Chapter 26
THEN
Nicholson watched as they pulled the shawl off the so-called Snow Witch, unlaced her bodice to toss it aside and yanked her hands around to the front of her body.
He looked on with distaste at her long, almost white hair hanging to her waist and her unsettling grey eyes in her pale face.
She barely blinked, just fixed her gaze on him.
His men bound her wrists with thick, scratchy rope.
The rope dug into her skin, ugly, red weals appearing where it bit into her.
Then they dragged her towards Nicholson, who looked down on her with contempt.
And still, the woman did not utter a word.
She simply stared at him, almost blending into the snow-covered landscape, so white was she.
‘This creature is a suspected charmer, enchantrix and witch,’ Nicholson intoned. ‘We grant this woman fair trial by pricking. If she bleeds, she is not guilty of the aforesaid crimes. If she does not bleed, she shall be dealt with as befits a servant of the Devil.’
The sooner this trial was over, the better. This bitch was a young, flighty thing. She had shown spirit when she had confronted that man at the back of the group, but he did not like her. She knew too much; he could feel it.
Yet he could still be persuaded to change his mind.
He liked to see the women beg. He thought of John Kincaid.
One of his women had been tried twice; the first time, Lieutenant Colonel Hobson had decided she was too pretty to be a witch and asked for a retrial.
The second time, Witch Finder Kincaid had pricked her, the blood had gushed from her thigh and rendered her innocent.
It was not beyond the realms of possibility that this scrawny creature presently tied up behind him would be acquitted in a similar way.
Indubitably, she had stabbed the arrogant young man with that dagger, and it was indeed a Pagan-looking thing.
But Nicholson did not really care why she had done it.
But he wanted his sport today. He had to prove himself to the magistrates and this was as good a place to do it as any.
And why should he deny himself some fun?
The company of men forced the woman to stand before him, her bare feet blue-white in the inches of snow. Her loose white shift was billowing in the wind, falling off her thin shoulders. And she did not beg or scream or cry. Instead, she whispered strange words and kept her eyes fixed on Nicholson.
He felt he could see Hell within the grey depths, yet he forced himself to lock eyes with her. It would not do to show fear.
‘Bring the accused closer to me!’ shouted Nicholson.
‘Take her clothes off. Strip her to the waist.’ The men looked at one another.
It seemed they could not decide who would have the joy of that and they stood uselessly, not moving or doing his bidding at all.
‘Strip her!’ repeated Nicholson. ‘What keeps you? For God’s sake, if you will not do that, then lift her clothing and pull it over her head.
I must have her lower body exposed.’ And if they would not do it, he would do it himself.
He could not wait to touch the wench. He shifted position as he felt the excitement build between his legs.
‘The blood will settle in her lower regions if she is human. I need to prick her to test her. Do you want this witch vanquished? Do you want her out of your village? Then do it. Strip her. Now!’
John, the young man who had spoken up and accused her of murder, stepped forward. His face was grey and his eyes huge and terrified. ‘I shall do it, sir. I owe it to Alice to have her convicted. She killed my Alice and she must pay.’
‘John.’ The girl spoke quietly and dangerously. ‘What would Alice think? How can this help her?’
‘You killed her,’ he spat out. ‘You killed her and you need to pay.’
With that, he lunged forward and grabbed hold of the rope belt around her waist. He used it to roughly pull her towards him, then untied it, tossing it onto the ground.
She was gabbling something under her breath, but the man persisted, even though his hands were shaking.
Then he grabbed the hem of Meggie’s shift and yanked it over her head.
A muffled gasp of shame and humiliation came from the girl.
A gasp of horror and disbelief came from the crowd, and Nicholson smirked.
His eyes glinted as he scanned the girl’s body.
It was milk-white and firm – but her breasts were engorged and her stomach rounded.
He was certain she was with child, but that did not change his mind.
It made it even more perfect. She was a joy to behold.
He had always found a pregnant woman exciting and vulnerable, and he praised the Lord for his good fortune today. He would make this last.
‘What is this witch’s name? It is correct practice that someone confirms the identity of the accused.
I shall not be held responsible for harming an innocent.
’ He looked around at the assembled crowd, knowing someone would confirm it for him.
‘And it appears she is with child. Who claims this ungodly creature as their own? Or does she carry the spawn of Satan?’
‘I do not know who the witch has lain with. But it is Meg Noble,’ cried John, stepping forward. ‘I have known her all my life. She is the Snow Witch.’ There was a stifled hiss from the girl who stood half-naked and shivering in front of the man she had grown up with.
‘Yes. It is Meggie,’ added the gangly man whose wife was clearly the whore. ‘Make the witch suffer.’
There was a rumble of assent from the men.
‘It is Satan she has bedded. No decent man in this village would bed that.’
Beneath the tangled shift, the witch made to raise her hands.
It may have been to raise them to her face to try and pull the cloth away, but equally, it could have been to curse the crowd.
‘Do not let her raise her hands!’ shrieked Nicholson.
‘She is summoning Satan. The father of her bastard. Behold! The dark clouds roll in towards us.’ He pointed to the horizon where a fresh wave of snow was coming in, captured in huge, ominous clouds.
It could easily be Satan coming to rescue his servant.
Or at least he, Nicholson, could make people believe that was so.
To his satisfaction, the crowd of ill-educated villagers moaned and wept. Some fell to their knees and raised their hands, pleading with God to save them.
It was utterly pathetic, yet strangely enjoyable to watch.
Brown stepped in to grab the woman’s hands and pulled them down.
Nicholson could see her fighting through the fabric, twisting her hands, trying, it seemed, to loosen the rope which bound her wrists, but to no avail.
She must have inhaled a mouthful of the fabric which covered her face, as she gagged and coughed.
Nicholson wrinkled his nose and viewed her with contempt.
‘We are witnessing the demon inside her trying to escape.’ He raised his staff and showed the crowd the wicked pin on the end of it.
‘I shall prick the witch with this tool. But I shall need to find a witch-mark first. I shall approach the accused and look at her body.’
* * *
From beneath the twisted cloth, Meggie heard Nicholson step towards her, intending, she was sure, to inspect every inch of the flesh that was exposed.
He was so close, she could feel his hot breath on her body. His breathing was ragged and excited, and she wanted to pull away from him, but she was held fast by the men.
His voice spoke next to her ear, his face invisible to her. ‘Do not struggle, witch. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.’
Meggie could feel the icy, damp cold seeping through the snow-covered earth, numbing her feet and creeping up her legs.
She thought she would faint with cold and humiliation.
She prayed to Coventina that she would lose consciousness; she knew the outcome as well as she knew her soul.
But it would make this more bearable if she was oblivious to it.