The Witch

Seamus and Reynier looked at each other, each wondering what the commotion was about at the opposite end of the market. People were gathering there to see what was happening.

‘I wonder what’s going on?’ Reynier asked.

They were at the Culross markets, which stretched right along the waterfront by the docks, where all sorts of seafood, fresh produce and goods could be bought. They started making their way in the direction of the disturbance.

As they got closer, Reynier could just make out what appeared to be a couple of clergymen and a couple of armed men dragging a woman along the road, followed by a small but steadily increasing crowd of onlookers. The woman wasn’t being taken easily, struggling, cursing and screaming at them in words totally unintelligible to Reynier.

He looked at Seamus and said, ‘I know I’m still trying to master the local accent, but I’m sure that’s not English.’

Seamus shook his head, ‘That’s the auld tongue, to be sure,’ he answered, ‘it’s close enough to my native Irish for me to make out some of what she’s sayin’, not that I’d want to repeat any of it. Strange … I wouldn’t have thought there would be anyone in these parts that spoke the Gaelic.’

There were some women talking – stallholders – who had gathered to watch at the end of the lane between the stalls. Reynier asked them if they knew what was happening.

One of them replied, ‘It’s the auld woman frae the woods. She ha’ come doon to barter for some salt n’ kippers, but the reverend Father Johnny’s nabbed her fer bein’ a witch!’

Another woman continued to explain to them that the woman lived in the woods, with a pack of wolves it was said, and was suspected by some of practicing witchcraft. She would just come into town occasionally and exchange pelts and hides for things like salt, smoked or salted fish, and so on. The priest – or minister, as they were instructed to call him now, since the reformation – had arrested her for witchcraft, and there was to be some kind of trial.

Reynier turned to Seamus and said, ‘I don’t like the sound of this – come on!’ and quickly hurried after the throng of people.

They pushed their way through the crowd and caught up to them at the corner, where the road headed up towards the abbey. One of the armed attendants had the woman by the hair, while she struggled against him trying to free herself. Suddenly she tripped and went flying onto the cobble-stones. As she lay sprawled on the ground, trying to collect herself, the man cursed at her, ‘Get up – you stupid wench!’ and he kicked her hard in the ribs.

Reynier, now at the front of the edge of onlookers a few yards behind, strode across without even thinking, and struck the man so hard that he bounced across the cobblestones.

The church minister turned and looked at him incredulously, ‘Wha’ the … Who the devil are you?’ he asked.

The other armed attendant was already drawing his sword, but it hadn’t left its scabbard before he found Seamus’s sword at his throat, ‘I wouldn’t be doin’ that now, if I were you,’ he warned.

As the second attendant quickly replaced his sword, the minister looked from Seamus back to Reynier, ‘How dare ye meddle in the business of the Kirk!’

Reynier glared at him, but rather than answer, he turned and looked down at the woman, who was endeavouring to pick herself up. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked, and lent down to offer her assistance.

She shook him off and stood up, straightening herself out as she replied curtly, ‘I’m fine.’ She didn’t pay much attention to Reynier or Seamus, but held her chin high and glared directly at Minister Dykes.

Reynier now turned back to the minister himself, as he continued his rant, ‘Do ye ken what ye’r doin? This woman’s a witch! She consorts wi’ Satan hi’self, for which she’ll be punished. And ye’ll be tried and hanged yerself, if nae burnt along wi’ her, fer conspiring with witches, assaulting a member of the Kirk, and obstructing one of the Lord’s own ministers – I demand to know yer name!’ Dykes had an exceptionally strong Scottish dialect, rolling every r as he spoke.

On closer examination, Reynier noticed the minister wasn’t as old as he had first appeared from a distance. The man was balding, and the hair that remained was speckled with grey, but Reynier guessed he couldn’t be much older than himself, possibly mid-thirties. He was quite a wiry man, slightly shorter than Reynier, about five foot eight maybe, and his fiery dark eyes which glared at Reynier seemed slightly too small for the rest of his face.

’The name is de Ridder! That’s Sir Reynier de Ridder – and as an envoy of the Queen, I won’t be put on trial by you. I wasn’t conspiring with witches, I was helping an older woman whom your man assaulted. You speak of a trial for this woman, but you already call her a witch and talk of her punishment, so clearly you have already condemned her! If she’s to be tried, it will be at the Town House, by a bailey or sheriff – which is that way,’ he pointed back westwards, ‘and not up at the abbey, which is the direction you’re heading. I will represent her, and I want to see the evidence of her alleged witch-craft.’

The minister was totally flabbergasted, for clearly he hadn’t expected anything like this in the day’s events. The first attendant had by now picked himself up and was glowering, with a bloody nose, but wasn’t attempting to draw his own weapon or offer any kind of retaliation. Whether this was out of concern for his companion, with Seamus’s blade at his throat, or just out of cowardice – never having fought anyone harder than an unarmed woman before – Reynier was unsure, but guessed it was more likely to be the latter.

The second attendant then offered his own attestation, ‘She is known to be a shape-changer, she turns hersel’ into a great silver beast of a wolf, and then feeds on the flesh o’ bairns!’

Reynier looked at the man and laughed, ‘Really?’

The minister just glared at his fool of an attendant, then looked around to assess the situation. Clearly, his two attendants were outmatched, so he wasn’t in a position to force the issue presently. However, there was a crowd of onlookers, at least some of whom were expecting a witch trial, and he couldn’t let them see his authority being undermined in his own town.

‘Very well,’ he said, ‘we’ll gang doon to the Tolbooth, the bailie is there and he handles the judicial matters of the parish.’

Reynier was also assessing the situation, and judging the crowd who had gathered to watch. There weren’t too many friendly-looking faces here, some were just curious, while others looked downright menacing. They were expecting a witch trial, and he doubted they would like a stranger coming into their town and threatening their minister. He knew these four were no threat, but if it came to a fight, could they safely get away through the crowd? He decided to bide his time, for even in fifteen-sixty-two there was still the rule of law. While he had no doubt that whoever the town bailie was, they would be a stooge of the abbey, but still, with so many witnesses present, they would probably think twice before executing a knight. ‘Alright, let’s go,’ he replied simply.

The fourth man – a religious cleric, or reformed monk perhaps? – hadn’t said or done anything the entire time, but just stood behind his master looking very solemn. He was in a dark cowl, which presumably had once been black, but had faded into a colourless dark grey. The man leaned forward and spoke softly in the ear of Dykes, who turned and quietly gave him some instructions. The man then turned and hurried off up the street towards the abbey.

The woman, who hadn’t spoken during the exchange, looked up at Reynier and said, ‘I don’t have any money to pay you, I don’t use money at all.’

He looked back at her and reassured her, ‘Don’t worry about that, it will be alright. Come on, we better go.’

All six of them made their way towards the courthouse, or Tolbooth, as it was called, with an excited buzz of murmuring and chattering behind them. The local townsfolk clearly hadn’t had anything this eventful happen in a while.’

The woman didn’t say much as they walked to the Tolbooth. Her name was Iona, she was clearly a proud woman and was putting on a brave front, but Reynier could see her nervousness. She was constantly fiddling with some kind of pendant on a necklace she was wearing, and she didn’t look around at anyone, she just kept a steely gaze ahead.

They were led through to a back room in the Tolbooth and instructed to wait, while Dykes went to find the bailie. Nobody else was allowed into the building meantime.

Reynier crossed over to where there were some chairs by a table and offered Iona a seat, and then sat beside her. Seamus didn’t sit, he just stood nearby. Reynier studied the woman more intently. His first impression had been that she looked feral, and he had suspected she would be somewhat dirty and smelly. She was neither, but clearly a woman who treated herself with respect. Her clothes, although being well-worn and having a distinct homemade appearance, were clean enough, the fall on the cobbles earlier being the primary cause of any visible dirt and scuffmarks.

She had the rarest dark blue eyes, being the colour of the deep dark waters of the ocean, the kind of eyes one would assume to be brown or black until getting close. She was a handsome woman, her proudness exerting a certain attractiveness. Wisdom and kindness shone from those eyes. She had long grey hair, which had once been blonde, and the lines of age, but at the same time she had a certain strength and vitality to her small frame. He would probably place her in her mid-sixties – he never would have guessed she was in fact seventy-eight.

As he studied her, Iona studied him. Quite tall, fair hair, strong jawline. Not good-looking in the way some girls might fancy, but not bad-looking in a rugged kind of way. He was quite slim, but clearly muscular, with a different composition to others of his class. Though he was styled knight, he had the look of someone who had gained his fitness through hard manual labour, and his hands bared the scars and callouses of working hands. He had a small scar under one eye, and looking into his eyes, she noted they had seen a lot of life. She also noted kindness there, and … something more, unfathomable. Though he looked surely no more than thirty, there was a sort of timelessness in those grey eyes, that she had never seen before, something beyond her.

Reynier put out a hand to hold hers, saying, ‘Iona, tell me your story – you speak the Gaelic?—’ however he never finished, because as he had grabbed her hand she let out a sharp gasp in exclamation, and pulled her hand away quickly, as though she had received an electric shock.

Reynier was surprised at her reaction, and Seamus looked down, wondering what she was on about. She looked at him again with renewed scrutiny, and slowly re-grasped his hand, but this time with both of hers.

‘You’re not of this world,’ she whispered.

‘Of course I’m from this world, what are you talking about?’ he replied back, almost in a whisper himself. Who was this woman, and what must Seamus be thinking?

'Oh … you’re from this world,’ Iona continued, nodding in reply and emphasising world, 'but, you’re not from this world,’ she emphasised this. Her eyes, fixed on his, seemed to stare through him and penetrated deep into the back of his mind. It was slightly unsettling for him and he almost felt naked before her, as if there was nothing at all he could hide from her as those eyes searched through him. 'You’ve come through the Tree!’ she said, her eyes full of excitement and curiosity now

Reynier became more uncomfortable, and looked nervously up at Seamus. ‘Seamus, would you mind checking the doors and windows to this place, please – and maybe see if you can ascertain what’s going on outside?’ Reynier asked the Irishman.

Seamus was already thinking along the same lines, not paying much heed to the woman, who appeared to be half senile. It was all bastards like those needed, he thought to himself, some poor old dear starts losing her marbles, and they accuse her of witchcraft.

He walked over to a door in the back corner, it was just a storage closet. The other door was locked, he assumed it led into the main hall or courtroom, and they appeared to be in a kind of ante-chamber. There was a small window, but he didn’t like their chances of squeezing through that if it came to them trying to escape, better their chances of making a stand here and fighting their way out – if it came to it. He went over to the door they had come in, to peak out.

Meanwhile, Reynier was looking at this remarkable woman with renewed interest. Could she actually read minds? ‘What do you know of the Tree?’ he asked her softly.

‘Was it the Tree – at Fortingall, then?’ she answered his question with one of her own.

'Yes, the old yew, at Fortingall,’ Reynier answered.

She nodded, ‘I knew there was something about you … it makes sense now, and it explains your strange dialect.’

He looked at her, it must have been quite a shock for her. Strange enough, he felt totally comfortable talking with this complete stranger about things he hadn’t confided in anyone. Maybe they would both be tried as witches after all. ‘Tell me how you know about the Tree?’ he asked.

‘Oh, it’s a secret that’s been passed down through generations of my people, though there are so few of us left now…’ she looked thoughtful, ‘…the old Yew Tree goes back to the dawn of mankind, thousands of years ago. It is prophesised that when she dies, mankind will die with her.’

'You say “your people’’,’ Reynier questioned her, ‘who are your people? What clan are you – I noticed you speaking Gaelic earlier?’

Iona said something in the Gaelic, before continuing in English. She spoke English very precisely, but with the song-like lilt that was typical of people of the Highlands whose first tongue wasn’t English. 'Oh – I don’t mean my clan,’ she clarified, 'I mean my people, the Druids, the people of Mother Earth. The Pagans, as the Christians call us. We kept the old Tree safe for an age, as the people before us had done. Thankfully, the Christians built a church beside her, and at least hold yew trees sacred enough to protect within their churchyards, even if they don’t realise the true significance of that tree.’

Reynier was fascinated, he didn’t know much about the Druids. He continued to ask her questions, and he answered hers, but they spoke very low. Iona told Reynier how the persecution of her people had almost wiped them out entirely. There were still a few Druids scattered about, living in secret. She would meet up with them two or three times a year for certain rituals, but they had to be so careful.

He stressed to her that she dare not divulge anything they had spoken about that day to anyone, or they’d all be burning on a wood pyre by the day’s end!

Johnny Dykes, the minister, was arguing with one Robert Colville, in an office upstairs above the courtroom. Robert Colville was the Bailie of Culross, who handled the local judicial matters of the town.

‘Do you have any idea who this man is?’ Colville was saying, ‘De Ridder is the man who shot Lindsay, in court – in front of the Queen, with the Queen’s blessing! In fact, she knighted him for it! He claimed Lindsay was plotting against Her Grace, and then Lindsay shot him dead, through the heart – everyone saw it – and this man rose up with not a trace of blood, pulled his own pistol and shot Lindsay in return. But Lindsay certainly didn’t get up again!’

‘T’is all the mair reason tae finish him here n’ noo! He is trapped, aleen, wit’ nae support, exceptin’ the Irishman. He is clearly possessed by the devil, which is why he defendeth the witch sae vehemently!’ the clergyman raged, ‘Master Knox ha’ instructed us to root out a’ evil – witches, devil-worshipers, Papists – and the God-fearing folk o’ this toun expect us to carry out the Lord’s work ardently!’

‘Look – I only have two armed men with me, and yours weren’t much help! Even if the abbot turns up with a score of men, and we kill this de Ridder, what do you think the consequences will be?’ Colville returned, ‘How long do you think it will be before his men come seeking vengeance, and burn this town to the ground? He has Queen Mary’s favour – do you think she won’t put your neck and mine in a noose, when she hears of his death?’

‘Aye, and she consorts wi’ the devil hersel’ n’ all!’ Dykes replied vehemently. ‘I’ve heard the Reverend Knox’s sermons – he calls her Jezebel! It won’t be long, and we will tear her doon along wi’ a’ her Papists, and the Godless and immoral filth that surrounds…’

‘Wheesht!’ Colville cut him off sharply, ‘You fool! Keep it down, who knows who may be listening!’ He was speaking sharply but in a very low tone, and looked around nervously, almost expecting someone might be standing in the corner listening, or perhaps behind the closed door. He continued quietly, ‘Look, we will bide our time, Mary won’t last long on her throne, and then her supporters – Catholics and the rest of them, will crumble away. In the meantime, we need to be careful and play the game. Durie – the old Abbot of Dunfermline, that Papist swine, knew what he was doing when he had Mary transfer the lands of Saline and Killernie over to this de Ridder. There’s been a dispute over those lands for the last twenty years between the Duries and my kin, since the late King James the Fifth had them forfeited from us. George Durie knew he wouldn’t be able to hold them in his family, now that he’s scampered off to hide in France. Rather than risk my cousins retaking their lands, he has instead provided himself an ally, as support for his neighbouring lands of Craigluscar to the east. And now this de Ridder has made friends with Tulliallan and the Bruces of Clackmannan in the west. We don’t have the power to fight a war with this man’s allies.’

Johnny Dykes shook his head, he wasn’t happy, they couldn’t just let them walk free.

However, Colville already had his own plan. ‘We will set a date for a trial next month, and demand a bail bond for their release,’ he said.

Dykes didn’t like it, he’d fully expected to be conducting a witch trial today, he already had men collecting wood and building a pyre up by the Abbey. ‘And wha’ if they dinnay come back for the trial?’ he demanded.

‘Oh, it’s extremely doubtful they will. I mean … we can be prepared in case they do, but they won’t.’ He watched as it dawned on the clergyman, and he turned a deeper shade of red. ‘A rat doesn’t let itself be trapped twice. If it escapes from the trap, it stays away from future traps and marks them with its scent to warn other rats,’ he explained. ‘Look –we keep his money, and if you’re set on burning the woman, just grab her again when he’s not around. She lives in the woods, she’s lived there for years, so you can just go in and find her, or wait until she comes back into town again, he won’t be following her around the rest of her life.’

Colville knew the woman, he had in fact seen her on several occasions, and she was well known in the area. She came into town two or three times a year, swapped rabbit pelts, deer hides, herbs and concoctions for whatever food items or utensils she might need. He considered the old woman harmless. He’d heard stories about how she knew medicines that could fix colic, or women’s stomach problems, and heal wounds that were infected or wouldn’t heal. He’d never heard anyone say anything bad about her, other than the stories that she lived with some wild wolf pack in the woods. Why this man had it in for her was beyond him, but it seemed to be that this new religion, the Reformed Kirk, were very zealous and fervently wanted to rout out any deviations from what they considered the true faith. This new form of firebrand clergy had even managed to convince most of the common folk of their need for piety as well.

Colville didn’t care much for this man’s religious fervour. His cousin, or second cousin to be correct, William Colville the Commendator-Abbot of Culross Abbey, had looked after Robert well and placed him in his current position, so he had to toe the line with the Church, and this new Reformation. But at the end of the day, he was just interested in his own financial interests and well-being. While the minister went on another rant, Colville was wondering how much money he could demand for bail. Obviously the more the better, but if it was more than this de Ridder could pay, he might get nothing. It would need to be an amount they were carrying with them, because he dare not risk him sending away for someone to bring money, and with it reinforcements. Nor could he trust de Ridder to return with money once he let him go free.

As they clearly weren’t in agreement, Dykes exclaimed, ‘We’ll wait and see what the abbot says when he arrives!’

‘Agreed.’ Colville knew his cousin quite well, and knew him to be an astute man and a politician, who would surely agree with his plan.

They heard noises downstairs and people coming in. That would be the abbot now.