Bess read as he spoke.
‘And curses,’ she said. ‘Look, this concerns striking down a neighbor’s beasts. And this one, to banish a rival in love.’
‘Curses, yes, and hexes too. There is nothing that cannot be addressed by the power of magic, Bess, you of all people must surely know that now.’
‘I know my mother would have had nothing to do with wishing ill on anyone. She was hanged for just such a thing, and she was innocent.’
‘Bess, Bess, you are the innocent one. She was hanged for being a witch, something I believe she never denied, did she?’
‘What?’
‘At her trial, did you ever once hear her say she was not a witch?’
‘She was not guilty, she said so.’
‘Not guilty of cursing those wretched children or hounding the silly widow, of course. Why would she waste her energies in such ways? But being a witch? Come now, this is neither the time nor place to be coy, Bess. Do not deceive yourself further. What do you imagine we have been about these past few days? What power do you believe I have spoken of? What power did your mother use to bring you back from the clutches of Death himself, hmmm? Let us once and for all speak plainly on this matter. Your mother was a witch. I helped her become one. And now you are to take that journey.’
‘I will not put curses on people! I will not use evil! My mother was a healer. She was good and kind.’
‘Indeed she was. But she was also a mother, recently bereft of most of her offspring. She would not see you die, Bess, even if it meant damning her own soul to save you, she was prepared to do it.’
‘How can you stand there and tell me she was damned! I will not hear it!’ Bess stood up, scraping the bench on the flagged floor.
‘Happily, you may be at ease on that matter. She might indeed have damned herself, but she chose instead to die to save you and so redeemed her soul. I’m sure she is at peace with the rest of your family at this very moment.’
Bess frowned, shaking her head as if the thoughts in it might drive her mad.
‘She put herself in your debt to save me,’ she said, ‘but she did not have to die for my sake.’
‘I am sorry to tell you that you are wrong on that point. Your mother had a great gift for the dark arts, Bess. She was a willing and talented pupil and made great progress in the very short time available to us. Had she wanted, she could have escaped her jail, set herself free, and evaded her pursuers with relative ease.’
Bess sat down again heavily.
‘But I do not understand. When I saw her the night before she died, I lamented that I could not do those very things for her. That I could not break down the prison walls and take her from that awful place. If she could have done so herself, why would she not?’
‘And who do you think the great and the good of Batchcombe would have turned on then? Had she effected such an escape, she could not have taken you with her, Bess. She knew that. She would have left you unprotected. She chose to hang so that you would come here and be given the power to survive. That is what she wanted you to do, is it not? Survive?’
Bess recalled her mother’s words to her the last time they had spoken. ‘Survive, Bess,’ she had said. ‘Live on.’ How could Gideon know what she had said? Had he somehow been listening to their conversation? Had he been watching them?
Before Bess could respond, Gideon reached out and took her hand in his. At his touch, her body tensed and a curious warmth spread through her, as if her very bones were softening. She was shocked to find the sensation was not unpleasant. She wanted to withdraw her hand but found she could not.
‘You must not torture yourself with things about which you can do nothing,’ he told her, smiling gently. ‘Your mother made her choice, and you freely made your promise to her. Do not be afraid. I will be your guide.’ He lifted his other hand and softly stroked her hair. ‘I will see no harm befalls you. There is greatness in you, Bess,’ he whispered. ‘A greatness that until now has lain dormant. Once awakened, you will be magnificent!’
Bess stared at him, reminded again of the way a cat cruelly plays with its prey before feasting on it. How could she trust such a man? What terrible things might he be capable of? As if reading her thoughts, Gideon let go her hand and turned back to the Book of Shadows.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘there is much to be done, and we may not have many days left.’
The time that followed was the most wondrous of Bess’s life. Had she been able to organize her thoughts, she would have been forced to admit that she was intrigued by what she was being shown. Not only intrigued—but soon enthralled and beguiled. Her initial resistance quickly began to fade in the face of dazzling acts of magic. Gideon showed her how to produce fire where there had been none, using nothing but a spell and the force of his will. He conjured up fantastic creatures. Not the hideous imps that had visited her mother but delicate fairy beings who danced for her around the charcoal pits. He summoned an invisible choir who sang the sweetest music she had ever heard, so sweet it made her weep with joy. He showed her how to heal her own wounds. She had recoiled in shock when he had sliced into her palm with a knife, but her shock had turned to wonder as he made the laceration vanish with a few words and a touch of his own hand. And what a touch. She had felt herself more and more drawn to him. More and more succumbing to his own spell. He fascinated her as he had always done, but slowly the equal measure of revulsion she had felt for him began to dwindle. Soon she found she enjoyed his praise when she executed some task well. She glowed with pleasure when he applauded her attempts at some new trick. And she quickly came to wish for his touch. He never tried to force himself upon her or even to kiss her, and yet she knew herself to have been seduced. She was his for the taking, and he must surely have known it. And yet at night when she fell exhausted into the feather bed, he left her unmolested and went outside to tend the charcoal. On one occasion, she spoke to him as he was about to open the door.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Must you go out? Cannot the charcoal do without your attentions a little longer?’ She stood in the center of the room, shocked by her own boldness, not knowing what it was she expected of him, only wanting him to stay. Aching for him.
Gideon paused. He smiled at her, a knowing smile. He walked over to where she stood and placed a hand on each of her shoulders, his face only inches from her own. Bess could feel the warmth of his body close to hers. Gideon leaned forward and his lips touched hers. It was the lightest, most restrained of kisses, but it had a power and irresistible sweetness that took Bess’s breath away. She wound her arms around his neck. Gideon pulled back gently. He took hold of her hands, disentangling them, and held them to his chest instead.
‘Patience, my love,’ he said quietly. ‘Our moment will come.’ He smiled again, then turned and left the room.
Bess remained where she was, her face burning. She felt ashamed, stunned by the power of her own feelings and how willing she had been to throw herself at him. At the same time she was astonished at the strength of the desire he had awakened within her. Desire for a man she knew to be capable of terrible things. She thought of the gypsy girl in the woods all those months ago and she hated herself even more. She hurried to her bed, where she lay restless and confused for many hours before finding sleep.
On another warm night some days later, she again found herself unable to sleep. She turned and fidgeted beneath the heavy covers. Although winter had barely departed and the night was chill, her skin burned. Her body was alight with desire and would not let her rest. At last she got up. She threw her shawl about her shoulders on top of her shift and went barefoot out of the cottage. She had expected to find Gideon stoking the fires or damping down the finished charcoal, but he was not there. She became aware of the sound of distant music drifting faintly through the trees. As she walked on, she recognized the melody of “Greensleeves,” but it was played with such roughness, such urgency of rhythm and such chaotic volume it was rendered the sound of madness—insanity made musi
c. The moon was high though not yet full, but there was enough light for her to make her way carefully in the direction of the sounds. After walking for a short time, she caught glimpses of flames between the trunks. There was a fire burning in a clearing up ahead. Cautiously Bess approached, getting as close as she dared, not wanting to be discovered spying. She reached a wide-girthed oak and peered out from behind it. What she saw forced her to press her fist to her mouth to stifle a scream.
There was indeed a fire—a large, angry one that burned with unnatural brightness and ferocity. Around it danced a collection of creatures so gruesome they must surely have stepped straight from the very worst of nightmares. One had the head of a lizard but the body of a sheep. Another slithered snake-like on its belly but was covered in coarse, matted hair. Bats the size of turkeys dropped, swooping, from boughs. Unearthly screeches and shrieks accompanied the music, which in turn came from a pox-ridden, hairless giant. He hammered on an enormous drum, his great arms swinging down with frightening force. Beside him a beautiful boy with the lower body and legs of a goat played a set of pipes. A man old beyond comprehension strummed a harp, his grime-encrusted brows wriggling in concentration. Other creatures whirled past in a blur of madness, dancing and yelping. A litter of imps suckled from a vast pig as she dozed. Two weasel-like creatures fell to fighting with such vigor that one bit entirely through the neck of the other, severing its snarling head. At the far side of the fire, a figure stood, his back to Bess, his arms raised in supplication. He wore a long cape. From him came an incantation Bess recognized from her studies. The voice was also unmistakable. Every nerve in Bess’s being screamed for her to run, but she could not pull herself away from watching Gideon. As he finished chanting, he turned so that the light of the flames lit up his face.
At that moment, the flames of the fire doubled in height. They twisted and roared as two shapes writhed within them. The shapes took the solid forms of two naked women as they stepped from the fire. The women draped themselves about Gideon, kissing him and fawning on him, undoing the clasp so that his cape fell at his feet, leaving him as naked as they were. He pushed one of the women to the ground, spinning her round so that he might thrust himself into her from behind. The she-devil let out a dreadful scream of pleasure as he pounded between her buttocks. The second woman fell to her knees and busied herself licking his thighs as he continued to gain pleasure from the squealing creature in front of him. As his own passion mounted, he began to emit a terrifying growl. Then, as Bess watched, his face began to twitch and pulsate as it underwent a terrible transformation.
It was now that Bess was swamped by fear. Gone were Gideon’s harsh but noble features. In their place was the face of a beast, a goat-like apparition with scrofulous flesh and protruding fangs. Bess fought for breath, telling herself this could not be the very man whose touch she had craved. But his eyes left her in no doubt. There could be no mistake. This was Gideon, transformed into something unspeakably evil. Or was it? Could it be that this was the truth? That this was Gideon uncovered and revealed to her as he truly was, and that the handsome man she knew was merely a disguise? The thought brought from her an unchecked cry.
Gideon looked up, his hideous visage still contorted with ecstasy, and in that instant he saw her. Bess spun on her bare heel and flung herself, stumbling, through the woods. Even as the brambles whipped at her face, she knew Gideon was coming after her. She heard him bounding through the undergrowth. As he grabbed hold of her, she screamed uncontrollably, averting her eyes from his face, terrified of what she would see.
‘Bess!’ He shook her. ‘Bess, look at me.’
She could not.
‘No!’ she cried, ‘Let me be! Let me go from this terrible place!’
He clutched her chin and yanked her round to face him. She could no longer avoid looking at him and found that he had reverted to his human self, though there remained a sickening redness to his eyes. He held her tight against his naked, aroused body.
‘This is for you, Bess. This is all for you. I have asked for you to be blessed by our Lord Satan, and tonight we celebrate his generosity. You will become as I am. No longer will you fear death or pain. You will be beyond the reach of those who would take your life. We will leave, move to another place where we are not known. Together we…’
‘No! I cannot!’
‘You know that we are alike, you and I, we are of a kind.’
‘No, that is not true!’
‘But it is. Think of it, Bess. Think of your own power. You have the force of magic within you, we both know it; I have seen you use it. It is not some flowery trickery, not some remnant of your mother’s teachings as a healer. You know I speak the truth…’
‘No…’
‘Yes! You know that force comes from a dark place inside you, for you can only ever use it when you are angry. That is the truth. It is a black force and it will be magnified a thousandfold once you take the step, once you embrace the craft and join me.’
‘I would rather die!’
‘You are meant to live. To continue, as your mother wanted you to.’
‘She would not have delivered me to … this!’ Bess struggled in his grasp.
‘She knew what price would be asked of you. But do not fear. Our master rewards his loyal disciples. You see how strong I am; you have noticed my vigor, you cannot deny it. It is his gift, and he offers you the same. Life, Bess, not death but eternal, youthful life, my love!’
‘Love? What can you know of love? I do not see love here.’ She shook a fist at the abominable company that leaped and danced about them. ‘I see only evil!’ She wrenched herself from him and ran back through the woods, slamming the door of the cabin behind her and barring it with the table before flinging herself onto the bed. For an hour or more she sat rigid with terror, waiting and listening. When no sound or movement could be detected, she gave in to weariness and fell into a fitful sleep.
9
By the time she awoke the following morning, the table had been returned to its place in the center of the room and pottage was simmering on the fire. Gideon sat cleaning out his clay pipe as if the events of the night before had never taken place. On seeing her stir, he gestured at the pot.
‘Come, take breakfast. We have little time.’
‘Time?’
‘You must be word perfect before the moon is full. Only then can you intone the ancient verses that will complete your transformation. Only then will you be empowered.’
‘I will not say them.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘I will not.’
He ignored her words and placed his pipe back on the shelf. It was an unremarkable action but one that almost brought Bess to her knees. How often had she watched her dear father do the exact same thing before he set about his work on the farm or prepared for bed? How could she have traveled such a short distance and yet come so very far from that loving home and simple, good life that was once hers? What had become of her now? Gideon took his hat off the peg. He was about to open the door when horses came thundering into the clearing outside the cottage. Shouts rebounded off the trees.
‘Gideon Masters! Come out!’
Bess recognized the voice of the witchfinder at once.
‘Come out. We know you have Bess Hawksmith with you. I am required to arrest her and take her now to be tried for witchery. Bring her out.’
Bess scrambled from her bed and grabbed her shawl. She expected Gideon to bolt the door, to do something to protect her, but instead he opened it.
‘Be assured, Magistrate,’ he called out, ‘she is preparing herself. Come now, Bess,’ he said to her, holding out a hand.
Unable to make sense of what was happening, Bess put her dress and shawl over her shift and hastily pulled on her boots. She could not stay in this dreadful place with whatever Gideon was, but for him to hand her over to Kilpeck—knowing as he must what fate awaited her—was astonishing. What outcome could he envisage? Trembling and ignoring his hand, she stepped out of th
e door. Kilpeck sat on his white horse. With him were six of his men and two town constables. Bess struggled to find her voice.
‘Who accuses me?’ she asked at last.
‘Bill Prosser.’
‘What? But he knows I saved the life of his grandson and that of his daughter, Sarah.’
Nathaniel Kilpeck took obvious pleasure in being the bringer of devastating news, ‘Sarah Prosser fell into a delirium for three days, during which time she was heard to repeat your name over and over. The good Lord in his infinite mercy took her from this life two days ago. Come. You will have the opportunity to face your accusers in court.’
Two of the men had already dismounted and now strode toward Bess, who stood where she was, frozen with fear. She felt Gideon’s hand on her arm. He leaned close to her ear, his warm breath on her neck making her shiver.
‘The full moon,’ he said. ‘Be ready. I will be waiting for you.’
She stared at him, her face showing a mixture of horror and defiance, and then she was led away.
Less than an hour later, Bess stood where her mother had stood in Batchcombe Courthouse, a restless crowd eagerly awaiting the start of her trial. The constable called for order, and Councillor Watkins, Reverend Burdock, and Witchfinder Kilpeck entered the room and took their places at the high bench. Bess heard her name read out, along with the charges against her, but it was as though she were removed from what was happening. She felt as if she were once more watching her mother being accused, while at the same time knew herself to be the one they were prosecuting. Even so, she had difficulty focusing on what was being said. Bill Prosser had indeed accused her of putting a vicious curse on his daughter, claiming Bess must have planted the seeds of death in her when she had attended her confinement all those months ago. Bess looked at the familiar face of a man she had known all her life and saw clearly how the dementia of grief had altered him. Next, she heard testimony from Davy Allis, whom she recognized as the lech from the Three Feathers. He claimed she had put the evil eye on him and he had not enjoyed good health since the day she assaulted him at the inn. He had even found witnesses willing to testify to the event. Bess listened to it all with a fatal detachment. There was nothing she could do or say to reason with these people. She had been tried and found guilty before ever she had been dragged into the courtroom. The heavy weight of resignation to her awful fate pressed down upon her shoulders. By the time the magistrates declared their judgment, she was almost relieved for the sham to be over. She heard Wilkins bang his gavel and felt rough hands propelling her toward the door to the jail. She was taken to the same cell where her mother had spent her final days. Although empty, the room stank and the straw was wet and rancid. The single window was too high to allow so much as a glimpse of freedom and admitted very little air through the iron bars. The jailer allowed himself the pleasure of invading her body with his hands as much as was possible as he shackled her feet.
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