Cauldron of Fear

by Jennifer Jane Pope

  'I assure you, Mother Pennywise,' Wickstanner said, trying to draw himself erect, 'that the matter lies not in my hands. Evidence was laid before me and I, as I am bound to do, laid that in turn before one of the Church's experts in these matters.'

  'The one they call Crawley, I suppose?' Hannah retorted acidly. 'Oh yes,' she snapped, seeing the uncertainty suddenly reappearing in Wickstanner's eyes, 'I've heard all about that one. I hear all manner of things, as it happens.' She grimaced and stabbed the tip of her cane onto the ground with such force that Wickstanner jumped visibly. 'Well, where is he, this Crawley fellow?' she demanded. 'Lurking in there, I suppose?'

  Wickstanner swallowed nervously. 'Um, no, he's not,' he replied, 'not at this moment, anyway. He is about the Lord's business.'

  'The Lord's business! Pshaw!' Hannah hawked up a gob of spittle and launched it squarely into the centre of the stone threshold. 'More likely his own business - and yours too, I'll wager. Well then, if he's not there, where's my Matilda?'

  Wickstanner swallowed, even harder this time, his piggy eyes darting from side to side as if he was expecting for some sudden intervention.

  'Uh, I presume you did not come to this house by way of the green?' he began, his voice on the verge of cracking. 'Perhaps you should return to your cottage via that route.'

  Crawley's henchmen had set the stake deep into the ground and packed the earth firmly about its base, for as she stood against it, her wrists shackled behind her and about the heavy timber, Matilda tried both pulling and pushing, leaning back with all her weight, neither effort producing even the slightest movement from the embedded timber pole.

  Before leaving her Crawley fastened cords about each of Matilda's ankles, drawing her feet apart and fixing the lines to sturdy pegs that had been hammered into the ground for this purpose, forcing her to stand with her legs splayed obscenely, displaying her denuded sex for every passing villager to see. It was curious, she reflected, as she stood there helplessly as the hours passed, how many of the male population seemed to have business this day that necessitated them crossing the green so frequently.

  Not that they did more than look, however, for Crawley had set smaller iron posts about his prisoner, so that they formed a rough circle of perhaps ten paces in radius, and within this boundary, he had made it very clear, no villager was permitted to stray. It was, he told them, for their own good, for even with the iron he had set upon the witch, her powers could still harm those whose thoughts were not entirely godly and only the iron picket protected them from her evil influence.

  'She must yet be scourged publicly,' he announced. 'She must atone and serve a penitence and I await the Lord's decision as to the number of lashes she shall receive and the time she must stand here before the eyes of other sinners.'

  It was all so ridiculous, Matilda thought, as she stared out through the eye slits in the leather hood. The man was so obviously a fraud and yet these ignorant country folk hung upon his every word, as though he were Moses and was quoting to them from two tablets of stone. How they could believe him and his vile and wild allegations she had no idea; even though they were largely uneducated, surely no sane person could accept such puerile lies?

  Fear played a large part, she understood; fear that they, or one of theirs, would be the next to stand accused. That was what prompted Septimus Brody, for he had three teenaged daughters and he was clearly terrified that one or more of his girls would be next to be paraded in this degrading fashion.

  Matilda had heard his words when Crawley led him aside to speak privately, for the witchfinder had led her with them, apparently unconcerned that she would overhear.

  'And they do say that the Merridew girl concocts all manner of potions and that she uses them to keep her poor father in his bed, that she might further continue with her devilish rites without that good man's knowing,' Brody said.

  'I see,' Crawley said impassively. 'And no doubt she also uses her powers to take advantage of his fortune and use it in her foul work?' For a few seconds Brody looked nonplussed, but eventually he seemed to understand what Crawley was hinting at.

  'Well, I don't know anything about that, Master Crawley,' he said slowly. 'I do know that the major has fallen upon hard times, for 'tis common knowledge hereabouts that the pair of them near starved last winter and the girl was selling off stock to make ends meet.'

  Hardly, Matilda thought grimly, the last resort of someone supposedly in league with Lucifer and supposedly endowed with supernatural powers, but this blatant anomaly seemed lost on Brody. Not so, she saw, on Crawley, for he dismissed his would-be informant after just a few more words and then turned his attention back to her.

  However, as he led her across the grass to where preparations had been made for her public humiliation, she understood that it was not the evidence of Harriet Merridew's innocence that concerned Crawley, merely the fact that if there was no money in the family, there would be little point in persecuting her. The man was a fraud, a blackmailer and a vicious sadist, yet no one else in the village seemed capable of seeing through him.

  James, she thought again, where in God's name are you?

  Chapter 6

  Naked and harnessed with her arms useless at her sides, Sarah Merridew stared about her, wild-eyed, still quite unable to grasp the scenes she was witnessing.

  There seemed to be at least forty females here, all dressed - or undressed - in the same fashion, all bound, some with their mouths cruelly gagged and all being treated no better than the animals one would expect to see in a meat market. The handful of young males whose task it was, apparently, to exercise and control them, strutted around with an air of arrogance and total unconcern, hardly, it seemed, even aware of so much blatantly displayed femininity.

  The other girls, in their turn, seemed also to have accepted their situation, moving with docile obedience to the crack of whip, or bellowed command, trotting in lines with breasts bouncing or jiggling, depending upon their proportions, thrusting back shoulders to display their charms even more crudely, eyes looking straight ahead.

  The young man who had brought Sarah out from inside the barn kept a firm hold on her upper arm, but seemed in no hurry to push her to join in with the activities in the meadow. Rather, it seemed, he was content just to let her watch, knowing she knew that soon enough she would become just one more part of this herd of humanity.

  'We like to keep our stock healthy,' he said. His name was Ross, Sarah knew, for she had heard one of the other handlers calling out to him earlier. He was tall, willowy in build and had wispy, sandy hair. His features were too narrow for him to be called truly handsome, but there was something about him that, in different circumstances, Sarah thought she might have regarded as pleasing.

  Now, however, she could but regard him as a brute, for he had lost no time in applying his springy crop whip across her unprotected buttocks, and just to demonstrate to her that he could and would, for she had been still too dazed to make any show of resistance or rebellion.

  He leaned across her and placed one hand flat on her stomach. Sarah started back, letting out a small gasp of alarm, but the fingers of his other hand gripped the soft flesh of her upper arm even more fiercely. He laughed, a scornful harsh sound without humour.

  'We'd better get you over that, I reckon,' he sneered. 'And your belly is too soft, as well. Need to sharpen up the muscles there, slave.' He paused and Sarah, regarding him with a covert glance, saw that he was now watching the display of naked women with an air of detachment, as if his mind was suddenly somewhere else.

  Suddenly he seemed to come to a decision.

  'Down there,' he ordered, jabbing a finger along the line of the nearest boundary hedgerow. Sarah followed the direction in which he was pointing and saw that the grass and earth there had been beaten much flatter than in the rest of the meadow, forming a rough pathway.

  'Walk ahead,' Ross instructed, 'and don't get any queer ideas about running. You'll only end up tripping and falling and, without y
our hands, you'll just smack straight on your face or titties and this ground is harder than you'd think.'

  Obediently, Sarah began to walk, all the time looking down at where she was putting her feet, for she new the lad was quite right. The ground underfoot was far from even and, every here and there a twisted root appeared above the grass, coiling around in an ensnaring loop before disappearing beneath the earth again.

  They followed the line of the hedge for several minutes until the sounds of the slaves exercising had faded, first to a low background buzz and then altogether, so that only the sounds of the insects and the few birds circling overhead disturbed the peace of the still morning air.

  Eventually they came to a narrow gap in the hedge and Ross, with a sharp tap of his whip, indicated for Sarah to turn left through it. They were in another field, but here the grass was wild and much higher, reaching up in places almost to shoulder level, with many wild flowers growing to similar proportions. However, it appeared that they were on a fairly well trodden path, for a narrow track meandered through the overgrown wilderness.

  At last the narrow pathway opened into a wider space, at the far end of which stood a small stone hut with a thatched roof. In front of the small building the earth had been compacted to bare mud, with only the odd weed breaking through the otherwise barren surface. In the middle of this area Sarah saw the pillory, a heavy timber structure shaped like a letter T, the cross beam hinging in two sections and with apertures for neck and both wrists.

  In addition, she noticed as they drew closer, there was a second structure set just above ground level, like a second pillory, but turned over so that the board surface faced vertically, rather than horizontally. As soon as she saw the row of round holes the two sections again formed, she understood its use: the unfortunate victim of this contraption could have his or her ankles secured and, dependant upon which of the three pairs of holes were used, be forced to stand with their legs drawn apart to differing degrees.

  Ross guided her forward and stooped to push her ankles into the middle hole on either side. Even so she found that, as he closed the backboard to imprison her lower limbs, the position was stretched to no little discomfort. A few moments later Sarah's discomfort was complete, as her captor deftly unbuckled her wrists from the harness and bent her forward, placing her neck in the central stock and her wrists in the nearer, smaller apertures to either side. She winced as the top section of the pillory banged down and shivered as she heard the securing pin being thrust home.

  Bent almost to the point where her back was parallel with the ground, Sarah could only look downwards and sideways, and ahead slightly only by forcing her head painfully back. However, she did not have to see to know what Ross was doing and, when he walked back around in front of her, presenting her with a close up view of his rapidly thickening penis, she was not at all surprised.

  'I thought, sir,' she said, her voice dry and unsteady, 'that you would prefer to keep me virgin for the moment. Surely I would command a better price at whatever foul market you conduct your vile business?' It was a desperate ploy, but it was all Sarah could think of. Unfortunately, her only reward was a harsh laugh from the young handler.

  'That's none of my problem, wench,' he sneered. 'No one has listed you as virgin, so I have only your word for that. Besides, my wages are the same whatever price you eventually fetch, so why should I care?'

  He reached forward beneath the cross board, and cupped one of Sarah's breasts in each of his hands, feeling their weight as they hung down and gently kneading the soft flesh. To her horror, Sarah realised her nipples were beginning to tingle at the contact and would, she knew from her private pleasure moments, be already engorging and stiffening.

  The effect of his manipulation was not lost on Ross, either. She heard him chuckle, as he transferred his grip to one finger and thumb of each hand, rolling the elongated teats with relish so they grew even more.

  'For a virgin,' he sniggered, 'you have the most responsive bubbies and teats I've ever handled. Mayhap your cunny will be a little hungrier, too, eh?' Sarah groaned and gritted her teeth, but she could already feel herself becoming warm and moist, even though the thought of what was to come was so abhorrent to her.

  'A lovely rump, too,' Ross commented, as he released her nipples and moved slowly around and behind her. She felt his hands on her buttocks, stroking the full globes and running down either flank, as if testing her flesh for firmness. 'Yes, another pair of prize peaches,' she heard him mutter and then she gasped, as one hand slid between her widespread thighs and cupped her mound, lifting slightly so that she was forced to raise herself on tiptoe as far as the timber ankle shackles would allow.

  'Get used to it, slave girl,' he whispered, leaning over Sarah's back. 'This little purse will see plenty of service in the future, believe me, even if it's never tasted a length of man meat till now...'

  'Ah!' Sarah gasped as one long finger parted her labial lips and entered her, stopping as it felt the constriction of her unbroken hymen.

  'So, the wench spoke true, eh?' Ross chuckled. The finger slipped back a little, resting and pressing upon the little swollen button. Sarah squealed and shivered instinctively, as a small wave of detestable pleasure ran up and down her spine.

  'Please, sir,' she moaned. 'I beg you, don't do this to me.'

  'No?' His tone was mocking and he rubbed her clitoris, eliciting more tremors and several more strangled gasps from her. She bit into her lip and screwed her eyes tightly closed, trying to fight back the animal lusts his practised actions were stirring inside her. 'You might as well enjoy it, girlie whore,' he whispered, leaning forward and running his tongue up the length of her backbone. 'Mmmm, such deliciously tender flesh,' he said, straightening again and using his free hand to prise her buttocks apart.

  She felt a finger pressing against her other opening and instantly her sphincter muscles contracted against the threat of another invasion. At the same time the walls of her vagina spasmed, gripping his finger reflexively and sending yet another fire wave surging through her.

  'No!' she wailed, but he had no intention of stopping. Patiently, deliberately, he played with her, taunting and teasing her nubbin, her nipples and the entrance to the tight little rosebud hole that her position left so invitingly displayed. Sarah fell silent, apart from her laboured breathing and the low groans his wickedly skilful ministrations continued to force from her.

  'You bastard,' she cried at last, opening her eyes wide. A terrible, anguished wail tore itself from her throat, soaring into the tranquil, late summer air and sending a nearby flock of starlings rising skywards in noisy and angry confusion.

  'Yes, I probably am,' Ross giggled, but he knew he had prepared her as far as any man possibly could. Now he positioned the head of his burgeoning shaft against her labia, using his fingers to part them as he began to push into the entrance to her virgin tunnel. Sarah tried to twist away, but he had already transferred his grip to her hips and held her fast with seemingly little effort.

  Sarah closed her eyes again and let out a long sigh. She was undone and she knew it. Held so helplessly by the pillory and Ross's far superior strength, the inevitable was about to happen. 'Well,' she gasped as he stood there, his cock barely in her, 'what are you waiting for, you beast? Take me if you will, like some damned animal. Do your worst, for after this there will be nothing with which you can frighten me... Oh!' she shrieked, as he immediately thrust forward, the thin membrane within her tearing easily before his onslaught. 'Oh God! Ohhhh!' She felt his full length sliding into her, filling her until she thought she would be rent asunder, but her cries, as they began to come in time with his steady pistoning motion, were not entirely of horror and protestation.

  'I sympathise with your problems entirely, Master Handiwell.' The grey-haired army colonel leaned forward, steepling his fingers together beneath his chin. 'However,' he said, 'there is little I can do to help you under the present circumstances.'

  'Can't do - or won't do?' Thom
as Handiwell growled. 'Seems the army is happy enough just to sit on its backside until there are war spoils to be had.' He clapped his hand to his knee and shook his head.

  Colonel Brotherwood shrugged, and shook his head in turn. 'Sir,' he said, weighing his words carefully, 'my hands are tied. I receive my orders from London and can do little without a direct authority. Surely you must realise that?'

  'Colonel,' Thomas said, fixing him with a steely gaze, 'men have claimed orders as an excuse for centuries now and I daresay they shall still be doing much the same three hundred years hence, but I speak now of true humanity. Our roads are terrorised by these foul villains, decent folks are frit to venture out after dark and you sit here, with not only your garrison, but also some ten thousand idle troopers waiting to embark to a war that may or may not happen.

  'Sir, if you fear God and love your fellow man, I beseech you. Just one score of horse soldiers and one good officer is all we ask. The Hollanders will not miss that small a commitment, of that I am sure. And I ask this not for myself, I urge you to understand, but for the honest citizenry of this realm.

  'I have told you my story and you have listened, that much I will grant you, but ask yourself this; should any blackguard be permitted to rule through terror and threats? Did this country not fight a war within itself to prevent such a situation, eh?

  'I have told the lady, I should be more than glad to furnish whatever it takes to ensure the safe return of her cousin, and that I shall surely do. But what then? More villainy, more abductions? And what if the ransom cannot be paid, what then? No sir, I tell you, a stop must be put to this.'

  'I agree, Master Handiwell,' Brotherwood said, with a heavy sigh. 'But this matter should be taken up in London. However,' he added hastily, 'I have a compromise that may help, albeit in a small and temporary fashion.' He rose stiffly and walked around the large desk, moving towards the window and looking towards the harbour and the forest of masts.