Flood (The Fenland Series Book 1) Read online

  ‘That is madness!’ Tom said, although I could see panic in his eyes. ‘They have merely discovered that the tale we spread abroad of Gideon’s death was a lie. It will mean trouble, but surely not serious trouble.’

  ‘Aye, it is certainly madness,’ Toby said. He spoke calmly, but there was an undertone of dread in his voice. ‘However, it serves their purpose to pretend they believed Gideon was dead, and now has been raised from the dead.’

  ‘Purpose? What purpose?’ Tom shifted uncomfortably in his chair and lifted his leg with both hands into a better position.

  ‘Edmund Dillingworth has a purpose,’ I said quietly. ‘He wishes to do me harm. But why should he wish to harm Hannah? And why would Reverend Edgemont support him?’ I was determined to keep my voice calm, but terror was filling me, blood and bone, like an icy flood.

  ‘Edgemont has his own purposes,’ said Toby. ‘Our village and our traditional beliefs are like a thorn in his shoe. If he cannot convert us to his Calvinist ways – and I think he sees now that he cannot – why then he will punish us, make an example of us. We shall be known as a den of sacrilege and witchcraft.’

  I drew in a sharp breath. It made sense. These extreme reformers, with their hellfire and their conviction that every man, woman and child was either saved or damned from birth, were most zealous in hunting out any who did not conform to their way of thinking. Any old country practice – like our simple bringing in of the May – was accounted blasphemous. Old superstitions about signs of good and bad luck, even weather lore, were seen as the workings of the Devil. If they could sniff out witchcraft, they would do so. There had been no talk of finding witches amongst us until Hopkins and Stearne had begun their searches, yet suddenly dozens of witches had been discovered and hanged, all over our Fen country, sometimes on the flimsiest of evidence. And above all where the most extreme sectaries lived. What evidence had been produced against Agnes Pettifer? We had never heard. But Crowthorne and Edgemont could not rest satisfied with one witch. They must come amongst us and spread the poison of their accusations here. All of this flashed through my mind, but as if I were thinking of someone else, not myself.

  Up to that moment I had been trying to consider Edmund Dillingworth and Reverend Edgemont rationally, but suddenly, like the rush of water when the sluice is opened, I truly understood the fearful news. They were seeking me. And Hannah. It could not be long before they would arrest us. Now I was submerged by sheer terror. My whole body began to shake.

  ‘How long do you think,’ I asked Toby softly, ‘before they come for us?’ I could not blot out that terror from my voice.

  He looked at me compassionately. ‘They have sent for the witchfinders. They will probably wait until they come, with their men-at-arms. That way Edgemont and Dillingworth can accomplish their purpose, but at arms’ length. If you are proved innocent, they can maintain their lack of involvement.’

  I swallowed. It would depend on where the witchfinders were at present, how long it would be before they came amongst us. Not long, though.

  Tom half rose from his chair, then fell back. ‘We must hide you, both you and Hannah.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Toby, ‘though I do not know how it is to be done.’

  I glanced across at Hannah, who had fallen asleep, ignoring our talk.

  ‘I could hide, I suppose, or live rough out on the Fen, but she could not.’

  We all studied the old woman. In recent weeks she had grown older. It was as if, having left behind her sturdy independence in her cottage by the Fen, she had let down her defences against the creeping onset of old age. Living protected amongst us at Turbary Holm, she was losing the battle. I remembered how exhausted she had looked after we had dressed Tom’s wound. No, Hannah could not take to the life of an outlaw, hiding in the Fen from pursuit.

  ‘Hannah cannot go, and I cannot abandon her.’

  ‘At least we may save one of you,’ Tom said.

  I shook my head, though my heart clenched with fear. ‘I cannot abandon her.’

  We had not long to wait. Before dawn on the fifth day of August, we were woken by a loud hammering on the door. I knew at once what it meant and made myself hastily ready, while Nehemiah went to answer the door, grumbling and delaying as long as he could. I dressed in clean linen and my simplest gown, wrapping a fresh cloth around my head and tucking my hair out of sight beneath my cap. The previous night I had bathed in a wooden tub before the fire, washed my hair and pared and scrubbed my nails. I wanted my appearance to be as far from the perceived image of a witch as possible. Clean and neat, I felt able to face the witchfinders’ men, although I was unsure how long I could keep up my courage.

  After supper last night, Tom and I had discussed what we should do about the payment of Father’s fine, which was due in ten days’ time. I handed over the money Gideon had left me. Together with what we had managed to save and to earn with our dealings at market, and from the sale of the oxen, we had about two-thirds of what we needed.

  ‘What will happen if we cannot pay all?’ I said.

  ‘I do not know. Perhaps he will be bailed for the rest. I will be told when I pay the fine.’

  ‘You cannot go yourself, not with your leg as it is. Send Toby or Rafe.’

  He shook his head and would not discuss it further.

  Now he limped across the kitchen floor to the bottom of the stairs as I came down. I tried to give him a calm smile, but my lips trembled.

  ‘They are here,’ he said softly.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  Above me on the stairs I saw Kitty, her face white with terror and her hands pressed against her mouth. I had warned her what was going to happen and told her she must take on more of the work about the farm. With Hannah and me gone and Tom injured, a heavy burden would fall on her young shoulders.

  ‘Kitty,’ I said, ‘tell Hannah to come down. We must go now.’

  She nodded and flew back upstairs to the attic.

  We had explained everything to Hannah the day after Toby had brought us the news, but she still refused to believe that anything serious could happen.

  ‘You will see, child,’ she said, patting my hand, ‘it will all come to nothing. We are no more witches than . . .’ she searched for a suitable comparison. ‘Than Cromwell himself! It is all nonsense.’

  In some ways I was glad of her robust scepticism. It would give her strength in the ordeal that was to come. I had told her eventually of Agnes Pettifer’s death, but even this had not shaken her. She put it down to the wickedness of the people of Crowthorne, which had somehow by-passed the proper findings of the court. I did not know how to argue against this, for I was ignorant of how the courts proceeded in the cases of witchcraft.

  I smoothed down my apron over my skirt and walked ahead of Tom into the kitchen. There were four men there, large men with swords, wearing some sort of official livery. It seemed excessive to arrest two women. One, who seemed to be their captain, confronted me.

  ‘You are Mercy Bennington?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You are arrested on a charge of practising witchcraft, in particular raising from the dead one Gideon Clarke, a recusant priest.’

  ‘Gideon Clarke was never dead,’ I said steadily. ‘Nor is he a recusant.’

  ‘Do not answer back, you slut!’ He struck me across the face.

  I was so startled I shrank back, my hand over my mouth. I tasted blood, where my teeth had been driven into my lower lip.

  ‘How dare you strike my sister!’ Tom had come up behind me. I cast him an imploring look. I tried to signal with my eyes: Don’t provoke them.

  It was too late. The captain slammed his fist into Tom’s jaw and sent him sprawling on the floor, his injured leg twisted beneath him. I had hoped the arrest could be carried out quietly and now everything was going wrong. Hannah came into the room, followed by Kitty. They both looked frightened when they saw Tom on the floor and me with blood on my face. Behind them Mother and Nehemiah crowded in, Moth
er as white as bleached linen, Nehemiah looking as though he would attack the guards at any moment.

  I went to Hannah and took her arm.

  ‘Come, my dear,’ I said. ‘We must go with this gentlemen. Do not be afraid.’

  I led her towards the door. The last I saw of my family was Kitty and Nehemiah helping Tom to his feet.

  Outside there were four horses. I had expected a cart of some sort. How did they plan to carry us to wherever we were going? Were we to ride pillion? It was soon clear what they intended. One of the other guards brought a rope and bound my wrists together, then fastened the other end to his stirrup iron. Another tied Hannah to his horse. We were to be made to walk at the horses’ tails, like condemned criminals. But how far? Hannah would manage as far as the village, but I doubted whether she could go much further.

  We set off. Although they walked their horses, it was a fast pace. We stumbled along after them. The lane to the village was still deep in mud after the heavy rain and I could not pick up my skirts, which were soon draggled and muddy. As we reached the village, I wondered what my neighbours would make of us.

  They stood before their houses in silent anger. Early as it was, they were all there. They must have heard the men ride through on their way to arrest us.

  ‘Shame!’ Someone shouted. ‘Those women are innocent.’

  The captain looked round quickly, but could not see who had spoken.

  ‘Courage, Mercy!’ I knew that voice. It was Alice.

  ‘We will pray for you. These devils shall not harm you.’ That was Toby.

  The captain drove his heels angrily into his horse’s sides and increased the pace. We had to half run to keep up, or the rope burnt into our wrists. Even so, it had given me courage to hear what they said. If any were called as witnesses, they would speak for us.

  When we reached Crowthorne, it was a different matter. By then Hannah was exhausted, falling down every few yards, so that our whole procession had to stop while she got to her feet again. Her dress was covered with mud and her cap awry. At last she had begun to understand what was happening to us. Her eyes were wide with terror.

  I had been to Crowthorne only twice in my life. Once, when we were children, Tom and I had made our way there out of curiosity, to see what it was like. That was before it became such a reformist place, but even so the local children had threatened us. The second time was on my way to work at the manor, when I had gone round by the lane to keep my shoes and skirts tidy, instead of over the fields.

  Now, as we were dragged through Crowthorne, the inhabitants here had also come out to watch us pass, but with very different intentions. The guards slowed down, deliberately, I realised. The people jeered at us.

  ‘Filthy witches!’

  ‘Spawn of Satan!’

  ‘May you burn in hellfire!’

  Then they began to pelt us with fistfuls of mud and dung, with stones, even with eggs. As an egg burst on my shoulder, I thought it strange that they should be so wasteful of food, but then I realised from the stink that it was rotten.

  At last we were through Crowthorne and once more on a country road. We passed the lane which led to the manor. From here it was unknown territory. I risked speaking to the guard ahead of me.

  ‘Where are you taking us?’

  ‘Lincoln,’ he said, without turning his head.

  ‘Lincoln! This old woman cannot walk all the way to Lincoln.’

  ‘She should get the Devil to fly her there, then.’

  One of the other guards laughed.

  After a minute or two he added, ‘At the Roman road there’s a cart waiting, so you need not fear for the old witch. Master Hopkins wants you both alive. He can have more entertainment out of you that way.’

  I bowed my head, feeling sick. What kind of entertainment would that be?

  At the old Roman road, we were heaved into a dirty cart drawn by a mule, but our hands were left tied. I did what I could to make Hannah comfortable, but it was little enough. There was not even straw in the cart for us to sit on. From the smell of it, recently it had been used to transport pigs. I managed to ease Hannah until she was lying with her head on my lap. She was exhausted. One of her shoes had fallen off, but we had not been allowed to retrieve it, so her left foot was cut and bloodied. I wondered why they had not brought the cart all the way for us, but guessed they wanted to make a spectacle of us, to frighten our neighbours and entertain the people of Crowthorne, who could congratulate themselves on their saintliness. And all the time, to humiliate us.

  When we reached Lincoln at last, we drove through the streets, attracting some stares, but no one paused in their daily business. They must be accustomed to such sights. The road wound up a steep hill towards huge ramparts, which must be the ramparts of the castle, so high I had to crane my head back to see to the top of them. I had never before seen walls so high. To the right a vast church reared up, which must be the cathedral. The holy and the profane, cheek by jowl, crowned the city of Lincoln. The cart was driven under the castle gatehouse, and we were tipped out, Hannah barely able to stand. At the sight of those grim, massive walls, my courage began to falter. Somewhere in here my father had languished for months. How long would we be held here before they questioned us? I remembered that Toby had said we would not be arrested until after the witchfinders Hopkins and Stearne had arrived, so that must mean they were already here, or expected soon.

  ‘Come along with you.’ The captain jerked his head and two of the guards led us after him, dragging us by the ropes, like cattle.

  The ropes had already rubbed the skin of my wrists raw and as the man jerked the rope it dug painfully into the sores. I managed to find my feet, tired as I was, and followed him, but Hannah collapsed on the ground in a faint. The captain grunted in annoyance, but it was clear that this was no pretence.

  ‘Two of you, carry the old witch,’ he said, and set off for a round tower over to the left of the vast castle courtyard.

  We were taken through a heavy door, studded with great nails, and then down damp and slippery steps with led below ground. I managed to keep my footing with difficulty, but the men carrying Hannah took little care and struck her head once against the stone wall. At the bottom of the steps there was an iron-barred gate and a turnkey who opened it, looking curiously at us. I saw his hand creep up to his head as though he would cross himself, then he thought better of it and wiped his nose with his hand, as if that had been his intention all along.

  Beyond the iron gate was a narrow corridor smelling like the mud stirred up from a stagnant pool, with doors on either side. Halfway along, the turnkey stopped before one that was open.

  ‘This one is free,’ he said.

  ‘In you go,’ said the captain, giving me a push so that I fell to my knees.

  Seeing that they were going away, leaving me alone there, I held up my bound wrists. ‘Will you not unbind me?’

  He laughed. ‘Be thankful we have not chained you. Not yet.’

  As the door began to close, I cried out, ‘You will not separate us? Hannah is old and ill, she needs to be cared for.’

  ‘Leave two witches together? Never. No knowing what devilry you may get up to.’

  The door slammed and I heard the key turn in the heavy lock.

  I do not know how long I stayed in the cell. It was entirely empty, not even a straw palliasse on the floor. No window, just a small hatch in the door, through which a dim light filtered. It must have been late afternoon when we reached Lincoln and I supposed by now it must be night. I realised that I was hungry, for I had eaten nothing since the previous evening, but hunger was the least matter to worry about. I wondered where Hannah was. In one of the other cells along this corridor, or had they taken her somewhere else? If she was still out of her wits, they could do no good questioning her.

  After what seemed like many hours, during which I sat on the damp stone floor with my back against the wall, I heard footsteps outside the door. I strained to hear voices, but there were
none. Then there came the grinding of the key in the lock, a rusty sound of metal on metal. The light of a candle lamp dazzled me after the long dark and I raised my bound hands to shield my eyes.

  ‘Get up.’ It was a different man, not one of the guards who had brought me here. A middle-aged, fatherly-looking gaoler, who seemed out of place in these grim surroundings.

  I scrambled unsteadily to my feet. He jerked his head for me to follow him, and led me back down the corridor to the iron door. As we passed the other cells, I wondered whether Hannah was in one of them, or perhaps my father. Tom had never told me exactly where in Lincoln castle he was held. We ascended the steps, then crossed the courtyard to the other side, to a long rectangular building. It was full dark now. I tripped once over the trailing rope and nearly fell. The man put his arm under my elbow and held me up, not ungently.

  Inside I was led into a large room which was brightly lit with many candles. There was a table, where two men sat, and three old dames stood together in the middle of the room, near a single chair. The gaoler who had brought me untied the rope, bowed to the two men, and withdrew, shutting the door quietly behind him. I flexed my fingers, which were numb, and saw that my wrists were bleeding and swollen.

  Two of the women seized me by the elbows and marched me to the centre of the room. All of the women were elderly, with hard, self-righteous faces, dressed in the severe garments of practising Puritans. With a shock I realised who and what they were. Searchers. They would strip me and search for witch-marks on my body. Despite my determination to be brave, I began to shake.

  They pulled off my cap and headcloth and searched my scalp, their bony fingers raking through my hair. They twisted my head this way and that, to examine my neck from every angle. All the while, they said nothing.

  Apparently there were no marks to find on my head and neck. I knew what was to come next, and tried to turn my back on the watching men, but one of the women, tall as a man and strong despite her age, forced me round again. She untied my apron, then the strings on my skirt and petticoat, which slid to the ground. Another unlaced my bodice and pulled it roughly off, twisting my arms behind my back. They removed my shoes and peeled off my stockings, breaking one of my ribbon garters as they did so. I was left in nothing but my shift. Two of the women grabbed my shift and started to pull it over my head, but I began to fight back, pulling it down again to hide my shame.