“Do you think we’ll die fast or slow?” someone asked.
“Do not give up hope,” Mia said. “We don’t know what might happen.” Mia had courage to say this. She believed in miracles now, and in strange and wonderful timing.
“I know what will happen, They will torture you.” The voice sounded like Mary, the girl from the village with the dry cow. “They’ll tell you that the Devil puts a spell on his witches so they can’t reveal his secrets. He erases their memory, makes them go mute. That’s when Bastion takes a hot poker to your body, or tears out your fingernails, or pulls your shoulders out of their sockets. Innocence is the worst thing you can claim when you go before them. It’s a trap.”
Mia sat back on her bench next to Alma, covering Alma’s ears.
She heard the jailer thanking someone. A hooded figure appeared at her jail window in profile. She could see nothing of the face, just shadows where the robe fell forward. Alma began to squirm in her arms, and she pressed her face into Mia’s stomach.
Mia’s jail door opened, its hinges grinding, giving Mia a cold shudder. Bastion pushed the robe off his face and came to sit next to her.
He put one hand on her neck and pulled her ear to his mouth.
“When you stand before me, say nothing, and I will save you,” he whispered.
Mia tried to say something, but he pressed a hand against her mouth.
“Do not try to thank me. It would give us away.”
She shook her head. He eased the pressure against her mouth, and she whispered. “Do you have any food? For Alma?”
Bastion released her, pushing back and standing as if he had never seen the child before, a shocked look on his face. He began patting the bag on his belt, bringing up a nibbled rind from a bit of cured pork. Alma turned her back to him, refusing it.
Mia took the rind and forced it to Alma’s lips. “You will eat this, Alma.”
The jailer appeared in the square window, tapping his keys on the door. Bastion threw the hood back over his face.
Mia used her sternest voice. “I said to eat this, Alma. Keep your strength. We do not know what will come. To starve is to die.”
“I know what will come,” Bastion whispered before he stood to leave. “Remain silent. I will save you.”
If deception had damned them, just as it had Eve, Stefan knew the one true cure. He led Bjorn to kneel at the altar, telling him it would be wise to pray for wisdom and strength. If Bjorn prayed for anything other than his own desires, Stefan could not guess. But it gave him time to slip to the cupboard where the Bible was kept. He had no time for anyone to teach or interpret.
“I cannot wait for help to arrive, Lord,” he whispered, bringing the book out and laying it across the top of the cupboard. A wind blew through the hall, flipping the pages of the Bible, and Stefan turned, expecting to see the mother cat, come round to beg for food. The door leading outside was still closed. Stefan turned, slower this time, back to the Bible. It was open to the book of John. Jesus was speaking:
I am come that they might have life and have it more abundantly. I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep. A hired servant sees the wolfe coming and leaveth the sheep. The wolfe catches them. The hired servant runs because he is a hired servant and careth not for the sheep.
Stefan served as a priest, but he had chosen; he was no hired servant. He would be a shepherd. He would not leave his sheep, not while a wolf was here. Whatever happened, Stefan would never leave them.
Bjorn was done praying. He called for Stefan. Stefan left the book open and out. He would not hide it again.
Bastion’s face registered shock when he saw Stefan and Bjorn sitting on the church steps in the morning sun. Stefan held his breath, waiting to see what Bjorn would do.
“Are you joining us, Stefan?” Bastion asked, watching Bjorn. “Did Bjorn finally win you over?”
Stefan could not stay close to the women, but he could stay close to Bastion, which might prove of greater benefit to them. “Yes. I am looking forward to today. That may sound strange. But it was a strange night.”
People began approaching from the square, most walking straight to Bjorn or Bastion with beaming faces.
“Not a one of my hens’ eggs have broken since Dame Alice’s arrest,” one said.
“My stomach hasn’t gone sour in days. Praise be to God for your good work here, Bjorn.”
Stefan watched the two men receive the praise, his own stomach taking on an infirmity. More people came into the square, craning their necks to get a view of the condemned women waiting for their trial. Ava sat in her cage, watching the other women with a look of great envy.
Bastion took Stefan by the elbow, surprising him. “So there will be no trouble out of you today?”