
and that. I seem to see the wise men of the law, the judges, the priests,
and lictors rising and bowing in acknowledgment. I heard the hush of a
thousand people all craning their necks to look round the heads of their
neighbors, and the hum of whispered comment reach farther and farther
back, till it lapped against the walls and ebbed out into the street from
the great open door of the Hall of Judgment. It was a surprising sight,
this great trial--the gloomy hall, black with age and deeds of darkness,
lit by the rays of sunlight falling through windows of red glass, the
faces of men flecked as with blood where the evening sunlight streamed
luridly upon them.
In the midst there was a clear four-square space. A lictor, with a bundle
of rods, stood at each corner. I looked, and there, alone in the centre,
attired in white, the cynosure of eyes, I beheld--Helene.