the cry.
Here we go again.
She was hustled outside. Since it was dark, they lighted torches and marched her toward the town square, others joining the procession, bringing along pitchforks to prod her along with. The witch pricker was awakened, and hurried along after them in his night-shirt.
‘Twice in one day,’ she thought, ‘that’s got to be some kind of record.’
They tore her bodice from her shoulders, and a loud voice was heard over the top of the crowd’s chanting. ‘STOP!’ The crowd parted and Tamar saw a thin, pale, well-dressed man, ‘Let that woman go,’ he ordered.
‘But she’s a witch,’ protested the fat man, whom she had attacked.
‘Do you dare to defy me? I said let her go.’
Reluctantly they stood away from her. The man came forward. ‘Come with me,’ he said, it did not sound like a suggestion.
‘Thank you sir,’ said Tamar, ‘but …’
‘Come along now,’ reiterated the man. ‘Do you want to be strung up?’
Tamar shrugged; she followed the man.
* * *
The man told her that his name was William Tracey and that he was the Squire in these parts; that is – he owned the land and most of the local people. He asked Tamar her name – she told him it was Sally – and offered to put her in the kitchens.
Since she had had enough of drudgery and had things to do, she considered declining, but it would seem ungrateful to a man of this type, not to mention, suspicious. She would have a certain amount of freedom to search while being under William’s protection, and, as soon as she had found Denny, she could leave.
He took her to meet the cook. While listening, or rather pretending to listen, to the interminable list of rules and instructions, her attention wandered, and she saw the cat, asleep by the fire. The cook followed her gaze. ‘Oh that’s Tinker, he’s a nice pussens – yes he is.’
‘Tinker?’ snorted Tamar, before she could stop herself. ‘Poor Denny,’ she thought. ‘What a come down.’
The cook bristled. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ she demanded.
‘Oh, oh, no, nothing. It’s just, I think that may be my cat, his name is D – Dodge.
‘ Your cat?’ said William, interestedly. ‘So, you are the witch that was ducked earlier today? And you survived I take it, so they tried to duck you again. Am I correct?’
‘In a manner of speaking – sir,’ she said.
‘Witch?’ exclaimed the cook. ‘Sir I mean no disrespect, but I cannot have a witch in my kitchen sir, the girls …’
‘ Whose kitchen?’ asked William, mildly enough.
The cook bobbed a curtsey, ‘Sir I …’
He interrupted her. ‘Mrs. Trott, you know I do not approve of all this superstitious nonsense. There are no such things as witches; this girl is no more a witch than I am. I take it, you do not accuse me ?’
‘Oh sir, you will have your little joke.’
‘I assure you, Mrs. Trott, I see nothing amusing in the murder of innocent women, in the name of religious intolerance, for that is what it is as I have tried to tell you. These so-called witches are merely followers of the ancient religion of this country, although they themselves have forgotten it. They are Pagans Mrs. Trott, nothing more. No matter what they, or you, believe, they no more have magic powers that that kettle. Am I making myself clear?’
‘Yes sir.’
William looked at Tamar, ‘I do not believe I have convinced her,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you came with me for now. There will be gossip no doubt, but nothing can prevent that anyway. I sense that if I leave you here, you will have a hard time of it.’ He stalked away. Before she followed him, Tamar grabbed Denny, stifling the cook’s protest with the hardest look anyone had ever received.
* * *
Denny was asleep by the fire; William was questioning Tamar, and lecturing her on the folly of believing in witchcraft, which she found amusing at
Here we go again.
She was hustled outside. Since it was dark, they lighted torches and marched her toward the town square, others joining the procession, bringing along pitchforks to prod her along with. The witch pricker was awakened, and hurried along after them in his night-shirt.
‘Twice in one day,’ she thought, ‘that’s got to be some kind of record.’
They tore her bodice from her shoulders, and a loud voice was heard over the top of the crowd’s chanting. ‘STOP!’ The crowd parted and Tamar saw a thin, pale, well-dressed man, ‘Let that woman go,’ he ordered.
‘But she’s a witch,’ protested the fat man, whom she had attacked.
‘Do you dare to defy me? I said let her go.’
Reluctantly they stood away from her. The man came forward. ‘Come with me,’ he said, it did not sound like a suggestion.
‘Thank you sir,’ said Tamar, ‘but …’
‘Come along now,’ reiterated the man. ‘Do you want to be strung up?’
Tamar shrugged; she followed the man.
* * *
The man told her that his name was William Tracey and that he was the Squire in these parts; that is – he owned the land and most of the local people. He asked Tamar her name – she told him it was Sally – and offered to put her in the kitchens.
Since she had had enough of drudgery and had things to do, she considered declining, but it would seem ungrateful to a man of this type, not to mention, suspicious. She would have a certain amount of freedom to search while being under William’s protection, and, as soon as she had found Denny, she could leave.
He took her to meet the cook. While listening, or rather pretending to listen, to the interminable list of rules and instructions, her attention wandered, and she saw the cat, asleep by the fire. The cook followed her gaze. ‘Oh that’s Tinker, he’s a nice pussens – yes he is.’
‘Tinker?’ snorted Tamar, before she could stop herself. ‘Poor Denny,’ she thought. ‘What a come down.’
The cook bristled. ‘What’s wrong with that?’ she demanded.
‘Oh, oh, no, nothing. It’s just, I think that may be my cat, his name is D – Dodge.
‘ Your cat?’ said William, interestedly. ‘So, you are the witch that was ducked earlier today? And you survived I take it, so they tried to duck you again. Am I correct?’
‘In a manner of speaking – sir,’ she said.
‘Witch?’ exclaimed the cook. ‘Sir I mean no disrespect, but I cannot have a witch in my kitchen sir, the girls …’
‘ Whose kitchen?’ asked William, mildly enough.
The cook bobbed a curtsey, ‘Sir I …’
He interrupted her. ‘Mrs. Trott, you know I do not approve of all this superstitious nonsense. There are no such things as witches; this girl is no more a witch than I am. I take it, you do not accuse me ?’
‘Oh sir, you will have your little joke.’
‘I assure you, Mrs. Trott, I see nothing amusing in the murder of innocent women, in the name of religious intolerance, for that is what it is as I have tried to tell you. These so-called witches are merely followers of the ancient religion of this country, although they themselves have forgotten it. They are Pagans Mrs. Trott, nothing more. No matter what they, or you, believe, they no more have magic powers that that kettle. Am I making myself clear?’
‘Yes sir.’
William looked at Tamar, ‘I do not believe I have convinced her,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it would be better if you came with me for now. There will be gossip no doubt, but nothing can prevent that anyway. I sense that if I leave you here, you will have a hard time of it.’ He stalked away. Before she followed him, Tamar grabbed Denny, stifling the cook’s protest with the hardest look anyone had ever received.
* * *
Denny was asleep by the fire; William was questioning Tamar, and lecturing her on the folly of believing in witchcraft, which she found amusing at
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