by Greg Hoover
“Sir,” said a guard. “Take off your hat.”
“Take off your hat!” yelled someone in the crowd. “Only a witch would defend a witch!”
“That’s right!” said Malachi. “Only a witch would defend a witch.”
The crowd began chanting, “Only a witch would defend a witch! Only a witch would defend a witch!”
Malachi walked over to Samuel and pulled the hat from his head. A guard then forced Samuel to his knees, grabbed his hair, and pulled the ties from it. Beautiful long hair came cascading down. The crowd gasped.
“It’s true!” said Malachi. “This ‘man’ is actually a woman, pretending to be a man.”
“Witch!” said someone in the crowd. “A woman should not wear the clothes of a man!”
“Both girls were walking around the palace together all day,” said an old man.
“And they both petted a black cat outside,” said another.
“Everyone pets that little cat,” said a young woman.
An old woman grabbed her arm and shouted in her face, “Only a witch would defend a witch!”
The young woman looked terrified. “That’s what I mean! Clearly anyone who petted that cat is a witch. I never would, that’s for sure! They are witches, that’s my point!”
“I saw them in Gallery Hall today,” said another young woman. “They must have conjured up the ghost!”
“The ghost!” people exclaimed. “They’re conjuring up ghosts to haunt the palace!”
“The plague began at her neighbor’s house,” said Lady Goody. “And it spread from there. But she never caught it. Thousands are dead, but she lives.”
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” hissed Malachi.
“They are in league with the Devil,” said a guard. “And with each other.”
“Arrest them!” demanded the mob. “Burn them! Put an end to the plague!”
“Yes, the plague,” said Malachi. “Who among us hasn’t lost someone to the plague? Raise your hand if it hasn’t taken someone you love?”
No one raised a single hand.
“Come now,” said Malachi. “Surely there is at least one among us whom the plague hasn’t touched.”
“The black death has stung all of us,” said a toothless old man. “Every one of us has lost loved ones.”
“Well,” Malachi said with a wicked smile. “Here stands before you the cause of all their suffering. Here stands the source of all our pain. Here stands the root of England’s downfall. Our path is clear. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!”
The mob chanted: “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live! Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!”
I had to intervene. I ran to the stage area and raised my hand to silence the crowd. They ignored me, and continued chanting, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live! Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!” After a few moments, someone shouted, “Let the king’s witchfinder speak!” It was the court physician, William Butler. The crowd calmed, but only a little.
“Friends, Englishmen, fellow Christians,” I spoke aloud. “Listen to me, I implore you. As Malachi has so rightly spoken, we have all lost loved ones to the plague. And Malachi is a good Christian man.”
“Yes,” someone agreed. “A good Puritan, he is!”
“No one wants to see justice done more than I,” I said. “But if the arrow of justice is to hit its mark, one must aim it at the proper target.”
The crowd became quiet.
“I am here to be the watchdog of your anger. I am here to assure that your arrow flies true. Of this I can promise you: When someone contracted the plague, none wept harder than these two. When someone was sick, they helped them. When someone cried, they consoled them. When someone died, they buried them. Does this sound like the actions of a witch?”
The crowd murmured. I raised my hand again, and they became silent.
“But Malachi says they are witches,” I continued. “And Malachi is a good Christian man.”
“Malachi hit a woman,” said a man in his early thirties. “What kind of man hits a defenseless woman?”
“That’s right,” said a young woman standing next to him. “Only a coward hits a woman.”
“Please,” I said to the crowd. “I do not judge Malachi. That is not my place. I stand before you today, and I affirm that Malachi is a good Christian,” I paused ever so briefly, “man.”
“Hit a poor little girl, did you? Make you feel like a big man, did it?” said a strong-looking man in his early forties. “I’ve half a mind to show you what a good fist to the face feels like, you coward.”
“Please,” I implored the crowd. “There is only one of us here who has the authority to be the judge, juror, or executioner of these women.” I gestured to Malachi. “Or of this man.” I bowed before King James. “And that is His Majesty, the king. A man of whom I can personally testify is truly a good Christian man.” I began applauding, “Let’s hear it for the king!”
The crowd applauded wildly. There were several whistles, and everyone was on their feet and clapping for the new king. The king stood, smiling, drinking in the applause. He let the cheering go on for several moments. Finally, he raised his hand to quiet the crowd.
“Please, you are too kind,” said King James. “The Lord has called me to be humble, and I’m very proud of that.” He turned and looked at the accused. “Malachi is right, witchcraft is indeed the root of all our problems. And William is also right, we need to make sure we only execute actual witches. I have interrogated many witches in Scotland. We need a full and complete investigation first—that takes a day or two—then we will declare them guilty. Until that time, we shall proceed with caution.”
For a moment, I felt relief. But then the king added, “Both Malachi and William will investigate this matter for me. Guards, arrest these two women, and for now, no one else. Put them in a bare and cold room, with no furniture and no fire. Hold them there as prisoners awaiting execution. Charge them with the crime of witchcraft.”
The king walked to the center stage area and looked me in the eyes. “And I shall not release them until it is proven otherwise.”
Chapter Nine
Judith’s arrest haunted my thoughts as I walked down Gallery Hallway. My task was now much more complicated, and speed was even more important. My breath streamed through the bitter air like a ghost in a graveyard. Shivering, I crossed my arms over my chest. As I walked, I had a strange feeling that I was being watched. There was a sense of presence in the hallway. And then I heard something.
Thump.
I froze to the spot; there was only silence. After a few moments, I continued to walk down the hall. Then I heard it again.
Thump.
My heart beat wildly within me.
Thump.
“Is someone there?” I asked.
There was no response.
“What’s going on here?” I demanded.
“Witchcraft,” whispered a woman’s voice.
“Show yourself at once,” I ordered, trying to sound brave. “I am here on the king’s authority.”
Thump.
“Show yourself!”
Thump.
And then I saw it.
Down the hall from me, about twenty feet, there was something. At first, it appeared to be a mist gathering in the hallway. It spiraled around in a circle. The mist thickened and solidified, taking shape and form. It was a woman dressed in long robes. She had her back to me. My heart beat faster; my legs turned to lead.
“Hello?” I whispered with all the strength I could muste
r.
The figure was more substantial now. She turned her head towards me. Her long hair moved to one side revealing her cheek, pale like frozen moonlight. Her head continued to turn, and I knew I had to escape. Making the sign of the cross, I turned and ran the other way.
Thump, thump, thump!
She was coming after me; I didn’t dare stop or turn around. I ran as fast as I could towards the nearest door.
Thump, thump, thump!
As soon as I reached the door, I turned the handle, but it was locked.
Thump, thump, thump!
Pounding on the door with my fists, I shouted for someone to let me in. Her freezing breath scorched the back of my neck, and her icy hand gripped my shoulder. I turned to face her. My eyes rose to meet her spectral gaze, and she said in a raspy voice, “Wake up, William, you’re having a nightmare.”
I awoke, and my wife Anne was shaking me.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, getting my bearings. The dream felt so real, it was hard to shake it off. Ghosts had always terrified me. That was why I used them in my plays. “I’m sorry I woke you, my dear.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” said Anne, running her fingers through her long hair. “I’m so worried about Judith.”
“So am I,” I said, and looked out the window. “It’s almost light.”
“As soon as we can, I want to go visit Judith.”
“We will.” I started dressing for the day.
“William, what are we going to do?” Anne put on her dress and pulled her hair back.
“I will find the murderer,” I said, combing my hair. “That will prove that Judith is innocent.”
“Malachi Hunter will be hard to convince.”
“We don’t have to convince him,” I said, opening the door. “We only have to convince King James.”
“Judith’s arrest changes everything,” Anne said as she slipped on her shoes and stepped out into the hall with me.
“I know,” I said, quieting my voice in the hallway. “I need to take my investigation in a new direction, and I have to find the killer as soon as possible.”
We walked down the hall towards the room where they were keeping Judith and Samantha. We noticed Oliver Fletcher walking in front of us.
“Good morning, Father,” I called. “Can we speak with you a moment?”
“Of course,” said Fletcher. “I was going to see if they will let me visit the girls.”
“So are we,” said Anne. “We wanted to thank you for standing up for Judith.”
“I wish I could have done more,” he said.
We rounded the corner and saw the herbalist, Violet Lewis. She was speaking to the two men guarding the door to the makeshift jail cell.
“Please,” Violet implored. “I need to apply fresh poultices to my patient’s face.”
“Is there a problem?” I asked a guard.
“No sir,” he replied. “She can go in. As long as the king’s Witchfinder vouches for her, my lord.”
“I do,” I said, feigning confidence.
“Wait,” said the second guard. “Malachi Hunter ordered that no one visit the witches. He is a witchfinder, too.”
“I override that order,” I said firmly. “He is my assistant. I’m in charge of the investigation.”
The two guards looked at each other.
“Never mind,” I said, turning to walk away. “It’s clear my time would be better spent rooting out witchcraft among the palace guards.”
“Right this way, my lord.” The first guard opened the door and let the four of us in. “And if there is anything else that I can do for you, please let me know.”
The room was frigid, and there was very little light. The air was stale. I felt sorry that they imprisoned these young women, but I was thankful that the palace didn’t have a dungeon. I looked at Samantha. She was clad in a simple dress and her hair was down on her shoulders. Seen in this way, I couldn’t imagine we ever believed she was a boy.
Violet sat down her herb basket and inspected Samantha’s face. “Are you in much pain?”
“No, miss,” said Samantha. “I will be fine. It’s the least of my problems.”
Violet dabbed salve on Samantha’s face. “You’re healing nicely. You look like you’ll be as good as new in a day or two.”
“Yes,” said Oliver, smiling. “You look radiant.”
“Nonsense,” she said. Even in the dim light, I could see that Samantha was blushing. She smiled and lowered her eyes. “You flatter me, my lord.”
“I don’t, my lady.” Now it was Oliver’s turn to blush. “I was concerned about you. I’m glad to know you’re all right,” he paused, smiled, and then added, “Samantha.”
There was a brief silence, and then Judith said, “I’m fine, too.”
Anne glanced at me and smiled for the first time since last night. She then said to Judith, “What can we do to help you?”
“Prove me innocent,” she replied to her mother. Judith looked at me. “Or prove someone else guilty.”
“I will, I promise you,” I said, trying to reassure her with my smile.
“Yes, my dear,” said Anne. “Try not to worry.”
“I’m glad they didn’t arrest you last night,” I said to Violet.
“I am too, my lord,” she replied.
“You’re very brave to come here,” said Anne.
“I have a duty to my patients.” Violet gathered up her salves. “If I can keep someone from suffering even a little, I always do what I can.”
“That’s very noble,” I said. “Did you learn herbalism from your mother?”
“Yes,” said Violet. “She taught me many things.”
“Does she work in the palace, too?” asked Anne.
“No, madam,” Violet replied, her smile fading from her face. “She died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” said Anne.
“Thank you,” said Violet. “I’m grateful I still have my father and sisters. Although we don’t always see eye to eye about everything.”
“No family does,” said Judith.
“Well, try to support them in any way you can,” I said. “Even if you don’t always agree.”
“I will,” said Violet.
“I admire you,” said Judith, “and your work as a healer.”
“Thank you, miss.”
“Please,” said our daughter, “call me Judith.”
“And please call me Violet,” she said in return. “It is my hope that I’ve made two new friends here today.”
“That’s our hope, too,” said Samantha.
“I’d better go,” I said, and knocked on the door to signal the guards to unlock it. “I promise I will get you both out of here.”
“Me too,” said my wife. “I will do anything to get you released.”
We left the room, but Violet and Oliver stayed behind to comfort the girls. Anne said she needed to return to our room to rest and think. We said goodbye and parted.
I had to do something fast, but didn’t know where to begin. My mind raced as I walked down the hall. Thoughts about the murder, my daughter’s arrest, and witchcraft haunted me. I had to find Malachi and find out if we could have a reasonable conversation. We needed to work together now and solve this murder.
It was the first day of the conference. Hundreds of people were having breakfast in the Great Hall. Several people watched me as I entered, and whispered to each other. My new fame as the king’s Witchfinder Gene
ral had spread fast.
People crowded the room. There was a small table off to the side where one man was sitting, eating bread, and drinking hot tea. He had short brown hair, a mid-length beard with flecks of grey, and he dressed as a gentleman.
“Pardon me, sir,” I bowed my head. “May I sit with you for breakfast?”
“Of course,” he said, offering his hand to shake. “My name is Edward Wilkinson.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m William Shakespeare.”
“Oh yes, I know,” he smiled. “The ‘Witchfinder General.’”
“I’m afraid so,” I said, sitting down and pouring a cup of hot tea.
“Have a roll of bread,” said Edward, breaking a piece in half and handing it to me. There was honey on the table, and I drizzled it on my bread.
“How is witch hunting going?”
“I wish I knew where to start,” I said, surprising myself with my openness.
“I was a sheriff and alderman at one time,” he said, dripping honey onto his bread. “Before I lost my leg in Her Majesty’s service.”
He intrigued me. “In the war against Spain?”
“I fought in the war with Spain,” he said, finishing his tea, “but I lost my leg in the Tyrone Rebellion.” He shook his head. “We started the war by fighting with swords and we ended it by fighting with muskets. Say what you will about our new monarch, but I’m grateful that both wars ended when he became king.”
My eyes drifted down to where his leg had been; his right leg was missing from the knee down. Catching myself, I looked up, embarrassed.
Edward laughed. “It’s all right to look.” He pulled his leg out and patted his thigh. “A musket ball shattered my shin. It could have been worse. My only regret is that my adventuring days are over. I especially miss being a sheriff. I loved investigating mysteries, solving crimes, and helping people.”
“Tell me,” I stopped eating and looked at him. “Have you ever investigated a murder?”
“Oh yes,” he said. “Many times.”
Hoping to learn something from him, I kept quiet and gave him my full attention. He poured another cup of tea.
