“When does she do this?” Philemon asked Elfric.
“When she thinks she is alone.”
“And what does she say?”
“The words are difficult to make out. She might be speaking a foreign tongue.”
The crowded reacted to that, too: witches and their familiars were said to have their own language that no one else could understand.
“What does she seem to be saying?”
“To judge by her tone of voice, she is asking for help, pleading for good luck, cursing those who cause her misfortune, that sort of thing.”
Merthin shouted: “This is not evidence!” Everyone looked at him, and he added: “He has admitted he did not understand the words – he’s just making this up!”
There was a rumble of support from the more level-headed citizens, but it was not as loud nor as indignant as Caris would have liked.
Bishop Richard spoke for the first time. “Be quiet,” he said. “Men who disrupt the proceedings will be put outside by the constable. Carry on, please, Brother Philemon, but do not invite witnesses to fabricate evidence when they have admitted they do not know the truth.”
That was at least even-handed, Caris thought. Richard and his family had no love for Godwyn after the quarrel over Margery’s wedding. On the other hand, as a cleric Richard might not want the town to pass out of the priory’s control. Perhaps he would at least be neutral in this. Her hopes rose a little.
Philemon said to Elfric: “Do you think the familiars she speaks to help her in any way?”
“Most certainly,” Elfric replied. “Caris’s friends, those she favours, are lucky. Merthin has become a successful builder although he never even completed his apprenticeship as a carpenter. Mark Webber was a poor man, but now he is rich. Caris’s friend Gwenda is married to Wulfric, even though Wulfric was betrothed to someone else. How are these things achieved, if not with unnatural help?”
“Thank you.”
Elfric sat down.
As Philemon summarized his evidence, Caris fought down a rising feeling of terror. She tried to put out of her mind the vision of Crazy Nell being flogged behind a cart. She struggled to concentrate on what she should say to defend herself. She could ridicule every statement made about her, but that might not be enough. She needed to explain why people had lied about her, and show what their motives were.
When Philemon was finished, Godwyn asked her if she had anything to say. In a loud voice that sounded more confident than she felt, she replied: “Of course I do.” She made her way to the front of the crowd: she would not let her accusers monopolize the position of authority. She took her time, making them all wait for her. She walked up to the throne and looked Richard in the eye. “My lord bishop, I say this on my oath as I hope to be saved -” she turned to the crowd and added – “which I notice Philemon did not say.”
Godwyn interrupted: “As a monk, he does not need to swear.”
Caris raised her voice. “And a good thing for him, otherwise he would burn in hell for the lies he has told today!”
Score a point to me, she thought, and her hopes rose another notch.
She spoke to the crowd. Although the decision would be made by the bishop, he would be heavily influenced by the reaction of the townspeople. He was not a man of high principle.
“Mattie Wise healed many people in this town,” she began. “On this day two years ago, when the old bridge collapsed, she was one of the foremost in tending to the injured, working alongside Mother Cecilia and the nuns. Looking around the church today I see many people who benefited from her care at that terrible time. Did anyone hear her invoke the devil on that day? If so, let him speak now.”
She paused to let the silence impress itself on her audience.
She pointed at Madge Webber. “Mattie gave you a potion that brought down your child’s fever. What did she say to you?”
Madge looked scared. No one was comfortable being called as a witness in the defence of a witch. But Madge owed a lot to Caris. She straightened her shoulders, looked defiant, and said: “Mattie said to me: ‘Pray to God, for only He can heal.’ ”
Caris pointed at the constable. “John, she eased your pain while Matthew Barber set your broken bones. What did she say to you?”
John was used to being on the prosecuting side, and he, too, looked uneasy, but he told the truth in a strong voice. “She said: ‘Pray to God, for only He can heal.’ ”
Caris turned to the crowd. “Everyone knows that Mattie was no witch. In that case, says Brother Philemon, why did she flee? Easy question. She was afraid that lies would be told about her – as they have been told about me. Which of you women, if falsely accused of heresy, would feel confident about proving your innocence to a court of priests and monks?” She looked around, letting her eyes rest on the prominent women of the town: Lib Wheeler, Sarah Taverner, Susanna Chepstow.
“Why did I mix dyes at night?” she resumed. “Because the days were short! Like many of you, my father failed to sell all his fleeces last year, and I wanted to turn the raw wool into something I could market. It was very difficult to discover the formula, but I did it, by hard work, over many hours, day and night – but without the help of Satan.” She paused for breath.
When she began again, she used a different tone of voice, more playful. “I am accused of bewitching Merthin. I have to admit that the case against me is strong. Look at Sister Elizabeth. Stand up, please, sister.”
Reluctantly, Elizabeth stood.
“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Caris said. “She is also clever. And she is the daughter of a bishop. Oh, forgive me, my lord bishop, I meant no disrespect.”
The crowd chuckled at that cheeky stab. Godwyn looked outraged, but Bishop Richard smothered a smile.
“Sister Elizabeth cannot see why any man would prefer me to her. Nor can I. Unaccountably, Merthin loves me, plain as I am. I cannot explain it.” There was more giggling. “I’m sorry Elizabeth is so angry. If we lived in Old Testament times, Merthin could have two wives and everyone would be happy.” They laughed loudly at that. She waited for the sound to subside, then said gravely: “What I am most sorry about is that the commonplace jealousy of a disappointed woman should become the pretext, in the untrustworthy mouth of a novice monk, for a charge as serious as that of heresy.”
Philemon stood up to protest the charge of untrustworthiness, but Bishop Richard flapped a hand at him, saying: “Let her speak, let her speak.”
Caris decided she had made her point about Elizabeth, and moved on. “I confess that I sometimes use vulgar words when I am alone – especially if I stub my toe. But you may ask why my own brother-in-law would testify against me and tell you that my mutterings were invocations to evil spirits. I’m afraid I can answer that.” She paused, then spoke solemnly. “My father is ill. If he dies, his fortune will be divided between me and my sister. But, if I die first, my sister will get it all. And my sister is Elfric’s wife.”
She paused again, looking quizzically at the crowd. “Are you shocked?” she said. “So am I. But men kill for less money than that.”
She moved away, as if she had finished, and Philemon got up from his bench. Caris turned around and addressed him in Latin. “Caput tuum inano est.”
The monks laughed loudly, and Philemon flushed.
Caris turned to Elfric. “You didn’t understand that, did you, Elfric?”
“No,” he said sulkily.
“Which is why you might have thought I was using some sinister witchcraft tongue.” She turned back to Philemon. “Brother, you know what language I was using, don’t you?”
“Latin,” Philemon replied.