Chapter Eleven
One look into Father Matthew’s cold gray eyes was all Moira needed to realize she would find no mercy from this man.
It was hard to see if he believed any of Jeanne’s wild claims, but he was savoring the chance to flex his clerical muscle.
Moira had the sinking feeling he saw in her a chance to enhance his prestige within the church.
“Ye cannae believe this foolishness,” Tavig cried. “The only one accusing my wife is no credible witness.”
“Ye cannae weaken the strength of the charge of witchcraft by attacking the victim of it,” the priest replied in a low, emotionless voice as he walked around Moira, his long robes sweeping along the rush-strewn floor of the tiny church.
“The only thing Jeanne is a victim of is her own vanity. She uses ye, all of ye, to wreak vengeance. Ye persecute an innocent to placate a scorned woman’s anger.”
“And why should Jeanne feel scorned?” Father Matthew asked, barely glancing at Tavig.
“Because I wouldnae take her to bed.”
“And ye accuse our Jeanne of vanity? I think ye suffer greatly from that sin.” He took a handful of Moira’s bright hair and let it slowly fall from his fingers. “Red hair. The mark of the devil.”
“That is just more foolishness. Many a person has red hair.”
“I have long believed that we are too lax in our vigilance in this land. The devil is allowed too free a rein.”
“’Tis Jeanne’s vicious tongue that has been allowed too free a rein. For God’s sweet sake, think of whom ye are heeding.”
As Tavig valiantly tried to discredit Jeanne and thus weaken the validity of her accusations, Moira watched the woman.
Jeanne did an excellent job of displaying hurt and shock, as if each truth Tavig uttered about her was no more than vicious slander.
Her eyes revealed her true feelings, however.
In Jeanne’s eyes was the glitter of triumph.
Glancing around at the villagers only raised Moira’s hopes a tiny bit.
They were heeding Tavig. Many of them began to look uncomfortable, sending Jeanne some very unfriendly glances.
Mary had said that Jeanne had bedded nearly every man in the village, and they were obviously recalling that.
If the looks on their faces were any indication, they were also recalling a great deal more about the woman they had so blindly followed, things Jeanne probably wished forgotten.
No one made an effort to renounce his support of her claim, however.
It was clear to the dimmest wits among them that the priest was ready, even eager, to fight a witch.
Although they had all begun to change their minds, their fear of the priest kept them silent.
“Silence,” Father Matthew yelled, glaring at Tavig. “Ye give me many a reason to doubt Jeanne’s word, slandering her with every word ye utter.”
“’Tis no slander, but the truth,” Tavig snapped.
“Yet ye give me no reason to believe ye o’er Jeanne. Is the accused witch not your wife?”
“Aye, Moira is my wife. That doesnae lessen the truth of what I am saying.”
“Nay? Ye would say anything to save her. ’Tis part of the bewitchment. Ye should be more cautious, my lad. Ye have been carnal with a witch. That carries as heavy a penalty as being a witch.”
“Moira is no witch,” Tavig bellowed.
“Gag him,” the priest commanded, nodding when the men holding Tavig hastily obeyed. “Now.” He looked at Moira. “What are we to do with you?”
“I believe ye have already decided, so why torment me with your questions?” Moira replied.
“Ye are resigned to your fate?”
“Nay, but I see the futility of arguing my innocence. Ye have all gone deaf to the truth. Ye havenae even checked the truth of what Jeanne claims I have done to her. I willnae add to your macabre fun by pleading for my life.”
“My goat is dead,” Jeanne said, stepping forward. “I cannae prove how it died, but I can prove how she has afflicted me. I am covered with spots and sores.” She yanked up her skirts to reveal a vivid rash on her legs, the red patches broken here and there by ugly open and oozing sores.
“I hope ye didnae have that when ye bedded down with my husband,” Moira mumbled.
“Ye gave it to me. It appeared after I tried to aid Tomas, to pull him from your devilish clutches.” She rushed forward, yanking up Moira’s skirts despite Moira’s struggles, and pointing to a small mole just above Moira’s knee, said, “And there is the devil’s mark.
She has others. I saw them in Robert’s cow shed, for she was naked. ”
When Jeanne released her skirts, Moira kicked the woman in the knee.
Jeanne screeched with pain, then moved toward Moira again.
One of the two men guarding Moira shoved Jeanne away.
Geordie curtly ordered another man to hold Jeanne.
Moira prayed Jeanne’s actions would not prompt a public search for witch’s marks.
She did have several more moles and birthmarks.
Since the priest deemed her guilty already, a search for witch’s marks would only serve to embarrass and shame her.
“It seems to me ye have no more than one lass’s word against another’s,” said Robert.
“True,” agreed the priest, never taking his gaze from Moira.
“I believe we need a test to see who speaks the truth. An ordeal would bring us the truth we need. There are many to choose from.” He spared only a brief glance for Tavig who cursed beneath his gag, struggling violently in the hold of his guard.
Moira fought the fear that welled up inside her.
Quite often a person put through an ordeal proved his innocence only by dying.
Ordeals were always painful, ranging from tossing a bound person into the water, declaring him innocent only if he sank and usually drowned, to holding a piece of red-hot iron on one’s hand and needing to come away uninjured to prove one’s innocence.
The theory was that God would protect the innocent from harm.
Moira had always felt that God had far better things to do.
She did not really wish to have her somewhat scandalous opinion proved correct.
The way the priest kept staring at her as he mulled the problem over made Moira uneasy, very uneasy. It was difficult to hide her fears with his cold eyes fixed upon her. There was nothing to be read on his thin, angular face and Moira found that lack of expression unsettling.
“We dinnae have the tools to do as we must,” he finally said.
“What a shame,” Moira drawled, idly wondering when she had become so sharp-tongued.
“I believe we have enough to prepare a reasonably successful ordeal, howbeit.”
As she listened to the priest order some of the men to clear a place in front of the church and heat rocks, Moira knew she grew pale.
She could feel the blood seep from her face.
A quick glance at Tavig showed him looking the same.
She was not sure what she was going to be forced to do, but if it included hot rocks or coals, it was not going to be pleasant.
Clearly it was going to be one of those ordeals that required her to do something dangerous and somehow come through it unscathed.
She knew she was innocent, but had no confidence in an ordeal proving that.
When the priest ordered two men to take off her boots and hose, a soft cry of alarm escaped her despite all of her efforts to be brave.
Now she knew why the men were preparing a bed of hot coals and rocks.
The hard-eyed Father Matthew wanted her to walk over them to prove her innocence.
When she completed her torturous walk and her feet were badly burned, he would be able to have her executed with a clear conscience.
As two men started to drag her out of the church, Moira decided she was tired of pretending to be brave.
She struggled, dragged her feet, and called her captors every vile name she had ever heard.
The priest walked behind, scolding her in a dull, pious voice for her language and lack of faith.
Moira wished she could get free and hit him, then hastily apologized for what might appear to be blasphemy.
In her brief prayer for forgiveness, she included the wish that God would have a closer look at one particular priest who did not seem to behave in a very Christian manner.
Once in front of the bed of coals, Moira lost her last grip on her courage.
She looked around at the crowd of people in front of the church.
Tavig was slumped in the hold of his captors, one of them having struck him over the head with a small club to put an end to his violent struggles.
Robert and Mary tried to talk sense to their friends and neighbors.
The looks on the faces of the villagers revealed how uncertain they had become, but they still made no protest. Jeanne was clearly savoring every moment.
“Now, witch, ye must walk the length of this,” the priest said, pointing to the heated bed of stones.
“’Tis clear that, although ye offer me an ordeal to prove my innocence, ye have already decided on my guilt.
” Moira shook her head, inwardly hoping that the relatively calm tone of her voice distracted everyone enough so that they would not notice she was awash in sweat.
“Ye have already tried and judged me. This is but a way to add to my pain.”
“Walk. If ye can get to the other side and your feet reveal no injury, then God has proclaimed ye innocent.”
“When God is done proclaiming my innocence, I hope He takes a long look at some of the ones who claim to work in His name.”
She took a deep breath, shaking free of her captors’ light hold.
A rousing Tavig cried out when she took her first step onto the smoldering path she had to walk.
Since her hands were still bound, Moira knew she would risk falling if she moved too swiftly.
She suspected the priest would declare the test invalid if she ran and would force her to do it all over again.
She kept her gaze fixed resolutely on the end of the red-hot trail.