Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  “I beg to differ, Goody Estridsen,” said Captain Martin as he strode through the door as if he were a bantam cock. His eyes swept the room, lingering on the shiny things lying around or set out on display. When his eyes met her own, as bold as you please, he grimaced. “Cover your hair, Madam.”

  “My hair would not lay exposed if you and your thugs had not barged in unannounced. My husband is away, as I think you must know, and it is unseemly for you to be here in his absence. I demand you leave this house! Speak with my husband on his return.” She towered over the men of the militia as she walked to the cupboard and drew out a scarf to cover her hair.

  “Alas, Margaret Estridsen, I cannot do as you ask. You must come with us.”

  “I shall do no such thing, Jack Martin.”

  “But you must,” said the captain. “Goody Estridsen, I arrest you in the name of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, sovereign of this colony.”

  Margaret laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Arrest me? Whatever for?” She stood glaring at them, a twisted, angry grin plastered on her face.

  Captain Martin’s features stretched in a grin of his own. “Witchcraft.”

  Margaret laughed, and this time it seemed to be a real laugh, pressing her hand to her mouth. “Witchcraft,” she mused. “The irony.”

  Nonplussed by her strange behavior, Jack Martin stared at her for a moment before snapping his fingers at his men. “Take her,” he said. “Shackle her hands and loop the silver chain about her neck so she mayn’t utter spells.”

  Standing on tiptoe, the militiaman still couldn’t get the chain over her head. “Your pardon, Goody Estridsen, but could you please bend down?”

  She glanced at the man, and for a moment, the air in the small house grew as cold as a mid-winter storm, and her eyes narrowed. But her cheeks stretched with a smile, and she ducked her head. “Of course.”

  “What kind of name is Estridsen?” demanded Captain Martin. “I’ve not encountered it, and I knew everyone aboard The Lion.”

  “Evidently not everyone,” Margaret snapped, eyes dancing with either anger or mirth. “And the name is Norwegian, as are my husband and I.”

  “Well, no matter. I know you now.” Again, Martin snapped his fingers at his men. “Take her to the church.”

  One of the men took Margaret by the arm in a rough grip, but she gave him such a look that he not only released her arm but took several steps back.

  “For goodness’ sake!” said the captain and grabbed the chain between her shackled wrists. He shoved the chain into the hands of his lieutenant and motioned toward the door.

  “Are you not coming?” demanded Margaret.

  “In my own time,” he said with an avaricious smile.

  Her eyes narrowed and bounced around the room, touching on all the brilliant objects in the room. “I know every item in this house, sir,” she grated. “And will miss anything that is…misplaced…in my absence.”

  With a florid smile, Captain Martin waved the men out of the house. “Somehow, I doubt you will be able to complain.”

  They led her from her house on the edge of town through the streets of the colony, taking no pains with her comfort, nor with her modesty, without a thought for the potential of her dishabille—not that she cared in the least; it was a stupid concept that one’s exposed hair was improper in public. As they yanked her one way, then another, she marked each of them, noting whether they acted with cruelty or simply without thinking.

  The minister awaited them on the steps of the church. As the men brought her to him, he leaned forward and slapped her across the face. “Witch!” he scolded.

  She smiled. “Convicted already, am I?”

  He pulled his head back as though she’d spat in his face. “God knows your crimes, woman! Do not compound them with falsehoods!”

  She sighed with weariness. “Were my husband at home, you would not speak in that tone.”

  “I speak with God’s own wrath. Do you question it?”

  “Doesn’t your good book say: ‘Let him who is without sin cast the first stone?’” she asked, smiling a bitter smile.

  “My good book? Not our good book?” the minister snapped. “Do you admit your crime before we offer even the first bit of evidence?”

  She sneered at him and rolled her eyes as she looked away. “Is all of your evidence as telling as a mere slip of the tongue?”

  He treated her to an algid smile, a look of contempt in his eyes. “Fasten her chains to the ring set in the wall,” he said to the men behind her. “Be sure to lock her chains. The trial will begin in two hours.” With one last scowl at her, he walked past her, heading across the square toward the Widow Harrison’s house where he ate his meals.

  “If you remove these chains now, I will speak to my husband and tell him to pass over you and your families. I will instruct him to spare your lives.”

  One man forked a sign against evil at her and refused to meet her eye. “Into the church,” he said in a shaky voice.

  They had set the hook high up on the wall, designed to keep an accused witch on her toes during the time before and the proceedings of her farce of a trial. Margaret sniggered as the militiaman had to stand on tiptoe to slide her chain over the hook.

  It wasn’t comfortable, but her feet were flat against the floor, and her wrists rested against her collarbones. She sneered at the men staring at her. “Disappointed, boys? Were you hoping to see something…pop out?” She laughed at their red faces and scoffed as they threw more pathetic hand signs against evil in her direction.

  After two hours, she was in a far fouler mood—her arms and wrists ached, and her feet throbbed from standing in one place. The minister’s eyes crawled over her face as he came in, and a small, unpleasant smile shone on his face. “Did you have a pleasant lunch, Goody Estridsen?”

  Anger stirred in her guts, and she scowled down at him. “You know good and well no one fed me, you pathetic little man. You arranged it that way.”

  He shrugged and winked at her. “Oh, I shall have a cross word with Captain Martin about this lack of courtesy.”

  “I bet you will,” she growled. She shook her hands, rattling the chains that held her to the wall. “My husband should be home before dark. You don’t want him to find me in this state. He will grow cross.”

  “Oh, don’t I? And why ever not?”

  “Because he will be cross,” she said with a shrug. “And when he’s cross, he can be most…inventive.”

  He treated her to a weak, craven smile. “Are you even married to the man in truth? You have enslaved his mind, no? That is the rumor around the village, but whether or not you have, I’m sure Master Estridsen will understand. Perhaps better than any other man could.”

  Her eyes grew cold, but her scowl grew hot. “Is it so?” she hissed.

  The minister nodded. “To my mind, it is definitely so. But—”

  “Why don’t you get on with this farce?”

  “—if he is in league with you as you say, Captain Martin and his militia will be more than his match.”

  She laughed, genuinely amused. “That, I would enjoy seeing. Perhaps I will before the sun sets.”

  “Alas, I find it doubtful you will still be alive when your husband returns. We have set the post; we have gathered the wood.”

  “Ah…so you will try to burn me?”

  The minister shrugged. “It is the prescribed punishment for witchcraft.”

  The door opened, and people came into the church, sliding into the pews in silence, watching the exchange between the minister of the colony and the colony’s strangest woman.

  “And tell me, sir, if I were a witch, what makes you think these chains could hold me?”

  He grinned and chuckled. “They seem to hold you.”

  “That’s because I am no witch. Had you considered that possibility?”

  His grin became condescending. “You are, by all reports, a disgusting slattern with strange powers and the ability to cast curses. The
re is no doubt in my mind you have consorted with Lucifer.”

  “Is it so?” she said in a tone that sounded almost bored. “And why haven’t I used my abilities to rid the world of you?”

  He laughed snidely. “Because, Wife of Satan, you stand in God’s House now. You lost any chance you had to escape by use of your Satanic powers when you allowed the militiamen to lead you here.”

  She threw back her head and laughed as a man deep in his cups might. She glanced around the church with wild eyes. “Don’t condemn yourselves as this pig of a man has.”

  “Do you admit you are a witch?” asked the minister.

  “Hardly. But my husband—”

  “Yes, yes,” snapped Captain Martin from the door. “We will question your husband most sharply when he returns, and if he had knowledge of your foul conversations with the Father of Lies, he, too, will burn before next the sun sets.” He turned his gaze to the minister. “Shall we proceed, Minister Hardy?”

  “Yes, I do believe it’s time.” He ascended the pulpit and bowed his head as if in silent prayer. Hardy opened the large Bible on its stand before him. He held up his hands, palms toward the pews. “Dear Heavenly Father. Quieten our minds and still our hearts, for thy ways are what we seek, and we have an unpleasant task to perform this day. Lord, give us thine strength, inspire our intelligence, for, in thine own name, we do battle with thy Adversary and one of his chosen. Grant us thy grace, O Lord. Amen.”

  The congregation echoed his amen and lifted their heads.

  “Brothers and sisters, I have called you here today to bear witness to the interrogations of one accused of witchcraft. This woman…” He flung his hand toward Margaret. “This woman has walked among us, has lived among us, and yet we know her not. Not the true being which resides in her heart.”

  Some of the women in the congregation nodded their heads and Margaret scoffed, a small smile playing on her lips.

  “This woman calls herself Margaret Estridsen and claims a marriage before God to Loke Estridsen, whom we all know. They claim to have sailed with us from England, but do any have a memory of the Estridsens aboard The Lion?” Hardy paused, scanning the faces of his congregation. No one nodded. Hardy nodded his head. “It is as I thought.”

  The minister folded his hands behind his back and paced away from the pulpit, his face grave. “My cousin writes me that many ways to obtain the confession of a witch exist, but by His blessed grace, those methods are unnecessary in this case.” He stopped and glared at Margaret. “No, in this case, we have enough testimony to convict this foul creature without such debasing methods.” He nodded to Martin. “You may begin, Captain.”

  Captain Martin stood and smiled at the women in the congregation. “There is no reason to fear, sisters. We know this woman has sinned in the silence of the night and without accomplices. We will call on your testimony only to illustrate the truth. But first, we the brethren will give witness.” His gaze swept the room and stopped on the militiaman who had grabbed her roughly. “You there, John Barnes. Step forward and remember that the eyes of our Lord are upon you as you give witness in his house.”

  Barnes swallowed hard and stood, hat in hand. He reached the pulpit in ten mincing strides. He nodded at Captain Martin. “I’m ready, sir.”

  “Very well, Barnes. You accompanied me to the Estridsen home earlier this morning?”

  “Yes, sir. I had that honor.”

  “And when we arrived, what was Goody Estridsen’s manner?”

  “Her mood was dark, I’d say, Captain. She ordered us out of her home and refused your lawful command that she come with us.”

  Martin nodded. “And did anything strange happen during our visit?”

  “You could say that, sir.”

  “Yes, yes, Barnes, but the question is: do you say so?”

  “Oh. Yes, sir. She was overly familiar with yourself, sir, and if I may say so, in what appeared to be a wanton manner.”

  “Yes. Anything else?”

  “Well, yes, sir. When you ordered us to remove her from her home by force and to convey her to this very church, I took her by the arm. When I did so, she gave me a look of pure evil, and I grew cold in an instant, despite the heat. Her eyes seemed to dance, such that I feared she was about to hurl a curse at me.”

  “And did she?” asked the minister.

  “Not that I heard, Minister Hardy. But, still, I fear she may have.”

  Margaret scoffed and laughed, but with bitterness few could miss.

  “Come to me after we’ve dealt with her, Brother Barnes,” said Hardy. “We will pray to our Father to overcome her foul magic.”

  “Yes, Minister.”

  “What happened next, Barnes?” asked Martin.

  The militiaman gulped. “Displaying great courage, if I may be so bold, Captain Martin stood forward and grasped the chain that binds her, disrupting her spells. In my belief, it was your faith, sir, that kept her magic still while we conveyed her here.”

  “Oh, this is ridiculous,” said Margaret. “How convenient that I could have used my so-called powers to escape but for the faith of a lecherous, avaricious man.”

  In two strides, Captain Martin reached her and slapped her hard across the cheek. Her ears rang with the force of it, and her cheek burned with both anger and affront.

  “Do not speak!” he commanded. “If we need your input, slattern of the Evil One, we will ask you directly.”

  “Do that again, and I will speak, Martin. And if I do, you will not enjoy what I may say.”

  With a small, crooked smile on his face, he winked at her, then plastered a fearful expression on his face and turned toward the congregation. “You witnessed it! She threatened to curse me!”

  “Be at ease, Captain Martin,” said Minister Hardy. “She has no power here.”

  “Do I not?” Margaret asked, turning a hateful stare on the minister. “Do I, the witch, the consort of Satan, not have power anywhere? Why am I accused? Since I have no power to do evil anywhere, what does it matter if I am a witch?”

  “As the Lord sayeth in Exodus 22:18, ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’” The minister’s voice rang with conviction.

  “You fool,” snapped Margaret. “That is a mistranslation! In the original Hebrew, the word is mekhashepha, and it means ‘poisoner,’ not ‘witch.’”

  “Go on,” said Minister Hardy with deceptive calm. “Correct the Good Book, but before you do, explain to us how you come to such knowledge?”

  Margaret shook her head and kept her mouth shut.

  Captain Martin smiled. “As we thought. You have no basis for your wild claims, do you, witch?” When she didn’t answer, he turned to Minister Hardy. “Is more testimony required?”

  Hardy squinted at Margaret, his head cocked to the side. “Will you confess?” When she again refused to answer, Hardy shook his head. “If you confess your sins, sister, the Lord shall allow you to repent.”

  Her head snapped up, and her eyes blazed with an almost physical force. Hardy lurched back, his hands up as if to ward off a blow. “Sins?” she demanded. “You dare to remove me from my home by force, by the threat of violence. You bind me and treat me as no better than an already condemned criminal, and you dare accuse me of sin?” She shook her head savagely. “If you knew to whom you spoke, you would show me the proper respect!”

  With a metallic shriek, Martin drew his sword and laid it against her throat. “Speak again, witch,” he hissed.

  She turned her baleful gaze on him. “And you will learn the lesson first.”

  “Again, you threaten me?” He applied slightly more force to his blade, and a trickle of blood ran from her neck though she didn’t react.

  “Do any of the congregation need more proof?” asked the minister.

  The silence in the church was absolute. Martin stared at Margaret with angry eyes, and she stared back with hatred burning in hers.

  “By the power of the Lord our God, I hereby condemn the woman known as Margaret Es
tridsen as a foul Wife of Satan, a witch, in plain speech, and I sentence her to death. This witch shall burn in God’s purifying fire until dead, this very afternoon.”

  Margaret laughed. She drew herself up and stared at the minister as if she would as soon eat him as speak to him. “Shall I?” She laughed again. “I think not.”

  “If any harbor doubts as to this slattern’s guilt, let them think on her response to her sentence.” Martin sank the edge of his blade deeper into her skin. “Once the fire has rendered your flesh to ash and bone, I will have your bones gathered and taken to the mill where they will be ground to dust and remixed with your ashes. Then we will cast the mixture upon the sea and distribute it to the four corners of the Earth, so you may never rise from your grave.”

  “Oh?” Her modest guise had disappeared, and an imperious shrew stood in its place. “Is that how it will be?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Martin with a grin. “Fire shall rid us of you, Mistress of Darkness. We will be here, and you will be in Hell.”

  Again, she laughed, and her eyes twinkled with hidden knowledge. “Do you even know the origin of that word?”

  “Of course. It is the domain of the Evil One.”

  “Is it? Is it, indeed?”

  Martin was nonplussed, but bravado surged to the fore. “And I will find your husband, and, wizard or not, he will suffer your fate,” he whispered.

  Without warning, Margaret lurched toward the militia captain with her mouth open wide as though to bite his face and cackled as he staggered away, stumbling for balance.

  “For this, too, you will pay,” he muttered. “Take this witch to the place of execution.”

  Her gaze tracked to the minister’s. “Kvul,” she said, and Hardy slapped his hands to his head and screamed.

  “Hold her!” commanded Martin, stripping off his wide leather belt. Militiamen rushed forward, some grabbing her arms and two others holding her head. She opened her mouth to speak, and as she did, Martin shoved the leather strap into her mouth and cinched it tight. “Be sure this stays on,” he said, cutting his eyes toward the minister who had collapsed against the pulpit moaning.