The weather promised sunshine and warmth. She was glad – her dress would dry more quickly after washing. An eel fisher rowed past with his boat full of traps but showed no interest in the girl staring into the water. The balmy breeze carried angry scolding sounds across towards her. Aross stood up on tiptoes and cupped her hand over her eyes against the blinding sunrise. At the far end of the harbour where pier four began, a crowd of people were standing around something she couldn’t make out. A long, bright shape was hanging from the arm of a crane. The angry cries were growing louder.
Rats don’t wait and think, rats go and look.
Aross approached pier four at a leisurely pace. Firstly, her body was still aching all over, and secondly, she didn’t want to attract any attention. What was swinging there in the middle of the throng of people? Her stomach rumbled. Now she recognised it. The shape turned out to be a half-naked person, hanging by its feet. Each step revealed more details. A woman. A narrow upper torso with breasts, dangling like meat on a hook. The skin shone white as goat’s milk in the sun. Clearly one of the whores. Aross neared the spectacle.
She stopped dead in shock. Mattilda! Her friend from the orphanage was hanging there, dead as Wolf, dead as the matron and dead as Aross’s plans to help her. A sea of blood lapped underneath the body. Somebody had cut her throat and let her bleed to death, the same way the butchers did with pigs. For the protectors Mattilda was of less value than a pig, just a piece of meat with which the reapers could celebrate their name.
It’s insane, she thought, no matter where I go, everything is swimming in blood.
Aross spotted a piece of wood with writing, dangling beside the body. She couldn’t read it, she was only familiar with a few letters, like "A", "R" and "O". And she knew "S" particularly well. She had to move closer in order to ask someone.
A haggard woman with an apron and bonnet was remonstrating angrily. "What a disgrace! The girl wasn’t even sixteen. This whoring has to be banished from the city. It’s obvious who murdered her. Disgusting!"
None of the others present responded.
"What’s written on the sign?" asked Aross. She was shocked by the sound of her own voice, it sounded strange and throaty, yet calm and collected.
The woman looked her up and down. "And who are you, might I ask? Are the strumpets getting younger? Did the protectors do that to you?"
Aross felt the many looks burning into her skin like the seawater had done yesterday evening. This was exactly the kind of situation she had wanted to avoid. Some of the men from the town watch pushed their way through the crowd.
Aross explained: "No, I’m not a whore. Please tell me what’s written on the sign."
"If you don’t work, you hang!" answered the woman. "What a mess!"
Aross nodded her thanks, turned and made her way back – she had no desire to be questioned by the town watch.
Dear town watch, I’m the queen of the rats and lived in the orphanage up until now, until my little animals fed on the matron. Better not – just get out of here!
Chain Dog had made an example of Mattilda. A warning. Now his other whores would work all the harder and be more obedient. The sun was now fully visible in the sky and making a valiant effort to grant Hubstone a wonderful autumn day.
Dear sun, how do you manage to beam your light onto all this shit without having to vomit?
Aross gritted her teeth as she hurried back to the little jetty. She had to direct all her strength now to staying alive, there was nothing left for grief or melancholy. Not even for anger.
In the evening I’ll collect my few supplies and my water-bottle from the hayloft, thought Aross.
And the four coppers, the rest of the money from Shewhoknows, which she had hidden in a gap under a board. And, last but not least, her beloved felt cap, hanging from a nail.
This time she wandered past the little harbour basin. A few more steps and the pier came to an end at the coast, where the waves became higher. The sharp rocks under Aross’s feet turned into soft sand. She followed the beach in a southerly direction. She would spend the rest of the day in the next cove, and wash and dry her dress in peace and quiet.
She sat naked between two large rocks and drew circles in the sand with her finger. Her skin had dried after a comforting bathe in the sea. Her dress, spread out on one of the stones, was drying too. It didn’t exactly look clean. In the past she’d always wished for a floral pattern on her grey orphanage dress, like the silk outer garments of the noble ladies. Aross looked sceptically at the material with its many rust-brown spots.
It’s become blood-patterned now anyway.
In the meantime, the sun had begun heading determinedly for the horizon. It looked to Aross as if it were fleeing – even the sun was fed up to its back teeth by now. The girl chewed on a piece of stalk – felt it on her tongue, between her teeth and her lips. Her feet had become incredibly clean following all her swimming and walking up and down the beach. That reminded her of Grim, the tricky traitor. He’d get his just desserts sometime too – how, she didn’t know yet. The wind carried melancholy sounds over to her. The two bells of the cathedral steeples played their song, sometimes one after the other, sometimes in unison. Three, two, one – three, two, one.
That didn’t happen too often outside of Sunday service, which meant something unusual was pending. It couldn’t be the burial of an aristocrat – it sounded too cheerful for that.
She bit the stalk in two accidentally.
Rats don’t wait and think, rats go and look.
Putting her clothes on was quick. Dress pulled over head – finished. She had nothing better to be doing anyway and had to make sure to get her feet dirty again.
Aross walked the long route back to the city and with every passing step the ringing became louder. Streams of residents were drawn from all directions towards the bells, as metal filings are towards a magnet, and all the people were marching towards Hubstone Cathedral. The throngs of bodies had an eerie effect on Aross. Her body still hurt from the matron’s beating. Her condition and her situation were too delicate to be moving in such a crowd. She stopped and stood, uncertain.
A little boy who was holding a man’s hand walked excitedly past her.
"Father, what does the bell-ringing mean?"
"It’s the witch’s peal!"
Dear day, you’re really hitting me with bells and whistles today. It’s blow after blow, just like the ringing of the two bells.
The girl hardly noticed what she was doing as she marched onwards towards the cathedral – as if somebody had placed an invisible hand on her shoulder from behind and was pushing her forward. Her reservations were redundant – she owed it to Shewhoknows and had to find out what it all meant. She hooked up with a group of plainly dressed farmers’ wives and farm hands as she neared the centre of the city of Hubstone. Nobody had taken any notice of her yet. She cursed her grey blood-patterned dress more than once because it identified her as an orphan child. A crumb of comfort – one of the farmer’s wives ahead of her was also wearing grey linen. Aross went directly behind her, as if she were her daughter.
The large area in front of the cathedral stretched from the end of the old town to the upper town. Thousands of people could gather there without too much pushing and shoving, which is why it was called the large square. Gatherings such as this were rare enough – only when there were royal weddings or executions. It didn’t matter much which – there were always the same spectators and there was always the same cheering.
In front of the entrance to the cathedral was a stone platform with a stake stretching upwards in the middle of a pile of wood. She almost slapped her forehead with her palm. The burning of a witch was imminent. A spectacle for the people, a welcome diversion and the proof that there was always someone who was considerably worse off than oneself.
The pealing of the bells echoed in everyone’s ears. The pending execution had flushed the people out onto the square like a tidal wave. The pushing and shoving inc
reased. Suddenly the pealing ceased, and moments later a murmur swept through the crowd. Aross couldn’t see much more than backsides.
But yes, now – a man stood up on the stone platform. Even from a distance he looked impressive in his red brocade robe with its golden, shimmering adornments. He raised his arms towards the heavens as if he wanted to touch the clouds, and there was silence.
He spoke in a powerful, mellifluous voice: "Citizens of Hubstone! Today it is deemed that a monster shall receive her just punishment. A woman who has been led astray, who has surrendered herself to the devil and has confessed her sins under questioning. A black witch who for a multitude of reasons deserves to die."
The crowd cheered at his successful introduction.
"Honest citizens of Hubstone! Over the years many sins have been confessed to me, the archbishop of our capital city of the Worldly Kingdom, the supreme head of the church – but the scandalous deeds of today are yet to be matched." He looked up into the evening skies. "Lord, thou hast put me to the test."
He sounded as though he were about to burn himself at the stake.
The archbishop’s voice grew even louder. "Only few of the monster’s black machinations have been proclaimed. She bewitched the swine – one hundred of them perished in our pigsties in the early autumn."
"Uuuggghhh!" clamoured the honest citizens in disgust.
"She cast an evil weather spell which bestowed upon us two months of drought, causing the cornfields to dry out."
"Booooh!" yelled the honest citizens in outrage.
"She fornicated with the devil, not just once, nay, regularly, preferring to do it on Sundays during holy mass."
"Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!" shouted the honest citizens, getting even more excited.
He paused dramatically for the shock to reverberate, before continuing: "The depraved plague-infested soul must be eradicated, the witch must be condemned to death by being burned alive and turned into ashes."
"Yeeeeesss!"
There was nothing in the world that compared to the sound of thousands of bloodthirsty people. The executioner led a black-cloaked figure to beside the bishop. Even from a distance, Aross could see straight away that it was none other than the old woman from the market.
Aross swallowed hard. Shewhoknows! She had predicted this was going to happen – although it was the first burning of a witch in Hubstone for a long time – strange! Aross had no desire to watch the execution, especially as she already knew the so-called "witch". Shewhoknows was more of a magician for the girl – after all, she’d saved Aross from certain death by beating. Also, she’d been nice to Aross and had given her a silverling.
The memory came rushing back. "Do not forget my words. My death should not be in vain." Aross closed her eyes as hard as she could so that her forehead and cheeks hurt. This couldn’t be allowed to happen. No way was this woman an evil witch. Without really understanding why, Aross pushed her way forward. She forgot the wounds that cane number five had inflicted on her, pressed her way through the bodies in her effort to get close to the pyre. She felt her desire to be close to Shewhoknows. Hurry!
She kept shoving forward like a lunatic, which hardly suited somebody who was trying to avoid attracting attention. Some complained loudly in her wake, but their insults were like water off a duck’s back.
She came closer and closer, only another few rows. The goodly bishop was still standing on the platform, beside him the executioner with the so-called witch, and in front of them fourteen men from the town watch were standing in a semi-circle.
"Lord, have mercy on this misguided sinner." The bishop fanned his long arms up towards the heavens again.
The sinner had no intention of looking at the slavering mob but stared fixedly at her feet.
I’m here, called out Aross in her thoughts. I can’t help you, I know, it’s ridiculous, but I’m here.
The bishop descended from the platform, and the men of the town watch immediately forced the people backwards with their pikes, thereby creating room. The spiritual supreme leader looked even more impressive up-close. He was around fifty years old and looked well over two yards tall with the golden-white mitre on his head. Long hair, flecked with grey, hung down to his shoulders, his chiselled face radiated power and determination. On his hands were white silk gloves which contrasted with his polished black boots.
A slight nod was enough and Shewhoknows was bound to the stake, hands behind her back. Additionally, the executioner tied shackles around her upper body and her feet. She seemed already disconnected from this world and wasn’t acknowledging the activity around her. The executioner was now holding a burning brand in his right hand. He didn’t beat around the bush. With a theatrical bow he ignited the pyre. The people were cheering as if each of them had been presented with a hundred gold pieces and a horse with a saddle. The wood hardly smoked – it was well dried and expertly arranged – for one thing, the spectators had to have a fantastic view, and for another, it was better if the burning person didn’t choke too early because of the smoke. As the wood was piled no higher than her knees, the fire flickered only as high as her thighs. These measures too ensured longer spectator enjoyment. The heat above the flames, meanwhile, where the air was wafting glassily, was surely causing unbearable pain.
Something wasn’t right, Aross couldn’t figure out what it was, though. The mutterings of the spectators grew louder. Although she was standing several yards away, she could already feel the heat of the flames.
First Mattilda and now Shewhoknows – terrible! And everything in the one day, how could anyone bear it?
Some began to whistle, boos joining in too. Aross still couldn’t figure out what was infuriating the people and what was irritating herself too, she was too caught up in her own feelings – a mixture of disgust, horror and bitterness. She just wanted to get away – as far away as possible. With one last look she bade farewell to Shewhoknows. At that very moment the old woman raised her head and looked deeply into Aross’s eyes. She felt as if a thick rope was joining them together. Then, in the middle of the murderous heat, the woman smiled.
With furrowed brows, the bishop turned and followed her gaze. His eyes fixed on Aross. His pupils, as deep a blue as that of the sea, and at least as cold, flinched. Despite her closeness to the fire, Aross suddenly froze. Irritated, the supreme leader of the church turned his head back to the sinful monster at the stake. The flames darted more greedily, Shewhoknows’s dress caught fire, her skin contracted, her hair scorched, her body carbonised – her eyes were now only black hollows, but her lips were still smiling. Aross unfroze again. The girl felt goosepimples running down her spine, and her emotions were doing crazy somersaults. It felt as if she were being stroked, it felt like a belt to the head, it felt like bathing in the sea with burning skin. Stomach, heart and head spun in unison, and against each other. The smell of burning flesh made Aross gag as though someone had stuck a finger down her throat.
"GUARDS! Bring me that girl! Now!". The bishop’s words cracked through the air and yanked Aross out of her world of emotions. A long, white forefinger of satin pointed directly at her. She felt as if she were holding her head between the two cathedral bells. BONG! The strike of realisation and awakening. First, she had to scarper as quickly as possible. Two guards came towards her, one of them was already stretching out his arm greedily towards her shoulder.
"I WANT THE HUSSY!" roared the bishop, his head as red as his robe.
No, you sleazebag. Nobody catches a rat with their hands and especially not the queen of the rats. I’m also the queen of pushing, shoving and jostling.
She dropped to the ground, crawled between several legs, stood up again and pushed her slight body through gaps that weren’t really there at all. In comparison to her, the soldiers of the town watch were as mobile in their armour as the city gate. It wasn’t long before Aross had built up a considerable lead.
She hadn’t screamed!
She shouldered a man almost twice her size aside and j
umped through a gap between two women. She simple shoved another honest citizen aside.
She hadn’t let out a sound.
Aross increased her lead, the crowd wasn’t quite so dense, so she could flee even faster. The catcalls got louder and louder – the honest citizens weren’t happy with the so-called spectacle. No pleading for mercy, no screams of pain – the archbishop might as well have burned a sack of pinecones. Aross reached the edge of the square and disappeared into the alleyways of the old town. She was safe from the town watch for the time being.
Shewhoknows hadn’t screamed in spite of unimaginable agony. Was this kind of spiritual kinship just pure chance? No! nothing was pure in this world.
Witch’s peal! Burning night! Tooth of time!
Aross knew what she had to do now.
Wow! What sort of a day had she cannoned into yet again?
disappointment
F arin woke up early in the morning. He lit two candles with the help of the nightlight and lying on his back he watched the light flickering on the ceiling beams of his sleeping chamber. By now he had not only become used to his little tower room, he actually liked it. Here he found peace and a certain feeling of security like a bear in his den. His little kingdom – he’d never said that about a place before. His back ached – Peesel had tossed him off her back yesterday. The day before too. Drogdan had spent two full days trying to teach him how to handle horses correctly. And as if that weren’t enough, sitting on them was part of it. Farin found the results sobering. The horse bit and kicked him at every opportunity. And really enjoyed unseating him. The animal’s real name was Leezel, but following his experiences, Farin called her Peezel as a mark of appreciation. This measure hadn’t improved their relationship, unfortunately.
Drogdan simply shook his head and said: "I don’t understand it. She’s the tamest and safest nag in the stable. Should we pick out another horse for you?" He had rubbed his earlobe. "Maybe a dead one?"
The Gravedigger’s Son and the Waif Girl 1 Page 23
