‘It came about like this. The bailiff had a pretty young maidservant named Gellie Duncan, who claimed some magical skill at the curing of illnesses and the healing of wounds. The bailiff suspected her of witchcraft to have such powers. With the help of others, he questioned the wretched girl with the help of a thumbscrew and other means, but she confessed to nothing.
‘But then a mark was spotted upon her throat, the mark of Satan. Again she was tortured, and this time she confessed that she was, indeed, a bride of the devil and that all her cures were done by witchcraft. Once her mouth was open, there was no stopping her. The names of all the rest of her coven came tripping from her tongue — men and women, goodwives of Edinburgh, even a schoolmaster. In all, she accused thirty or more people of being witches with her.
‘Among them was a midwife named Agnes Sampson, who at first denied any dealings with the devil. But when she was tortured and a mark of Satan found upon her, she confessed to all that pretty maid Gellie had confessed. And she told yet more of their doings, the most notorious being a meeting of two hundred witches in the church of North Berwick on the eve of All Hallows.’ Sarjent wiped his sleeve across his ale-soaked beard. ‘Are you following me, Mr Cooper?’
Boltfoot growled sullenly.
‘It was said this church meeting was organised by the schoolmaster, Dr John Fian, a man with powers, who was as nimble as the devil. He used this skill for the collecting of cats for Satan, to help him raise storms. His purpose in bringing all the black-clad coven to this church was to meet the devil himself. Well, old Lucifer did turn up, baring his fangs and scaring them with his claws, no doubt. And he told them he had a little mission for them: he wanted them to go to sea and sink King James’s ship, for he did not like his Christian ways.’
None of this made sense to Boltfoot. He had other matters on his mind. Yet he found himself curiously beguiled by the tale.
‘Without ado, the witches set to sea in sieves, carrying with them a cat that had been drawn nine times across a fire, one of the beasts captured by the catlike Dr Fian.
‘When they saw what they believed to be the King’s ship, the devil ordered Dr Fian to hurl the cat into the sea — a satanic version of baptism, I am told by those who know about these things — which he did. This caused the seas to rage and the wind to howl up into a tempest that nearly sank the King’s ship and did sink another. The devil’s fleet then returned to North Berwick in their sieves. Upon reaching shore, the happy witches marched to the church. Gellie Duncan was at the front playing the Jew’s harp.
‘The church door was locked, so Dr Fian blew through the keyhole and it burst open. The church was in darkness, so the cunning schoolmaster blew on the dead candles and they came alight. The devil was already there, waiting for them, standing in the pulpit with his long tail hanging over the edge. He made all the witches kiss his arse, then out they trooped into the churchyard and feasted on dead bodies from the graves. The evening ended with another dance, Gellie Duncan on her Jew’s harp once more, playing a little satanic ballad called “Kimmer, go you before, kimmer go you”.’ Sarjent smiled evenly at Boltfoot. ‘I trust I am not making you queasy, Mr Cooper?’
‘I have not heard such gibberish in all my life.’
‘Nor I, Mr Cooper, nor I. But there’s many as did believe it, including the King of Scotland himself. All this was told at the trial of the witches, an event attended by King James in person, for he has a keen interest in witchcraft. He was also present at much of the torture of the unfortunate souls who were accused, and even had Agnes Sampson brought to him at the palace of Holyrood House so that he might examine her in person. While there, she implicated Lord Francis Hepburn, saying he was the leader of the witches and had been the chief conspirator.
‘This earl, you may know, Mr Cooper, is the cousin of the King and would inherit his crown if he died without leaving children of his own. The King was loath to believe all this wild talk by Agnes, but then she asked him to draw near and whispered in his ear something that he had said to his bride on their wedding night, and which only they could know. James was so struck by this that he had the earl arrested. It didn’t help poor foolish Agnes Sampson, though. She, Gellie Duncan, Dr Fian and many others were all burned to death on Castle Hill in Edinburgh, on the King’s orders, for he proclaimed that witchcraft was a crime so abominable that it was God’s law they should be so destroyed.
‘As for the earl, he escaped and is still at large. But the thing is, you see, Mr Cooper, this all caused much resentment among those who loved the ones burned as witches. For each one burned at the stake, another ten wished harm upon their king. That was bad news for James, but a fine opportunity for a muster-master to raise an army of insurrection. Sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces, mothers and fathers — all came flocking to our cause when they heard we had work to be done against this Scottish king and his English cousin. Do you understand a little now?’
Boltfoot made the occasional noise to make Sarjent think he was interested. All his thoughts were on finding a way to escape this place. He was feeling stronger, but Sarjent was a seasoned fighting man and would not let down his guard. He leant against the stone, hands never far from his sword, dagger and pistol, and talked incessantly by the tallow light.
‘But what are we to do with you, Mr Cooper?’ he said at last, as though he had finally come to the moment of truth. He shook his head. ‘I had thought our dark-clad friends would so weaken you that when I rescued you, there would be a little gratitude and that I would discover exactly what your master has been told. But I now know you to be made of sterner stuff, that you will reveal nothing to me even to the point of death.’ His voice turned harsh. ‘There is no more to be learnt from you…’
Suddenly there was a noise outside. The three Scots stood there, three dark shadows against the dark sky. At that moment, a cloud slipped past and the moon cast a weak glimmer so that he could see their blank, cold faces and the dust and dirt stains on their black gowns. Boltfoot looked at his caliver in vain, for it was not loaded. And then he noticed another man behind them. Quincesmith. Jeremiah Quincesmith, the master of Rotherhithe Powdermill, where he had first encountered Sarjent. It could mean but one thing: they were confederates, misappropriating gunpowder together for God knew what purpose. He found himself thinking of Mr Knagg of Three Mills, hunted by pursuivants on Sarjent’s orders. Please God he had not been taken. He gritted his teeth; there was nothing to be done about that now.
Sarjent grinned broadly. ‘Why, Mr Cooper, talk of the devil. It appears our friends have come back for you. And my good friend Mr Quincesmith has arrived, too. They have all had a long day’s toil. And I do believe they wish to hurl you into the sea like a cat and bring forth another tempest…’
Chapter 33
Somewhere in the maze of houses that made up the poorest part of London, east of the city, Shakespeare stopped. His quarry was outside a house, looking up at its dark windows. Tentatively, the man knocked at the closed door, but there was no reply. He lifted the latch and the door opened. The man went in.
It had taken half an hour to reach this point. Shakespeare had followed the man through the dark streets with practised stealth. Now, he moved a little closer so that he could try to see inside the building into which the man had disappeared. There was no light except from a segment of moon, dipping in and out of the clouds. He heard his quarry calling softly inside the building, seeking someone. Still there was no reply. He heard his footsteps on creaking boards, moving deeper into the house. Shakespeare stepped through the doorway after him and found himself in a small empty hall. He could smell fresh wood, as though a carpenter had been at work. He waited in the gloom by the front door, unseen.