The Witch Finder
The Witch's Daughter: Chapter 4. A man in black arrives at Blaine Cottage to accuse Hilde's mother. The townsfolk gather for the show.
Welcoming puffs of smoke rose from the chimney of Blaine cottage. The leaves of the the fruit trees in the yard and of the ivy on the back wall swayed gently in the summer breeze. As Hilde trudged up through the turnip field a lamp light glimmered, just visible through the back window. Surely all was well and her mother’s desperate orders were some kind of game? In a few moments she’d be laugh with her mother about it, and they’d talk about the stranger she’d seen.
But as Hilde neared the back of the cottage, the sound of raised voices increased. Booming above them all was the voice of the man she’d heard in lane. Strident and sing-song his voice rose above the others. It had a dangerous edge to it. Hilde had heard the priests give sermons at the Abbey, but this voice was rude and strident. Boastful.
She made for the right side, where Sebastien’s lean-to attached to the cottage wall. The left hand side was covered in dense trees and ivy and going around it would mean coming in on the laneway from the Blaine pasture where everyone would see her.
As Hilde rounded the thick back wall, she saw Sebastien’s rump. The trusty creature was back from his jaunt through the turnip field.
“This stops now!” yelled the man. “Come out or we burn it down!”
Burn it! Get her! Witch! Demon lover!
“Mother Mary save me!” Hilde whispered. Her hands shook, as she put her hands to her mouth, stifling the scream she knew would doom her to whatever fate her mother had tried to protect her from. The donkey snickered loudly. He put his hooves on the bottom rail of his pen.
“Steady Sebastien,” Hilde whispered. She walked behind him, running her hands down the donkey’s sides. She peered between his legs, through the gate to his pen, but could not see much beyond the size of the crowd gathered there. At least a dozen pairs of legs.
The tall pear tree by Sebastien’s pen grew up to shade the cottages roof. Hilde eyed its stout trunk, one she’d climbed a hundred times.
“I’m coming!” That was Mama’s voice.
Shinnying up the tree, Hilde clambered along a bough that hung out over the yard. It was past spring and the tree was in full leaf, with pear blossom heady in the air. Bees and mayflies swarmed in the air around her. Below, the cottage door rattled, and Bronach opened the small shutter.
Hilde felt sick. It seemed like the world below swum in circles, the swarming insects and the gently swaying bough unhinging her from reality.
She coming out? Get her!
There were low mumbling voices, and shuffling feet among the crowd. A man in a long black robe stood at the front of the group, holding a long staff, and wearing an odd hat. In his other hand he bore a sheaf of parchments.
“I’m opening the door! Speak my charges! Then I’ll go! That’s our law!”
Witch! Set her to the flame!
Brehon law. That’s the way. Another man’s voice, not the man in black.
“I am the instrument of God! Ye of serpent tongue! Gods law alone will judge you, heretic!” the man in black yelled, banging his staff on the flagstones.
At chapel Sister Gobnait taught the heavenly world. Hilde had sat through classes of the trinity, of God and the angels. All the sisters and priests said there was no faeries, banshees or witches. At least to be a good Catholic Hilde had to not talk about such things. Even though so many in the village still put out food for the fairies! Even Fiach appeased old gods. Father Stephen himself often mixed up Mother Mary and Saint Brigit.
Mama said the figurine on the wall inside the cottage was Brigid the goddess, but never to tell that to Father Stephen. None would dare come out in front of churchmen and talk of faerie circles, goddesses or witches. It was all fine as long as no-one mentioned it in church.
Adults were very confusing.
So who was this sing-song man of God, talking about witches? A few in the crowd joined a chorus after every word the man in black said. But others mumbled quietly, shuffling their feet. A few mentioned the Brehon judges.
It seemed like everyone was very confused. Except for Jezabel. She weighed something in her hand. A rock hit the wooden shutters, and another. From the front of the crowd a torch flew on to the roof of the cottage.
“Brehon law! Read my charges” Bronach’s voice came through the stout wooden door. “And I will do as you say!”
A few in the crowd sighed and nodded. The mood lightened. For a moment.
The still burning torch rolled down the thatch and landed with a thump on the flagstones at the mans feet. The group leapt back, a woman screamed.
“Demons! Hell fire!” shrieked Alice.
“Witchcraft!” shouted Emma. Panicked voices yammered.
Mother, don’t go out!
Hilde crawled further along the branch, trying to glimpse her mother through the cracks in the shutters.
“Bronach Blaine, I have your charges!” the man said, brandishing a rolled up parchment.
From the cottage came the sound of the draw bar being removed. The small crowd stepped back and gasped. Two women near the front grasped the man in black’s sleeve.
Mother!
A jackdaw settled on the end of the bough on which Hilde clung. The bird tipped its head on one side and eyed her balefully. It snapped up an unlucky insect that crawled on a pear blossom, its wings disturbing the leaves as it gulped down the morsel.
Down below the crowd was regaining its bravery and shuffled forward. Hilde could almost reach the thatch of the cottage if she lowered her foot but if she did any of the group who looked up would easily see her. Hilde shifted her position carefully looping her feet over the limb of the tree.
A man walked up to the torch that had fallen.
Father O’Connor!
He picked it up and smiled. “The torch we threw up! Falling as naturally as an apple from a tree.”
Bronach stood in the door way of the cottage, her face hidden from Hilde by the angle. She brandished the besom that they kept near the door. Emma and Jezabel hung off the sleeves of the man in black, peering around him as through he were a shield from a gorgon that would turn them to stone at any moment.
Oh my what a pair of squawkers. How does Uncle Donegal stand her?
Their screeches stopped when Father Stephen cleared his throat.
“Now let’s all keep our heads. God is watching us! Bishop Ahearne, that’s right isn’t it?” the preacher announced.
Domnall O’Rourke stood behind Jezabel. Everyone called him Donegal though he’d lived in Leinster for years now. He looked as if he wished the ground would swallow him up. He had drunk too much again. He staggered to one side, as Jezabel raised her fist.
“Witch! Heretic! Not so clever now!” Jezabel shouted, she threw a rock, but Donegal bearing on her to keep his balance threw off her aim. The rock clattered against the cottage wall, and the pigs began a fuss. “Your fancy cottage and your silver won’t save you now!”
Fergus Keenan, the blacksmith!
He stood at the rear with his hammer, wearing his apron. He was unmistakeable although his face was obscured by the pear tree leaves.
Is he with the man in black? He’s been here for dinner! Please don’t be against us?!
The jackdaw was joined by two of its friends and their wings blocked her view even more.
Carefully and slowly Hilde moved some smaller branches and crawled out further onto the bough.
Fergus looked straight at her!
He held a finger to his lips. Too late, as the shock of being seen made Hilde jump a foot in the air. She banged her head on the branch above her and scrambled to hold on to her perch. The jackdaws squawked and flew up over the cottage toward the pasture.
Ahearne doffed his hat - a strange high crowned, wide-brimmed affair. Strangest priest ever!
But perhaps that’s what Bishops looked like.
“We see your magic! Fiend! Your demons flee you now!” called the man in black, Ahearne, shading his eyes as he tracked the birds flight over the cottage roof.
“Steady. Just jackdaws,” Fergus said. Several of the group laughed. “Bronach’s no witch. Surely this is a misunderstanding?”
“Bishop Ahearne. We are god-fearing folk here in Duncormac. Good Catholics. People here can get excited at times. Just a few old birds! No witches flying around here,” Father O’Connor said, smiling. “Chief Fiach has called a town meeting we really should be at. So perhaps we should all go to the long house? Yes?”
Bronach lowered the broom and leaned on it. Fergus sneaked a smile up at Hilde.
One by one the group started to turn toward town.
There was an oppressive calm in the yard of the cottage. Fergus the smith, Thomas the innkeep, walked slowly toward the lane that led to town. But Jezabel, Emma and Alice were in deep conversation, Jezabel gesturing vehemently. The other villagers stood in a knot between them, next to the vegetable patch, waiting to see if it was over.
Hilde didn’t dare move, and her whole body hurt now from gripping the bough of the pear tree. A mayfly bit her and she itched fit to burst.
Bronach swept the rocks and the debris left by the torch, and rocks thrown. She gave out that she had no care, but her knuckles were white on the besom’s handle.
The man in black walked toward the side of the cottage, until he was directly beneath Hilde.
She daren’t breathe. The bark of the bough dug into her palms.
Oh Brigid your white flowers are everywhere, can you protect me from this cruel man?
He motioned to Father O’Connor.
“Your wife Alice invited me here, father. You should be helping me.”
“What is this Callum?” Father O’Connor said. “Our church, our God does not teach these fears! These are my people, good people! What is this insanity? I have never heard of such things from a man of God. Heretics? Witchcraft?”
“Refer to me as Reverend! I am a bishop!” Ahearne said, through gritted teeth.
“Reverend, you were my novice at Cill Chainnigh only a few summers ago, and struggling with your reading. Then like magic you were gone. I heard later, to the Cistercians.” O’Connor raised an eyebrow.
“Jealous I have outstripped you?” Ahearne straightened his cloak.
“Surely you’re not a real bishop in that time? What is your diocese? How do you get on with the noble blooded bishops?”
“How dare you,” Ahearne said, drawing himself up to his full height.
The conversation didn’t make sense to Hilde, but it seemed like Father O’Connor was taking on the taller man, and winning. Hilde closed her eyes and tried to breathe as quietly as she could.
Ahearne stared at the ground, a vein pulsing in his neck. He pulled his hat out from under his arm, and gripped it with both hands.
“Did the King of Osraighe throw you out of Cill Chainnigh? Is that it?” the priest said. He pushed Ahearne’s shoulder, to force him to face him. “Why are you dressed like a troubadour, with that ridiculous hat?”
“I was with the Cistercians.” Ahearne paced up and down, then rested a fist against the trunk of the pear tree. “But the Abbot chose me to travel. Me to represent the order to the Pope himself.”
“He wanted to get rid of you! Probably thought the Sicilians would kill you in France,” Father O’Connor said. “Tell me, when you came back to Ireland, your bed was gone?”
“It is no matter! I am a warrior bishop now! The Abbot died and the new one did not recognise the debt I was owed. But the most important event in Christendom happened, and I was there. Pope Alexander defeated the anti-pope, and declared a war against the heretic,” Ahearne said.
“You are no bishop, and you should not be in my village,” O’Connor said.
“I have joined that war! You need to join, or get out of my way.” Ahearne put on his hat again and Hilde could no longer see his face.
“I will be civil, as we have been brothers, but you leave! Gone by dawn tomorrow, O’Connor said.
“Perhaps it is you who is the apostate! Do you still give the full mass?” Ahearne jabbed O’Connor with a finger. “Or are you working with the druids and faeries out here by the sea?”
“You’re ignorant of the Catholic faith and Irish belief. Go back to France,” O’Connor gave a dismissive wave of the hand as he met Ahearne’s gaze.
“Reverend!” Jezabel said, breaking the awkward silence. She ran to him, tugged on his sleeve, and jabbed a finger at the parchments he carried. “Wait everyone!”
Father O’Connor folded his arms as the two of them walked back to the group. Ahearne nodded to Jezabel, and patted her arm.
“We have proof! Proof! Of heresy and demonology most perfidious!” bellowed Ahearne. He held a parchment up high, his black robes flowing, and let it unfurl. “Tell them child!”
“She made me barren! I lost my baby!” Emma walked the crowd, and screamed at the preacher and the blacksmith, pointing back behind herself at Brónach. She put one hand to her belly. Thomas the barkeep walked forward and patted his wife on the arm, with a worried look on his face.
“It is true!” He turned to the crowd, and unctuously nodded as he placed his hand on Emma’s shoulder. “I have examined this child of God and seen the work of demons upon her.”
“I saw the demon!” Alice cried out in a fractured voice. Father O’Connor closed his eyes, tilted his head forward and a muscle in his jaw worked. Alice clearly upset, eyes red-rimmed, gazed at the Bishop then the priest, her husband.
“Callum, show them the demon!” Emma said.
“Faint of heart beware! Avert your eyes!” Ahearne said. He unrolled another parchment and held it out to the villagers. Gasps ran around the crowd. From the sunlight shining through the vellum it appeared to be a drawing. Fergus turned back and peered over the heads of the others at the drawing.
Ahearne shook the parchment. “This is brave Emma’s testimony!”
“And crops have failed! Rónán, Cormac! Is it true!” Jezabel announced in a sing-song voice, as if expecting a sing-along response. She took two steps and shoved Rónán forward.
“Aye. Whole crop went bad,” Rónán said. Jezabel looked daggers at Cormac.
“Oh aye, my barley failed with the blight. Terrible,” Cormac muttered.
“And I saw her casting spells! Cavorting with demons!” Jezabel said. She spun around to point at Brónach.
“She has cast aside the faith! She spurned our Church to indulge in witchcraft! Heresy!”
Witch! Witch! WITCH!
The refrain went up around the crowd. A few abstained, grumbling and hushing to no avail as the group took the chant to a cacophonous roar.
HEE HAW!
Sebastien kicked over the front rail of his pen, and ran out. The timber crashed to the ground.
His hooves clattered on the flagstones as the poor frightened beast tried to find a way out past the crowd. Screams went up, Cormac waved a stick.
“Sebastien!” Hilde called.
Demon!! God save me!! Panicked villagers tried to run from the donkey, trampling the garden, and running in circles.
At Hilde’s voice, Bronach spun toward the tree.
“Go! Run!” Bronach desperately shouted at Hilde. “Run!”
The villagers started yelling. She calls the beast! My soul!! Mother Mary save me!
“All right! I’ll go!” Bronach said to Ahearn.
“Take her!” Ahearne said.
“Nothing happens to her until the Brehon arrive! You hear me? Nothing!” O’Connor said.
“Rónán, Cormac! The sack!” Jezabel screamed.
The two burly farmers looked at each other then shrugged. In an instant Rónán put a sack over Bronach’s head, and Cormac threw her over his shoulder.
