by Lucy Jago
“Cecily.” Anne smiled. “You are waking,” she said with relief. Cess could see her mother’s lips moving, but heard only a mumble. Her head hurt as if had been split in two with an axe, and the bed was still moving.
Anne Perryn leaned forward and adjusted the fine linen bandages around Cess’s head and removed large pads of soft wool from her ears. Cess saw brown stains and cried out.
“Shh, child, the blood is old,” said her mother. “Your ears are healing. Can you hear?”
Cess tried to nod, but her head hurt too much. Her mother’s voice was still muffled, although she could understand what she said. Trying not to move, she looked around the room. She was propped up in a large, canopied bed, with posts and curtains pulled round. Her mother, who had been sitting on the bed watching her, slid down and opened the curtains on one side. Windows, several paces away, were shuttered.
“Where am I?” whispered Cess, and coughed. Her mother gave her a sip of watered wine from a glass.
“We are in Montacute House,” said Anne, a little uncomfortable in her grand surroundings. She spooned some bitter liquid into Cess’s mouth. “This is willow water.”
Cess grimaced but would have swallowed anything to ease the drumming in her skull. “How is Jasper?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“He is well and asks after you constantly.”
Cess smiled. “And the others? I heard fighting.”
“None of the villagers were badly hurt, although poor Joliffe lost a finger. Quite a few of the men-at-arms on both sides are dead. And three of Alathea’s friends died.”
“Drax,” said Cess suddenly, pulling herself up in bed, nearly vomiting with the pain. “Drax Mortain,” she whispered, remembering again what the explosion had temporarily knocked out of her. Aflare of anger bit into her heart and she stared at her mother.
Anne looked down at her hands, took a deep breath, and began to talk. “It seems the time has come to tell you the truth. The night you were conceived, Joliffe and his friend were drunk and started a fight with Drax Mortain. Mortain was a big drinker too in those days. He often came into the village with rowdy friends to pick fights. I saw what happened. Drax killed Joliffe’s friend. I was the only witness because Joliffe was too drunk to remember. Drax…caught me…” Anne stumbled on, her throat thick with grief and shame. It was hard for Cess to hear her. “He forced himself upon me. Afterward he threatened to have Joliffe hanged for murder and violation if I told anyone what happened. It was my word against his, and I would never win; his father was chief magistrate.” There was a long silence, broken by Cess.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Only my father. I wanted him to know that I had not sinned with Joliffe. I made him promise not to tell, but he did. He marched over to Montacute House and demanded an audience with Sir Edward. His Lordship refused to acknowledge what had happened, although he did send Drax packing to a tutor in Windsor. He was a much harder man in those days. His ambition was so great that he did not want a whisper of scandal to disrupt his rise at court. He dismissed your grandfather and refused to deal with him thereafter. That is why your grandparents struggled for money in the last few years. Sir Edward must have felt some guilt later, as he gave you the position of poultry girl. Every time you told me he had visited the yards, I wanted to scream. I had to hold so much in.” Anne took a deep breath and continued. “Drax Mortain passed me on his horse the day he left Montacute for Windsor. He seemed not to recognize me at all. I think he managed to block his memory of the whole event.”
“Why did you tell me nothing of this?”
“Would it have helped? Could you have borne our shame any better, knowing that your father was a noble gentleman who was not even aware of your existence? I wanted to protect you from the bitterness I felt.”
Tears were running down her cheeks. Cess hesitated, then reached out and hugged her mother. “That is why Joliffe was so angry?” she asked into her mother’s hair.
“If I had told him the truth he would have insisted on vengeance,” said Anne, helping Cess back onto the pillows. “Drax would have killed him. He broke off our engagement.” Anne wiped her tears and managed a smile. “We are betrothed again now, though, Cess,” she said gently. “As soon as I told Joliffe the truth, he proposed. He also said he could think of no finer girl than you to have as a stepdaughter.” Anne’s smile broadened. “I am very happy.” It was true. Cess had never seen her mother’s smile so warm.
“But what about Drax Mortain. Where is he?”
“No one knows. He was not seen to come out of the cellars, but his body has not been found. His bird was discovered dead in the woods this morning. She appears to have died of a broken heart.”
The following evening, with Cess still feeling sore but much recovered, she and Alathea made their way up to the clearing on Saint Michael’s Hill. The surviving coven members had already brought Edith’s body from the hideout and were kneeling beside her and her three fallen comrades.
“Shall we bury Edith close to where her hut was?” Cess asked Alathea. “She was happy there.”
“It is best that they remain in the center of the clearing, and we will form a sacred circle around them.”
“With the ten of us?”
“More will come,” said Alathea, sweeping the clearing with Cess’s help and forming a circle with salt and purified water. As night deepened, the forest came alive with silent hooded figures. They walked out from the trees and stood around the dead witches, holding hands and creating unbroken circles, tightly packed liked a closed bud, keeping safe the precious souls at the heart of the circles. Cess counted seven complete covens, over ninety witches, men and women, heads bowed, keeping vigil.
The circle closest to Edith and her three dead friends were those who knew them best in life: Alathea, Cess, the surviving coven members, and several men and women Cess had not met before.
Most of the witches faced inward, focusing their thoughts upon the bodies. Only at the edge of the circle did the sentinel witches, thirteen of them, look outward, creating an invisible but impenetrable barrier against evil spirits and earthly intruders. Hooded and still as rocks, they made an awe-inspiring sight. There were no candles or torches. The waxing moon lent her light.
The hairs on Cess’s arms were standing upright, not with cold but with the strength of the power moving within the space, from hand to hand, jumping across the circles of witches, holding the deceased in its gentle power and allowing their spirits to move joyfully and with speed into the next existence.
Although not a single word passed between the witches, they moved as one. Everyone except the sentinels pushed back their hoods, and each circle began moving, one clockwise, the next widdershins. Like the grinding of millstones, their movement generated tremendous heat and power. Faster and faster they went, suddenly changing direction and then back again, without collision or noise. Soon they were running, as fast as they could but as if they had wings, without becoming breathless. Cess felt the grief and heaviness of her heart start to change, to move outward instead of crushing inward. An energy, a blissful feeling, poured out of her into Edith’s body and spun through the circles around her. She could sense by the intense tingling throughout her body and in the air that everyone was experiencing the same.
Gradually, the witches slowed and stopped. Again without speaking, each member sank to their knees and placed their hands over their heart. Cess broke from the circle and knelt at Edith’s feet, holding them gently in her warm hands. Three coven members held the feet of the other dead witches. Alathea knelt by Edith’s head, cupping one hand over her beloved friend’s lifeless cheek. She held her other hand up to the moon. For the first time that night, she spoke aloud:
Witch, sister, friend, Goddess,
Wizard, friend, hero, brother
Soul, moving to another
Place.
Love, walking you over
Threshold, found at the end of
Life.
&nb
sp; Never dying in our hearts,
The gift of knowing you,
Eternal.
Silently, each witch came forward and kissed the fallen witches on their lips. Then four male and four female witches removed the flowers from the bodies, folded their hands over their chests, and tucked a few blooms into them. Cess saw that Edith was lying on a shroud. The witches wrapped it over Edith’s body, tying knots at her head and feet so that she lay in a cocoon, and repeated these actions for the other three. Then they lifted the bodies onto their shoulders, three each side, and all the other witches formed two lines. Slowly, the bodies were carried down the lines of witches, each one reaching out as they passed to touch them and say farewell. At the end of the lines the witches paused while the sentinels broke the ring of protection and turned in unison to watch and honor their fellows as they passed out of the sacred circle and into the forest. Within moments the pale shrouds disappeared into the deep gloom under the trees and were was gone.
After a few minutes’ silence, the sacred circle was re-sanctified with water and salt, and the witches formed into two concentric circles. The thirteen sentinels looked outward again, and the witches of the inner ring turned to Alathea and Cess, lowering their hoods. Cess felt light-headed and a little sick with nerves. This was to be her initiation. Although her novitiate had been short, Alathea agreed that she had already proved her loyalty and courage.
“We gather this night to welcome a new witch into our coven,” said Alathea in her clear, musical voice. Cess felt a moment of intense sadness that Edith was not with her.
“Our sister Edith, recently passed into spirit, is joyful you take her place,” said Alathea with conviction.
Two witches moved to stand on either side of Cess. They removed her cloak and revealed her to be wearing her under-smock. It reached only to her knees, but far from being embarrassed, Cess was filled with a sense of power and freedom.
Without outer clothes she was neither peasant nor princess—she was a creature belonging to Nature, as the otter or the owl.
The witches took a length of twine, which they held from her head to her feet and then around her chest and head in order to make her “measure” or shroud.
“Anyone who has a witch’s measure can do them great harm,” explained Alathea, “so the coven leader keeps the shrouds to ensure the initiate does not betray them.” Once the measurements were complete, Alathea leaned forward and whispered a name into Cess’s ear. This was to be her witch name, known only within the coven. Then she began the ceremony of giving Cess her eight magical tools. The first was a small sword, simply but beautifully made and light to hold. It symbolized a trained and focused will, without which her power would be weak and ineffectual. Second was a black dagger, her own athame, and third was a ritual white-handled athame, to be used inside a consecrated circle. Alathea then placed a wand carefully on Cess’s upturned palms.
“This wand has been harvested and fashioned for you alone.
I made it many months ago, after I first dreamed of you. I have chosen hazel, a wood that lends the wand special power for protecting its owner and increasing her magical powers. It was harvested under a blue moon, which will lend your wand potency.
It has been treated with the finest beeswax, harvested at full moon. Use it to focus your own magical abilities, and ask of it only that which harms none.” Cess could feel the wand’s smooth warmth. It was so light it would take some practice not to grip it too firmly. Alathea then stepped forward with a five-pointed-star pendant enclosed in a circle within an up-pointing triangle on a leather lace, which she passed over Cess’s head and positioned over her heart. “For protection.”
At her feet were placed a small copper pan, in which powerful herbs could be burned to create sacred smoke during rituals; a whip, to remind her of the punishment she would receive from the gods if she broke the trust being shown in her; and some rope, symbol of all that held her back, her fears, her wants.
The moon reached her zenith in the night sky. She blazed above their heads, still for one precious instant. An inward breath completed before an outward commenced. Across the world the tides waited, pausing before their turn. At that moment of pure peace, pure power, Alathea spoke.
“A witch’s strength comes only from within. There is no part of us that is not divine. If it harms none, do what you will.”
As one, the gathered witches spoke to Cess. “We salute you in the name of the Goddess and the God, newly made witch.” Their voices echoed richly around the clearing and into the trees, as if telling the whole of Nature that a new witch was born.
EPILOGUE
Montacute House had never looked more magnificent. Each diamond pane of glass in every window had been polished with vinegar and paper until it shone like a jewel. The statues of saints and knights had been scrubbed, the woodwork oiled, the drive raked, and the lawns and bowling green cleared of every leaf and fallen blossom. The knot garden, herbarium, rose arbor, maze, formal lawns, meadow lawns, love seats, tree swings, and ponds had been cleaned, pruned, replanted, or restocked. The poultry yards and pigsties were spotless, the orchards scythed and tidied. The kitchens and pantries were groaning with food and drink, every delicacy and speciality of the region, and others shipped in from the trade routes of the world.
Inside the house, the oak floors had been scrubbed, oiled, and perfumed, fresh rushes laid, and herbs spread.
The fireplaces had been cleared and relaid, the mantelpieces washed, the tapestries and carpets beaten, the plate was polished, the sheets whitened in lime, dried in the sun, and ironed. The portraits in the long gallery were dusted, and the family crests around the house were given new paint.
Although the house was buzzing with servants, hundreds more lined the drive, including Sir Edward’s surviving men-at-arms. The Queen’s forerunner had arrived that morning, announcing her arrival around noon. Her outriders had then appeared and been stabled. The Ladies of the Household had followed, to prepare her rooms and personal belongings such as cutlery and serving dishes, her bed, hip bath, chairs and cushions, clothes, books, and musical instruments. The armorer had arrived next with the strong boxes containing gold and silver coins, silver and gold plates and drinking vessels, the Queen’s jewelry, and seals of office.
It was past noon when Cess, watching from the long gallery at the top of the house, saw the Queen’s gilded carriage. It was pulled by eight white horses, their tails and manes dyed orange, surrounded by exquisitely dressed mounted knights carrying pennants. In front were about twenty men and boys on horseback, wearing the green and white Tudor livery, blowing trumpets and beating drums. A little way behind rode her ladies-in-waiting, ladies and gentlemen of the court, pages, and attendants. Stretching into the distance, farther than Cess’s eye could see, was the baggage train of nearly three hundred carts pulled by oxen or heavy horses, carrying the personal effects of the entire retinue and the tents and cooking and washing facilities for the men-at-arms and all those who would be camping.
As she looked down, she saw a growing crowd milling about by the main entrance to the House. She could hear Lord Montacute, her grandfather, calling her. He had named her his heir as soon as she had recovered from the explosion. Sir Edward had disinherited his son and had brought Cess into his great chamber to tell her his decision to make her heiress of Montacute House. Cess had felt as overawed as she was pleased.
“You have the wit, child, that is sure enough. You needn’t be afraid to go to court—you’ve proven yourself a survivor amongst scoundrels and murderers,” Sir Edward had said with a sad smile.
Down below she could see her mother, arm-in-arm with Nicholas Joliffe. William was also nearby. He would soon be going away, as Sir Edward had offered to send him to a tutor for schooling. If he studied hard, he could pursue his dream of becoming a physician. He seemed happy to be leaving. Cess wished things between them could go back to how they were before, but William had admitted to loving her, and she had not been able to love him back
the same way, so they were changed forever.
The Queen’s retinue was at the end of the long drive to the house. Amelia and her parents were jostling to secure a good position at the front. Amelia, chastened for a few days by her treatment at the hands of Drax Mortain, was back to her old self. She was dressed in her best, and hoping to secure the affections of one of the Queen’s knights, at the very least. The parson was hovering about, talking to no one in particular. He had refused to marry Cess’s mother to Joliffe, his disgust at Anne having had a child out of wedlock making it quite impossible, but after Sir Edward had suggested he seek a parish elsewhere, he had found it more acceptable.
Sir Edward had now come into the sunshine and was looking around, for her, probably. They had spoken frankly about all that had happened, and he had admitted to putting the pendant in the coop. He had not felt ready to accept her as his granddaughter, but wanted to mark her thirteenth birthday and give her a hint of where she came from. Drax had been a guest for several weeks by that time, and Sir Edward was realizing that his son might not make a reliable heir. It was time, he had thought, to discover whether Cecily might. He had watched her leaving the house the day she found the jewel, and had felt guilty when he saw her uncomfortable clogs and ill-fitting clothes. His own grandchild, a poultry girl. He had decided he would tell her the truth after the Queen’s visit.
“I’m sorry, Cecily,” Sir Edward had said. “I only wanted you to have something precious for your birthday. I thought you might guess at its meaning, as you look very like your grandmother. It never occurred to me that you had no mirror, nor any idea of how you were conceived.”
“Is it safe to wear?” Cess had asked Alathea.
“It is always the wearer that gives power to a contagious object, Cecily,” she had said. “I would advise you to wait until matters are more settled.” Cess had locked the pendant back in the armory without regret.
