“What is happening?” he asked.
Dame Alice answered. “She fainted. Poor thing. Her father hoped to marry her off this year. He hoped Bastion might be agreeable. Perhaps Bastion didn’t like his terms.”
Stefan took a few moments before he could speak again. “Dame Alice? Finish your story. How did Bastion link you to Mary’s cow?”
“One of their cows had wandered into the square again, and I brought it home to them. Bastion said it was proof that I was the witch. I had their cow, and my back was sore, as if the blows had landed on me.”
“But how did Mary get arrested, then?” Stefan’s head hurt. How many lies did Bastion have to keep up with? he wondered.
“Bastion said I tempted him. He blamed me for liberties he took.”
“He wouldn’t be the first.”
Stefan didn’t know who said that, but heard stifled giggles.
“What does he say will happen now?” Stefan asked.
Mary replied. “We are to be tried. If we are found guilty, we will be burned. Pray for us, Father.”
“It doesn’t seem enough,” he said.
Dame Alice answered. “Do it anyway.”
“But I am the one who brought him here. I brought this upon you.”
Mary answered. “Did you not know, Father? Have you not heard the stories of the witch hunters, that in some towns there is not a woman left?”
“I thought you were not like those women. You would not be accused.”
“Have you not heard, Father?” Dame Alice’s voice mocked them both. “Women are stupid, lusty, insatiable, gullible, given to imaginations. We must be driven from the garden.”
“I have taught this?”
“You have taught nothing in its place. That’s what will kill us.”
“What can I do now?”
His cell went white with light, a crack of thunder chasing it. Stefan jumped, his heart pinching in fear. Lightning killed shepherds and servants, anyone who worked lonely days in the orchards and fields. Stefan always told children not to fear it, feeling stupid even as he said it. Lightning was God’s creation, but so was hell, so what comfort was that? Impotent words, always. The lightning showed him his cell, his squalor.
“You have made your choice.” The voice came from inside his mind. “Well done.”
Stefan clapped his hands over his ears, and lightning lit his cell, thunder making the walls shake. He gritted his teeth and pulled his hands down, forcing them to his side.
“Father,” a woman’s voice moaned close by.
“Who called me?” He could not tell if the voice was weak, or he could not hear it well.
“I am here.”
A hand reached through the dirty straw on the cell floor at his feet. Lightning lit his cell, and he saw the woman struggle to rise. She was nothing but grime, her hair hanging in thick cords, looking like wax candles hung upside down to dry in the merchant square. Her face, stained with dirt, with stray pieces of straw clinging to it, had channels down her cheeks where tears had flowed. Dried blood crusted around her ears.
“How long have you been in this cell with me?”
“You were asleep last night when I was brought in.”
“Have mercy,” Stefan gasped. The words loosened his legs, and he went to her, helping her sit up. She flopped over, and he leaned her body into his, lowering himself to sit behind her, pulling her against him. “Do I know you?”
“I sold you hops,” she whispered.
“Elizabeth?”
“Yes.”
“Elizabeth, did Bastion hurt you? Did he put you in here?”
“No.”
She was sixteen, a lovely girl who worked for a farmer’s wife. She had no parents to provide for her, but she had done well for herself, finding a childless couple who needed the help and a young companion.
“Who put you in here, child?”
“He said you knew everything, that you would say this was my fault, that he was bewitched and could not be blamed.”
“Bjorn did this to you?”
He tried to turn her around.
“No. No. I do not want you to look on me.”
The jail door swung open, and he heard happy whistling.
“Excellent beer, Father. I will be enjoying some more tonight.”
Stefan helped Elizabeth sit up against the wall.
“Did you bring any back?” he called out to the jailer.
“Not a drop.”
“There are women in great need here. Bring them some of my beer, I beg you.”
The jailer’s face appeared in the small square window in the door.
“You know the law.”
“Yes, but it’s my beer. Surely I can offer it to these women.”
“If they want something to eat or drink, their families must provide it. I’m not your errand boy, and I don’t break the law.”
“But there is a girl in this very cell who needs a drink, and one more in the next.”
The jailer peered around Stefan.
“She doesn’t need a drink now.”