CHAPTER IX
THE VEILED WITCH
Outside the witch's tent all was silent and deserted. Darkness hadgradually crept in, and with it--as far as the rest of the Fair wasconcerned--additional noise and exuberant gaiety.
Huge torches of gum and resin flickered at the entrance of every booth,throwing quaint red lights, and deep, mysterious shadows all round,distorting the faces of the gaping multitude, and of the criers, untilthey looked like fantastic figures, wizards all from some neighbouringBrocken.
Whether the world-famous necromancer, Mirrab, and her attendant geniiwere lacking in business or no, no one could say, for there was no torchoutside their tent, and Abra had ceased to lure the passer-by. The openplace in front of the platform was dark and still.
Suddenly from out the shadows something seemed to move forward, whilst amysterious "Hist! hist!" came echoing from more than one direction.
Gradually the sound became more distinct, dark figures emerged fromevery side, and presently a compact group of moving, whispering peoplecongregated some few yards away from the booth. Then a voice, still lowand muffled, but firm and emphatic, detached itself from the ghostlikemurmur around.
"My masters, I call upon you to witness! . . . The Scriptures say, 'Letno witch live.' . . . Shall we disobey the Scriptures and allow thatwitch to live? . . . She is possessed, and the devil dwells in thatbooth."
Groans and threatening curses greeted this peroration. The speakerraised his voice somewhat.
"Will you allow Satan to remain amongst you?"
"No! no! no!" came in excited accents from the little crowd.
"And I say death to the witch!" added the leading voice solemnly.
"Death to the witch!" came in weird echoes from all around.
Then there was silence. The dark heads bent closer together.
"What wilt thou do, Matthew?" whispered one voice with awed timidity.
"Let her burn, I say," replied the learned village oracle; "'tis theonly way of getting rid of Satan."
It had been a hot day. The heads of this pack of country folk had beenoverheated with sack and spiced ale; an unreasoning, maniacal terror,with superstition for its basis, had completed the work of completelyaddling their loutish brains. All day there had been talk of this veiledwitch, these strange spirits and weird monsters which she was reputed toconjure up at will. Thoughts of poisoned wells, of sweating sickness, ofhell-fire raged through these poor misguided fellows' minds.
What did they know of charlatanism or trickery? To them it was all real,living, awesome, terrible. The devil was a person with glowing eyes, twohorns, and a forked tail, who caused innocent people to fall flat ontheir backs and foam at the mouth.
Every malady then unknown to science was ascribed to hellish agency. Andhere, within a few yards, was an unearthly creature who actuallyconsorted with the creator of all evil, who wilfully brought him up fromhis burning abode below the earth, and let him loose upon this peacefulvillage and its God-fearing inhabitants.
"Nay! burn her! burn her!" they shouted, brandishing their sticks,emboldened through their very cowardice into deeds they would otherwisenever have contemplated without a shudder.
And they shouted in order to keep up their exaltation and theirexcitement; the devil is known to favour whisperings.
"After me, my masters," continued Matthew, who was still the leader ofthis insane band of mischievous fools, "after me. Remember there'ssalvation for our sins if we burn the witch."
With another wild shout the little crowd made a rush for the platform ofthe booth, just as Abra and his henchman, attracted by the strangenessof the noise, came out of the tent to see what might be amiss.
Before they had time to utter a sound of protest the two men were seizedby the crowd and dragged down the steps with violence. The people had notime to trouble about a lout such as he. They wanted the witch herself,now, at once, while their blood was up and boiling; and the guard mightcome round at any moment and frustrate them in their will.
"Out of the way, lout! out of the way! or thou'lt burn alongside of thydamned witch!"
Abra had fallen on his knees, understanding only too well the dangerwhich was threatening him. He had known all along what terrible risks hewas taking. 'Twas not well in these days to tamper with thesupernatural. But he had trusted to the good temper of holiday-makers,whilst the certain patronage of rich burghers and Court gallants hadproved an overwhelming temptation to his greed of gain. For the wench hecared but little. He had picked her out of the gutter one day, astarving little slut, and had used her as a tool--a willing oneenough--for his own pecuniary ends.
Even now, with a cursing throng of maniacs round him, he only thought ofhis own safety. Mean, abject, and cowardly, he fell upon his knees.
"Merciful heavens, my masters," he pleaded.
But the crowd was not in a humour to listen. The men kicked him on oneside, and he fell up against his miserable companion, who was tooterror-stricken to move.
Then there was another rush up to the platform. Without thought orpause, for these would have been fatal to the resolute purpose in view,and might give the devil time to look after his own.
From within the tent there came now a frantic shriek of terror. The nextmoment, the foremost among the crowd had pushed aside the gaudydraperies, and that one shriek was answered by a dozen awesome,horrified curses.
There was the witch at last. A poor trembling girl, scarce out of herteens, with beautiful, delicate features, and an abundance of goldenhair falling round her shoulders; her mysterious veil--a bit of showytinsel--lying in a heap on the floor. Nothing supernatural or devilishabout her, surely. Quaint, perhaps, because of that singular beauty offace and skin which seemed so ill-assorted with the sordidness of hersurroundings. One of Nature's curious freaks, this kitchen wench with ahead which would have graced a duchess, her interesting personalitymerely the prey of a common charlatan, who used her for vulgar,senseless trickery.
For the moment her beauty was distorted through the dawning of an awfulterror. To a sane man she would only have seemed a wretched, miserable,frightened woman. But not so to the ale-sodden, overheated minds ofthese excited creatures, blinded by an almost maniacal fear.
To them she looked supernaturally tall, supernaturally weird, with greatglowing eyes and tongues of flame illumining her person.
"The witch!" they shouted, "the witch! the witch!"
"What do you want with me?" murmured the poor girl.
Egged on by their passions they smothered their terror. They seized herviolently by the wrists and dragged her out of her lair and on to theplatform, where the rest of the crowd were pressing.
A shout of exultation, of hellish triumph, greeted the appearance of thewretched woman. Not a spark of pity was aroused by her helplessness, herobvious, abject terror.
"The witch! the witch! death to the witch!"
They seemed to be fanning their own passions, adding fuel to the flamesof their insensate wrath.
There was the source of all the evil which might have befallen thepeaceful valley of the Thames! the creature with the evil eye, thedispenser of misery and death!
They had forgotten the guard now. Their lawlessness knew no bounds. Butfor the incessant din of the merry-makers at the Fair, the banging ofthe drums, and the shouts of the criers, their own yells of execration,their violent curses, and the shrieks of the captive girl could not havefailed to attract attention.
But every one was busy laughing and enjoying the last hours of thishappy day. No one came to interfere in this devilish work which wasabout to be consummated.
And every word the poor woman uttered but brought further vituperationupon her.
She shouted, "Help!"
"Hark, my masters," sneered Matthew loftily, "she calls to Satan forhelp."
"What will you do with me?" she pleaded. "I've done you no wrong."
"Thou hast brought the devil in our midst."
"No! no!"
"I saw thee riding on
a broomstick--going to thy Sabbath revels."
"'Tis false!"
"Tie her to the pole--quick!"
The so-called witch, the friend of Satan and of all the powers ofdarkness, fell upon her knees in an agony of the wildest despair.Realizing her position, the terrible doom which was awaiting her, herwhole figure seemed to writhe with the agony of her horror. She draggedherself to Matthew's knees--he seemed to be leading the others--shewrenched her arms free from those who held her and threw them round him.She forced her voice to gentleness and pleading, tried to appeal to whatwas a stone wall of unconquerable prejudice.
"Sirs, kind sirs," she entreated, "you would not harm a poor girl whohad done you no wrong? . . . you won't harm me--you won't. . . . Oh,God!" she shrieked in her frenzy, "you wouldn't--you wouldn't--HolyVirgin, protect me----"
A rough hand was placed over her mouth and her last yells were smotheredas she was ruthlessly dragged away.
Then with two or three leather belts she was securely tied to theflagstaff, whilst a thick woollen scarf was wound round her face andneck, leaving only the eyes free to roam wildly on the awful scenearound.
Awful indeed!
Man turned to savage beast in the frenzy of his own fear.
Swift and silent, like so many rodents in the night, the men begancollecting bits of wood, broke up their sticks into small pieces, torebranches down from the old elm tree.
Matthew the while, still the ringleader of this dastardly crew, wasdirecting these gruesome operations.
"Hist!" he admonished incessantly, "not so much noise. . . . We don'twant the guard to come this way, do we? . . . Now, John the smith,quick, where's thy resin? . . . James the wheelwright, thy tinder,friend. . . . Here! these faggots are not close enough. . . . Some moreon the left there!"
And the men, as alert as their clumsy bodies would allow, as quick asthe darkness would permit, groaning, sweating, falling up against oneanother, worked with a will to accomplish the end which they had inview.
To burn the witch!
And she, the woman, her poor wits almost gone at sight of this fastapproaching, inevitable doom, did not attempt to struggle. Had the gagbeen removed from her mouth she would not have uttered a sound.
Nature, more merciful than her own children, had paralysed the brain ofthe wretched girl and left her semi-imbecile, crazed, watching now withuncomprehending eyes the preparations for her own appalling death.
"Watch how the witch will burn!" said Matthew in a hoarse whisper. "Hersoul will fly out of her mouth, and it'll be shaped like a black cat."
They had all descended the steps and were standing in a semicircle onthe turf below, looking up at the miserable holocaust which they wereabout to offer up to their own cowardly superstition.
James the wheelwright was busy with his tinder, with John the smithbending over him, ready with a resin torch, which would start theconflagration.
And Mirrab, looking down on them with lack-lustre, idiotic eyes! Herbody had fallen in a strange, shapeless heap across the leather bondswhich held her, her feet were buried in the pile of faggots, whilst herfingers worked convulsively behind the flagstaff to which they weretied.
Ye gods, what a spectacle!
The Duke of Wessex, having taken leave of his friend, had been idlystrolling towards the witch's booth, always closely followed by faithfulHarry Plantagenet. At first sight of a group of men dimly outlined inthe darkness he scarcely realized what was happening.
The fitful flicker of the torch, as the resin became ignited, threw themore distant figure of the woman into complete gloom.
Then there was a sudden shout of triumph. The torch was blazing at last.
"The holy fire! . . . Burn the witch!"
John the smith, holding the torch aloft, inspired by the enthusiasm ofhis friends, had turned towards the steps.
For the space of one second the red glow illumined that helpless bundleof gaudy tinsel only dimly suggesting a woman's form beneath it, whichhung limply from the flagstaff.
Then Wessex understood.
He had already drawn nigh, attracted by idle curiosity, but now with onebound he reached the steps. Striking out with his fists at two or threemen who barred the way, he suddenly stood confronting these miscreants,the light of the torch glowing on the rich silk of his doublet, thejewelled agraffe of his hat, his proud, serious face almost distorted byoverwhelming wrath.
"What damnable piece of mischief is this?" he said peremptorily.
He had scarcely raised his voice, for they were all silent, havingretreated somewhat at sight of this stranger who barred the way.
The instinct of submission and deference to the lord was inborn in thecountry lout of these days. Their first movement was one of respectfulawe. But this was only momentary. The excitement was too great, tooreal, to give way to this gallant, alone with only an elegant sword tostand between him and the mad desire for the witch's death.
"Out of the way, stranger!" shouted Matthew lustily from the rear of thegroup, "this is no place for fine gentlemen. Up with thy torch, John thesmith! No one interferes here!"
"No! no! forward, John the smith!" exclaimed the others as with onevoice.
But John the smith, torch in hand, could not very well advance. The finegentleman was standing on the steps above him with a long pointed swordin his hand.
"The first one of you who sets foot on these steps is a dead man," hehad said as soon as the shouts had subsided.
John the smith did not altogether care to be that notable first.
"Here! Harry, old friend," added the Duke, calling his dog to his side,"you see these miscreants there, when I say 'Go!' you have my permissionto spring at the throat of the man who happens to be on these steps atthe time."
Harry Plantagenet no doubt understood what was expected of him. Hisgreat jaws were slightly open, showing a powerful set of veryunpleasant-looking teeth; otherwise for the moment he looked placidenough. He stood at the very top of the steps, his head on a level withhis master's shoulder, and was wagging his tail in a pleasant, friendlyspirit.
Matthew, however, had, not unjustly up to now, earned the respect of hisfriends. Whilst John the smith was still hesitating, he had already madea quick mental calculation that one Court gallant and his dog could beno real match against five-and-twenty lusty fellows with hard fists, whowere determined to get their own way.
He elbowed his way to the front, pushed the smith aside, and beganperemptorily--
"Stranger!----"
"Call me not stranger, dolt, I am the Duke of Wessex, and if thou dostnot immediately betake thyself elsewhere, I'll have thee whipped tillthou bleed. Now then, ye louts!" he added, addressing the now paralysedgroup of men, "off with your caps in my presence--quick's the word!"
There was dead silence, broken only by an occasional groan of real,tangible fright.
"The Duke of Wessex! Merciful heavens! he'll have us all hanged!"murmured Matthew as he fell on his knees.
One by one, still in complete silence, the caps were doffed. His Graceof Wessex! Future King of England mayhap! And they had dared to threatenhim!
"Holy Virgin protect the lot of us!"
One man, more alert than his fellows, well in the rear of the group,began crawling away on hands and knees, hoping to escape unobserved. Oneor two saw his intention and immediately followed him. John the smithhad already dropped his torch, which lay smouldering on the ground.
There was a distinct movement in the direction of general retreat.
"Well," laughed the Duke good-naturedly, "have you done enough mischief?. . . Get ye gone, all of you!--or shall I have to call the guard andhave you all whipped for a set of dastardly cowards, eh? . . . Or betterstill, hanged, as your leader and friend here suggests--what?"
They had no need to be told twice. Still silently they picked up theircaps, one or two of them scratched their addled pates. They were ashamedand really frightened, and had quite forgotten all about the witch.
There's nothing like real, pe
rsonal danger to allay imaginary terrors.The devil was all very well, but he was a long way off, and for themoment invisible, whilst His Grace of Wessex was really there, and hewas--well! he was His Grace of Wessex, and that's all about it.
One by one they edged away, and the darkness soon swallowed them up. TheDuke never moved until the last of them had gone, leaving only Abra andhis henchman cowering in terror beside the platform.
From behind a bank of clouds the pale, crescent moon suddenly emergedand threw a faint silvery light on the now deserted scene of thedastardly outrage.
"Well, Harry, my friend, I think that's the last of them . . ." saidWessex lightly as he finally put up his sword and mounted the steps tothe platform.
Mirrab's long strands of golden hair hung like a veil over her face andbreast; she had straightened herself out somewhat, but her head wasstill bent. Her tottering reason was very slowly and gradually returningto her.
She did not even move whilst Wessex undid the leather belts which tiedher to the flagstaff, and with his heel kicked the faggots to one side.She seemed as unconscious now of her safety as she had been a shortwhile ago of her impending doom.
As her last bonds were severed she fell like a shapeless bundle on herknees.
He never looked at her. What was she but a poor tattered wreck ofhumanity, whom his timely interference had saved from an appallingdeath? But he was very sorry for her, because she was a woman, and hadjust gone through indescribable sufferings; in that gentle, impersonalpity, there was no room for the mere curiosity to know what she waslike.
Before he finally turned to go, he placed a well-filled purse on theground, not far from where she was cowering, and said very kindly--
"Take my advice, girl, and do not get thyself into any more mischief ofthis sort. Next time there might be no one nigh to get thee out oftrouble. Come, Harry," he added, calling to his dog, "time is gettinglate."
At the foot of the steps he came across the shrinking forms of Abra andhis companion. The Duke paused for a moment and said more sternly--
"As for thee, sirrah, get thee gone, bag and baggage, thy tents and thytrickeries, before the night is half an hour older. The guard shall besent to protect thee; but if thou art still here an hour hence, thosesobered ruffians will have returned, and nothing'll save thee and thywench a second time."
He waited for no protestations from the abject wizard, and turned hissteps towards the river.
As he was crossing the open space, however, he suddenly felt a tightgrip on his cloak; he turned, yet could see nothing, for the capriciousmoon had once more hidden her light behind a passing cloud, and thedarkness, by contrast, seemed all the more intense.
But he heard a sound which was very like a sob, and then a murmur whichhad a curious ring of passion in it--
"Thou hast saved my life . . . 'tis thine . . . I give it thee! . . .Henceforth, whene'er I read the starlit firmament I'll pray to God thatthe most glorious star in heaven shall guide thy destiny!"
He gave a pleasant laugh, gently disengaged his cloak, and withoutanother word went his way.
PART II
THE LADY URSULA
The Tangled Skein Page 10
