‘There’s still the occasional cattle raid from across the Scottish border,’ said Cogge, ‘but here we’re a long way from the border and this house wasn’t built to withstand siege. These gates look impressive but one good bang from a battering ram and they’d fall straight off their hinges, and the villagers know it. Haven’t you noticed that that crowd down there aren’t in a hurry? Can’t you see why? They’ve got a ram and they’re bringing it with them. It’s slow work, getting it up the zigzag.’
He was right. Rowbotham, who was now recognizable, was leading the crowd and turning round every now and then apparently to issue instructions and behind him, the slow-moving crowd had a hefty something in their midst that they were dragging along. ‘Where did they get a battering ram from, for God’s sake?’ said Brockley.
‘Probably cut a tree down during the night,’ said Cogge indifferently. ‘Barring the gate’s no use. It’s sweet talk and common sense and a bit of diplomacy that we need now.’
Angelica said: ‘I must tell Mistress Gould! Thank God Mistress Yates is safe in the cellar!’
She swung round and was gone. Cogge said: ‘There are people in the village who know all about those cellars. Bella isn’t safe anywhere. Let that leaf be, Master Brockley. We’ll have the gate wide open. Better not to suggest guilt. Or fear.’
Rowbotham was coming up the final stretch of the zigzag. We could now make out that immediately behind him was a gang of roughly dressed men with unfriendly faces, some bearded, some stubbly as though their owners had had no chance to scrape their jaws clean this morning. They were pushing and pulling at a trolley with a stout tree trunk on it. The trolley had wheels but they weren’t very good ones and seemed to be trying to roll in different directions, as though they had been assembled in too much of a hurry. The men who were doing the dragging were having a hard job. Behind them again came a further crowd, which included women and even some children.
We stood there helplessly and watched as the trolley was finally hauled on to the patch of flat ground in front of the gates. There it was set down. I stared at the villagers, noticing for the first time how many of them were alike. Nearly all the men were burly and most of the women were also heavy of build, and nearly everyone had light hair, round blue eyes and skin that had been reddened rather than tanned by wind and sun. They looked as if they were all related. Well, Thorby was small and isolated. Probably Doctor Rowbotham hadn’t kept the kin-book up to date, or perhaps he had just given up on it.
With a chilly feeling in my guts, I also noticed that this was a long way from being a hysterical mob (though that would have been bad enough). It had a purposeful leader in Rowbotham, and he had organized them. Behind this deputation there had been consultation and planning. And it certainly did mean business.
Rowbotham stepped forward and opened the proceedings.
‘You know who I am. I’m Doctor Rowbotham, vicar of St Mary’s in Thorby, and today I’m spokesman for these folk who are here with me. We want to speak with Mistress Philippa Gould, the principal lady of this house.’
‘I am here!’ I hadn’t seen Philippa arrive but there she was, just behind me, a little breathless, with Angelica at her side. She pushed her way to the fore and addressed Rowbotham. ‘What is your business?’
‘First, we thank you for not forcing us to use our ram. That shows good sense.’
‘Huh! Good sense! That’s a joke, that is. There’s no sense here, just wickedness. We’ve long had bad feelings ’bout this house!’ A loud voice spoke from the ranks. ‘Catholic ladies, that’s how we saw them at first, not according to the law but harmless, but time and again we’ve heard chanting and that makes t’hair rise on the back of a man’s neck, and the woman called Bella, she’s been handing out potions with the Lord only knows what in them, and there’s been rumours too of a curse being laid at midnight, on some book or other …’
‘Bella certainly has no sense,’ muttered Angelica. ‘She’s been gossiping; I’ll take my oath on it.’
‘This is Hal Drury, our blacksmith,’ said Rowbotham, introducing his supporter.
‘Aye, that’s who I am and I tell thee, even the few papists among us feel the same as the rest of us, that the Devil’s work is going forward in this here house!’ bawled Master Drury, raising his voice to overcome an outburst of shouts from the other villagers. ‘Chanting, there’s been, like I said! And …’
‘Incantations, that’s what!’ Another man joined in.
A dissenting voice from somewhere in the rear spoke up. ‘There’s no call to mind the chanting. That’s nobbut the worship of God in the way of the old faith!’
The voice tried to say more, but was shouted down by its neighbours. ‘Worshipping God or raising t’Devil?’ somebody bellowed and was loudly cheered.
There was a new disturbance then, as other Stonemoor ladies now spilled out of the main door and ran across the courtyard towards us, exclaiming. Philippa looked round. ‘Oh, no! I don’t want them out here now. Angelica, take them all back inside. Go on! Get them all safely indoors! Now!’
Angelica did as she was bid, arms held wide, herding her fellow ladies back as though they were sheep and she a sheepdog. Her terse explanations and their cries of protest and distress receded towards the house. Doctor Rowbotham stepped forward to confront Philippa Gould, who turned back to face him, chin high. ‘We are reasonable and moderate folk …’ he began.
‘What does he think unreasonable and immoderate folk are like?’ muttered Brockley.
‘… and we are here only to deal with the one against whom there is evidence, in the form of two deaths, those of Master Henley and Master Butterworth. You will observe that we have not brought any weapons other than the ram. There were those who wished to carry billhooks and carving knives …’ here there was a united growl from some of the villagers, who obviously deplored this decision ‘… but I forbade it. Bring out the woman Bella Yates and hand her over to us, and we will withdraw peacefully.’
‘I say burn the bloody house down and the whores of Satan in it!’ bawled the blacksmith.
Rowbotham glanced at him over his shoulder. ‘It’s mostly solid stone and it won’t burn very well,’ he said. ‘And that’s not what we agreed at our meeting at dawn and I must ask you to restrain yourself, Master Drury. We are here to arrest Bella Yates on the charge of causing deaths through witchcraft. I ask you all to conduct yourselves with the dignity becoming good Christian folk.’
His eyes were more like flint than ever, I thought. And he was using the villagers as tinder. Cecil had told me that the vicar of Thorby didn’t like the ladies of Stonemoor. I suspected that Rowbotham had been waiting for an opportunity to strike.
‘We shall certainly not throw our sister – my sister – Bella to such a pack of wolves!’ Philippa declared, in her most commanding voice.
‘Really?’ said Rowbotham. He turned to the villagers. ‘Hal Drury, step forward. Also Jem Henley and Matt Butterworth, since you’ve both lost brothers.’ The blacksmith shouldered his way to the front, followed by a man who was virtually the double of the Butterworth we had met, and was presumably his brother, and then by a third who said, ‘Here we are, Reverend,’ and whom I recognized as one of those who had accosted us when we left Butterworth’s tavern after our visit to his sickbed. His voice was that of the man who had shouted about incantations.
‘You know what to do,’ said Rowbotham.
Brockley had his sword out at once but Philippa was well to the fore of any of us and it was Philippa who was their target. They laid hold of her, two gripping her arms and the blacksmith putting an arm round her throat.
‘Where is Bella Yates?’ Rowbotham said to her. ‘You had better tell us.’
‘Certainly not!’ Considering Bella’s confession the day before, Philippa had every reason to betray her but she chose instead to defend her sister and I could only admire her for it.
‘Stop this!’ Brockley shouted. He started forward, but half a dozen of the crowd at once
thrust themselves in the way and Philippa let out a strangled cry as the arm round her throat tightened. It was in any case against Brockley’s nature to strike down unarmed men. He lowered his weapon.
‘If the woman Bella Yates is not surrendered to us,’ said Rowbotham in measured tones, ‘then her sister, the Principal of this house, will go to the gibbet in her stead, charged with wilfully obstructing the arrest of a witch and a murderess. Now, where is Bella? Mistress Gould, will you or will you not tell us? Ease your grip, Master Drury. Let the lady speak.’
‘I will not tell you!’ Philippa was pale and rigid with terror but she was resolute too. The woman inside the dark-blue headdress that was the uniform of Stonemoor might have been a white marble statue and her voice too resembled marble, in its hardness and its chill. I wondered if in her place, I would be as brave.
‘Sheathe that sword.’ Walter Cogge spoke in tones of authority. ‘Brockley, do as I say.’ Brockley, glowering, slowly obeyed. Cogge addressed Rowbotham. ‘The woman Bella Yates is imprisoned in the cellars of the house. Go and take her if you wish.’
‘Cogge! How dare you?’ Philippa’s voice this time was a shriek.
‘Why has she been imprisoned?’ enquired Rowbotham with interest.
‘She has committed a … a misdemeanour,’ said Philippa, glaring at Cogge and daring him to contradict her. ‘It was to do with a valuable book that I wished to sell. My sister believes it to be a heretical book, saying things that are contrary to the teaching of the true faith, and also containing lore taken from infidel learning, which is unfit for Christian people to read. She didn’t want it sold because that would spread its … its questionable ideas more widely. Just the way a witch would think, of course!’ Philippa added, sarcastically.
Rowbotham looked at the men who had rushed forward to keep Brockley and Eric from attempting a rescue. There were six of them. ‘Go and find her,’ he said shortly.
‘I will never forgive you for this, Cogge!’ Philippa shouted.
I found myself trying to get in the way as the six surged forward but Cogge caught hold of me and jerked me back. The men plunged through the gate and across the courtyard and vanished through the main door. In my ear, Cogge said: ‘Bella may not be a witch but she has murdered. This is justice of a sort.’
‘It’s not the law!’ I muttered back. ‘There has been no trial!’
‘The law is a long way off, in York,’ said Cogge shortly. ‘And I am more concerned for Mistress Gould’s safety than I am for that of Mistress Yates.’ And then: ‘Dear God, what’s this?’
He pointed and I turned to look. As if our situation were not involved enough, a new complication had appeared. A group of horsemen were riding up the hill towards us. ‘What on earth …?’ I said.
‘Can’t you guess?’ asked Cogge.
Others including Rowbotham had now seen the approaching riders. Cogge raised his voice to address the company at large. ‘A fine piece of timing!’ he observed. He spoke quite coolly, as though the new arrivals were intruding on some ordinary gathering: a family reunion, for instance, or a betrothal party or a tennis match. ‘As it happens, Stonemoor has been expecting a group of five guests to arrive at any moment. I think they’re here.’
‘Who are they?’ Dale asked him, bemused.
‘Why, they’re almost certainly the five priests I told you about,’ said Cogge, dropping his voice so that the villagers could not hear him. ‘Have you really not understood? They will be in this courtyard within a few minutes.’
TWENTY-TWO
Thorby at Bay
‘More guests for Stonemoor? Well, that makes no difference,’ said Rowbotham, undisturbed. He moved to meet the new arrivals as they reached the top of the path. They didn’t look much like priests. They all wore plain dark travelling cloaks and they were all mounted on hirsute ponies – the local breed seemed to be characteristically shaggy – and looked faintly absurd, with their feet several inches below the ponies’ bellies. They reined in uncertainly, looking in astonishment at the extraordinary tableau around Philippa Gould.
‘You come at an inopportune moment, my friends, whoever you are,’ Rowbotham observed, addressing them. ‘We are here to arrest a witch and unfortunately have met with obstructiveness. We have been obliged to use unorthodox methods to quell the resistance. When the sorceress has been apprehended, we will take her away and the other ladies of the house will be free to welcome you. Perhaps you would be good enough to wait until the arrest is accomplished.’
He clearly had no idea who the strangers probably were. No one enlightened him. The quintet, looking dumbfounded, said nothing at all. They simply dismounted and stood holding their ponies’ bridles, and waited.
Drury had now let go of Philippa and she had retained her dignity, but she was so very white that I feared she might faint. I myself was conscious of a hammering heart and a desire to break down into tears. Once, I exchanged glances with Philippa, and knew that we were both thinking the same thing. Thank God we buried that boot last night. If they’d found that, it would have taken some explaining.
The wait was not very long. Quite soon, Bella was brought out.
It was hateful. I had seen such things before, but the spectacle of any human creature in a state of terror, disintegrated by it, and defenceless in remorseless hands, always horrified me. It is an ugly sight whatever the victim may have done. One thinks: if it were me in those pitiless hands, how would I behave? Would I keep any dignity, would I be the brave, calm heroine I like to think I would be, or would I too collapse, fall apart, pleading and struggling, overcome by animal fear, veil torn off, hair in disorder, tears streaming, bladder and bowels out of control? Bella’s were. I saw it.
Bella Yates had murdered two men. I had never met Bernard Hardwicke but he had existed, had a right to his life, and had no doubt been loved by someone. Christopher Spelton had been my friend, and could have been so much more, and perhaps should have been. I ought to rejoice at the arrest of Bella Yates. James Douglas had called Stonemoor a nest of vipers and here indeed was a viper. But all I could see was a terrified peasant woman, struggling in the grasp of a pack of hard-faced men. My gorge rose. The shock on the faces of all my companions except Walter Cogge, plainly showed that they shared my feelings. Will Grimes was tutting and shaking his head and when I looked at him I saw a sickness in his pale eyes.
Rowbotham went forward to meet the search party. ‘Bring her down to Thorby,’ he said shortly. ‘As we planned.’
‘What are you going to do with her?’ Philippa demanded shrilly.
‘We have prepared a gibbet,’ said Rowbotham. ‘By Butterworth’s tavern. All is in readiness. A fitting place for putting an end to the witch who killed him.’
‘No!’ shouted Philippa. ‘You can’t do this; it’s wrong; she has had no trial … where is the law? Where are the High Sheriff’s men?’
‘In York. Here in Thorby we often have to manage our own affairs,’ said Rowbotham, and stepped aside as Bella was dragged past him.
‘I didn’t kill Master Butterworth, I didn’t, I didn’t!’ Bella wailed. ‘I helped him; he was grateful; I never meant harm to him … Oh, dear Mother of God, help me now! Don’t do this …!’ Her frantic appeals faded as she was hustled out of the gate and away down the hill. The rest of the villagers, after giving us unfriendly looks, went after them. Two of the women spat on the ground in front of us before they went. Rowbotham turned to the rest of us.
‘I suggest you all remain here. Her body will be returned to you for burial if you so wish.’
‘I’m going with her!’ snapped Philippa. ‘She’s my sister. Don’t dare to hinder me!’ Half running, she left us, hastening after the crowd. Will Grimes said, ‘Me too,’ and scrambling back on to his pony, he followed her. One of the new arrivals, still holding his mount’s bridle, said: ‘What is going on here? Of all the extraordinary welcomes …!’
Angelica Ames had reappeared from the house. ‘Gentlemen, I apologize for your unusual rec
eption. Do please come inside. I will act for Mistress Gould, since she has had to leave us. If you will follow me … Walter Cogge, perhaps you will help with the ponies …’
‘I’m going to the village,’ said Walter shortly. He looked at us and I said decisively: ‘Yes, we must go too. There may be something we can do.’ I knew that there was probably nothing of the kind, but in some vague way wanted to offer Philippa – and now, even Bella – some kind of support. What was happening to Bella appalled me; no matter what she had done, it still appalled me, and I was as sure as I could be that she had not committed the crime for which she was actually being condemned.
Dale and Sybil nodded their heads and came with me without a word. Brockley and Joseph were ahead of us, with Cogge. We all followed as fast as we could in the footsteps of Philippa and the villagers and the knot of men who were dragging the struggling, weeping Bella down the muddy zigzag path. Will Grimes on his pony had caught the crowd up before it reached the foot of the hill. He plunged into its midst, shouting and expostulating.
In front of the tavern, the crowd halted. When we reached it, we saw that a gibbet had been set up before the doorway, and that there was indeed nothing we could do, for we were far outnumbered. Dozens of people were between us and the gibbet, and some of the men had formed an armed guard in front of it as well. If the village men hadn’t brought weapons up the hill with them, they had collected some now. The guard were armed with axes and scythes and billhooks, and in knowledgeable hands, those were weapons as formidable as swords.
The gibbet itself had been obviously assembled from pieces of newly cut wood and been provided with rope and noose, and beneath it was a small cart with a couple of men backing a pony into the shafts. Will Grimes was there, now on foot, and I realized that the pony was his. He must have been dragged off it. Someone had produced some harness and put it on the pony and Will was in furious dispute with the man who was holding the bridle, shouting that the animal belonged to him and he never gave anyone permission to use it, and he’d thank them to get that there harness off this minute!
The Heretic’s Creed Page 19
