The water rushed past her feet, swallowing them up and washing them away. She giggled as the coldness of the river sent a chill down her spine, making her lift her skirt up from the stream and tuck it inside her belt, so it did not soak.
Eliza danced around, waving her hands in the air, and laughing aloud. The birds chirping in the distance gave a small melody that she hummed along to, spinning, and twirling like a royal maiden in a ball.
A pair of wings caught her eye, and she danced around to see Dawn, her own pet raven, perching on her shoulder.
“Isn’t this wonderful, Dawn?” Eliza laughed, skipping to-and-frow and breaking the river’s waves.
“No one’s missing me in town then?” She said, running her fingers through her hair.
Dawn let out a squawk, fluttering into flight. Eliza froze, groaning at the misfit of a bird.
“What is the matter with you?” Eliza whined, “Go find a squirrel to chase, leave me be.”.
The day had been good, better than most days she had. It would be typical of Dawn to ruin it.
The raven squawked a second time, raising her concerns. Eliza folded her arms and stared back.
“Dawn? Is something wrong?” She asked in attempt to calm it down. If her bird were stressed, it would never silence.
Dawn was restless, it flew up from her finger and started flying in circles, giving signs of warning. Eliza tripped out of the lake and stared after her bird.
Wiping her feet on the dry grass, Eliza slipped into her dry shoes with wet feet. She struggled onto the grass and sprinted down the hills, chasing the raven’s tail.
Eliza tugged her skirt down from her belt, darting down into the forest. The forest was notorious for being filled with dangers, but Dawn flew through it, leading her inside.
Eliza tripped as her foot latched onto a piece of glass in the dirt. She pulled it away with a grunt, catching her distorted appearance in the reflection.
Her hair was a mess, ending at her waist in brown waves. She fumbled inside her satchel for a pin, and efficiently put the hair into a messy tie.
Her raven had stopped flying, perching on a tree, and patiently waiting on her to follow again. She rolled her eyes at it, adjusting her blouse. Once it saw her ready again, Dawn continued to fly, expecting her to do the same.
The woods were dark, and it gave her a terrible feeling in her stomach. Rumour told that there were witches in the woods, ones that would hex you with their sorcery, but Eliza never really believed that.
It always seemed to her that when a woman was on trial for witchcraft, it was usually someone who The King did not like, or someone who disagreed with him.
The execution of Mary Stanley was happening that day, and she made a point of avoiding it. Eliza hated how the people found entertainment in the torturing of others.
‘It’s vile in every way, yet they call witches the evil ones.’ Eliza thought.
As her own father had said, anyone who threatened The King’s ego endangered themselves by the law, that was how it had always been.
‘You can’t win, can you?’ Eliza wondered.
The wind howled and blew in her ear, giving her a strange chill. The woods were not that long, and soon the bustling voices of the village grew. They sounded different, panicked, and that was never a good sign.
Eliza and Dawn reached the back of the town, perching onto her cottage's wall. She sprinted over and stood with her back against it, peering out to the commotion.
The people were whispering, scarce under their breaths. She saw the lower halves of the pedestrians, standing in their blank scruffs.
Glimpsing past the wall, her hand jumped over her mouth to stop herself from making a sound. Hundreds of people, gathered around the Spinner home, stood ahead.
It could have been her father; he could have been ill. A hundred different possibilities formed in her mind, he and his quarrelsome attitude becoming the main one.
Her father was antisocial at best, but it did not take huge effort to spark his temper. Eliza spent most of her time in the hills, but she and her father were alike. Their matching, shadowed eyes were identical.
The village girls stood around her house, with their noses stuck up and their little giggles, which made you want to tear off your ears.
Dawn landed on her shoulder. It bobbed its head, motioning to something, and Eliza peered around to see a knight guarding her home, and The King standing behind him.
Her heart dropped when she saw that, and she loudly gasped that time.
She had been told as a child; her mother had been ‘taken away’ by the guards. It did not take her long to realise, their situations were history repeating itself.
Eliza knew that it must have been accusations of witchcraft that got her mother killed. It made sense, and it made it easier to understand why King Richard hated her.
He looked enraged, with his face twisted. The people backed away, and even the guard flinched each time he spoke.
‘This has to be a mistake,’ Eliza thought, ‘Why me?’.
“Twenty shillings, for the man who reveals the witch’s location!” The King yelled, raising his fist.
Eliza felt her heart squirming in her chest. Richard continued; “A headless body for the man who refuses to speak up!”.
‘Run, far away.’ The thought provoked her mind.
Her feet felt glued to the ground, watching the scene take place. Young children cried, as Richard yelled at the height of his lungs.
Eliza watched on, feeling her heart sink. King Richard interrogated with his eyes, and he would cause a pandemonium, if he lingered.
The fright in children’s eyes, the floating tension, the ticking clock. Witches were supposed to be the villains, the constant threat. In England, witches were harmless compared to their King.
“I’m here.” Eliza announced, moving out of the shadows.
She gulped as her eyes met The King’s own, his resembling a poisonous snake. The knight nudged King Richard’s arm, holding a scroll in his grasp.
The knight cleared his throat. Eliza kept her eyes on his parchment, her sour face solemn.
He unrolled it and held it out with pride. The blurred words spun like a loophole. Yet, one word stood out, bold and clear. ‘Witchcraft’.
“Elizabeth Spinner, by the power invested in The King by…” The knight’s face furrowed, “…The King.”.
“Get on with it.” Richard warned, slamming his fist into the guard’s shoulder.
“S-sorry,” The knight flinched, “You are under arrest for accusations of witchcraft and conspiracy against…The King.”.
‘Witchcraft.’ The word rang inside her mind.
She never liked The King, and she was often outspoken about disagreeing with many things he said, but she never cast a spell; that she would prove.
“Witchcraft? On what grounds?” Eliza answered. The King glared at her with a frown.
“Uh,” The knight paused, fidgeting with his hands. “W-We cannot disclose that.”.
“My crops died the other day, and for that to happen this time of year, had to be witchcraft!” One woman shouted.
“Trouble follows Spinner’s daughter no matter where she is!” A man yelled. “Witch!”.
“I am no witch.” She declared, and the whole crowd gasped. No one rejected The King; it was asking to go to the dungeons.
King Richard silenced everyone, and walked over to the guard’s side, dangerously annoyed. He grabbed her arm, and she could feel his breath on her face.
“No? Those spell-cast journals say otherwise.” The King growled, gesturing to her home. Eliza shook her head, scoffing aloud.
“My studies? Those are for medicine, for my father.” She yelled. “I am innocent by all moral law.”.
“You say my law is immoral?” He asked, daring her to answer.
“Yes, yes I do.” Eliza claimed, her heart pounding inside her chest. “And I—".
She was cut off by King Richard slicing his hand through the
air, pointing for the guard to arrest her.
The guard grabbed her wrists and tied them together, and Eliza put no effort in escaping.
King Richard marched away angrily, and the people created a path for him to walk through, as Eliza and the guard followed him.
All the people started to bless themselves and mumble prayers as she walked past, but she managed to keep a smile on her face the whole way.
She worried about her father, and how he would cope with hearing that his daughter was facing the exact same charges his wife did.
He would not be able to bare it, suffering enough as it was. His incurable illness, haunting nightmares and rotting chest; all needed her assistance.
Her father, George Spinner, was a farmer on the edge of town. He travelled at dawn and returned at dusk, pushing his wheelbarrow in front, sulking over the lack of sales.
Eliza zoned out, being tugged along by the knight. Her father would suffer mentally and physically, with nothing left to live by. A thought stuck in her mind.
Medicine. Her medicine.
She had made it her life’s goal to create a cure, a medicine for her father. She stored them in shelves amongst the other bits-and-bobs that lined them. They held all sorts of mixtures; salt water, fall leaves, ground nuts.
Things she collected to create a cure, a hope.
She studied the crafts of medicine and may have stolen parchment prescriptions from the local doctor before, once.
She was shaken from thought, as the guard shuffled her through the crowd. The King was far ahead, and Eliza felt tears water her eyes.
They met the entrance to the castle, and Eliza could not help but look back, thinking of her father and no one else.
Dawn had flown away from the commotion. It did not like loud noises, so it tended to leave when that happened, watching from above.
She hoped her father would take care of Dawn, because the poor bird would fret if she disappeared, flying away to find her, but it never would.
As she looked across the forest, she noticed a small figure on a hill, wheeling an empty bucket behind him. Her father was on his way home, oblivious to the fact his only daughter was under arrest.
He was at the end of the hill, and so close to where their cottage stood. Eliza pulled away from the guard, focusing her eyes.
She needed to speak to him, to let him know what was happening. If he returned home to find the house ruined and deserted, he would panic, and she was afraid that would be too much for him to bare.
Eliza tugged away from the guard’s restraint, and he tugged her back, growling and pulling on the string. She threw herself achingly out forwards. She was seconds away from the castle doors, from the end.
“Father!” She screamed, pulling away from the guard. Eliza refused to look at him, she just kept shouting, anything to spark her father’s attention.
He slugged down the hill, carrying two bags of crops in his arms. The sale had not gone well, because he had those when he had left earlier that morning.
“Spinner! Father!” Eliza yelled, resisting against the guard’s arrest. ‘Father’ could be anyone, she needed to grasp his attention.
George Spinner flinched, staring around for the source of the noise, but it was too late. The knight managed to yank Eliza backwards, and the doors started to shut.
She collapsed onto her knees, pulling the knight’s arm down with her. Eliza felt the ground rip into her knees, as she reached a free hand for her father. His eyes finally met hers.
He completely dropped his crops, spilling them all over the grass and letting them roll away. Eliza felt herself longing to help, but all she could do was mouth a word to him; ‘sorry’.
Her father reached out towards her from afar, as he stumbled towards the castle doors, but it was too late. The last thing Eliza saw was him desperately trying to reach her, and then he was gone.
The knight lifted her up, causing her to lose her footing and stumble backwards. She felt tears prick at her eyes as she was trailed across the floor and towards the dungeons.
That was it; imprisoned for weeks, with no social contact or entertainment, and then she would be executed like many before her.
There was no choice. Anyone accused of witchcraft before her had suffered, and they were innocent like her.
Guards trailed her through the courtroom, and Eliza felt humiliated. All the eyes of The King’s courtiers and knights were on her. Some staring had pity in their eyes, and others had disgust. Regardless, neither would make a difference to her situation.
The palace was illuminated with bright fires lining the walls, and the golden outline reflected onto anyone passing by. There was a delicacy, a tension in the castle, and their formality overruled her stained clothes.
They had formal waistcoats with pearl buttons, some wearing capes or hats, but all of them with a stern expression. They were all men, and she knew the maidens would be on the floors above, as servants or ladies in waiting to the queen.
Eliza snapped away from her thoughts as they reached the stairs to the dungeon. It was at the back of the kingdom and revealed through a miniature staircase that led down to the rooms and their prisoners. It had a looming darkness, and stained stone stairs.
They forced her down and entered a long corridor. There were cells with bars on one side, and dungeons with steel doors on the other.
They reached the end of the hallway and she spun around to face a door, covered by a knight. The guard opened the door for them to enter, acknowledging his fellow knight with a nod.
In such a hopeless time, all Eliza could think was to add some humour. To make it easier, when reality had not truly hit her yet.
“Not too ill-featured, it could be a bit livelier without the cobwebs.” Eliza joked, as the guard started to untie her restraints. He answered her with a grunt, then a soft laugh.
If she let them see her afraid, or upset, she gained nothing. It gave them the upper hand their knighthood craved. That encouraged her to keep smiling, even while the world shattered around her.
Eliza raised her arms and stretched them out once the guards untied her and began to laugh under her breath. Giving her a shove, one of them pushed her into the room and slammed the door behind her.
The room had a barred window and echoing brick walls, but it was only small and let in pinpoint light. The dungeon had a dirty old bed, and a pot for sanitary purposes. It had nothing whatsoever for entertainment, and there was minimal room for any movement; she had nothing to do but sleep.
When she was out of the guard’s view, Eliza felt her lip tremble, as her knees sunk to the floor.
She had questioned many things, and tended to be more inquisitive than most, sometimes to her own dismay.
Yet, one question she might never be able to answer; what made them call her a witch?
There was nothing she could do, he was The King, he was law, and anyone who disagreed had the same fate.
As she sat on the floor, she fumbled inside her blouse to find the most important thing she owned. A locket.
It belonged to her mother, and she had worn it her entire life.
Eliza knew she resembled her father; the people of the village lectured her on that when she was a child.
The same dark, shadowed eyes she bore were her father’s own. They did have that same spiteful gleam.
Eliza thought of her mother, who had her entire life stolen, realising she would be the same. She would never get the chance to grow old, to have a life.
‘It would have been nice to have the possibility, wouldn’t it?’ She thought.
Eliza felt her eyes brim with tears, at the thought of never getting to experience life. The anxiety of knowing she was in her last days, was more daunting than anything ever before.
Cuddling herself into a ball, she found herself hoping they were right. Hoping that she was a witch, that she could cast a spell and disappear in a cloud of smoke.
That she could be someone more than Elizabeth.
Elizabeth, The Witch.
3
Sink or Swim
The past two days had been long, too long. Eliza settled into the castle dungeons, crying every second, reminiscing on the past, and sleeping.
She had not received any food to survive, and she wondered if they decided to leave her to starve as punishment.
She craved a cup of water, or a piece of bread. Her lips chapped, and her head pounded like a thousand bells, but the worst part was the isolation.
If Eliza ever needed to speak, she would visit someone or even speak to a stranger just to hear her own voice. In the dungeon, she was hauntingly alone.
Eliza had to assume that The King was not going to trial her, instead sentencing her to death without consideration. that was the worrying part. Every moment could be her last, and she did not know it. The thought was terribly surreal.
The trials that took place for the women accused of witchcraft were not exceptionally reliable, but The King was convinced that they worked.
The woman in question would be restrained by knights and tied down to a chair hanging above a lake, and slowly the chair lowered down towards the water, until the string was cut.
Falling through the air, the woman collided with and sunk into the lake. If the woman floated on the water, she was a witch. If she sunk, she was innocent.
Bewitched Page 2
