The Gallows Curse

8th Day after the New Moon,

June 1211



Elder - Mortals love this tree for they believe it cures many ailments from the bite of a mad dog to the toothache, and from sore eyes to melancholy. Its shoots make a tasty herb for the pot; the young branches make pipes for merry music; its buds are pickled for capers; its flowers give flavour to the pies and its berries make a fine wine.

But mortals beware if you try to take her wood without asking leave of the Elder Mother whose spirit dwells in the tree. For if you do any chair or table made from the wood will surely crack and break. This you should say to the elder tree, Ould girl, gi' me of thy wood, and I will gi' thee some of mine, when I grow into a tree.

But know this: a witch may often assume the form of an elder tree. If there is witchery in the village, then upon Midsummer's Day you must hold a feast and cut a branch from the elder tree. If blood runs from the tree when it is cut, then it is a witch tree, and if then you spy a woman with a cut on her limbs, you will know her for the witch.

A child must never be laid in the elderwood cradle for faeries will pinch them black and blue. An elderwood log must not be turned on the fire or the Devil will be drawn into the house. The wood is never used for building ships for a witch may ride upon an elder bough as if it was a horse and would ride a ship into a storm that would crack it in two. But planted near a grave the elder is said to protect the body from those who would seek to dig it up for harm.

For an elder tree may bring forth the fruit of healing and death on the same bough, but few mortals can tell the fruits apart.

The Mandrake's Herbal





The Trial



'Bring her closer.' Lord Osborn gestured impatiently with his gloved fingers.

He reached to caress the breast of a peregrine falcon that perched on his left arm. The bird turned its yellow-ringed eyes towards Elena, glaring at her as she was dragged towards the dais at the far end of the Great Hall. She shivered, staring wildly around her like a cornered doe in the hunt.

It seemed nearly every woman in Gastmere had crowded into the hall and now they stood pressed together, murmuring darkly and casting black looks at Elena. How they had all gathered so quickly was a mystery, but as is often said, 'a trouble shared is . . . all around the village in an hour'.

Osborn's dining table had been removed and he sat in the centre of the dais in a large, ornately carved chair. A clerk sat on a stool beside him, a slanted writing table pulled, up in front of him. A shaft of bright afternoon sunshine slanted down across the polished wood of the dais; tiny fragments of dust swirled and danced in it. At any other time, Elena would have thought how beautiful it was. Now she could see nothing but the cold, sea-grey eyes of the man who glared down at her.

'This had better be important enough to keep me from hunting or backs will smart,' Osborn said sourly.

Turning back to the falcon, he slipped a leather hood over its head and gestured for a servant to remove the bird.

'Don't feed her, I want her keen for the hunt. And keep my horse saddled, we'll ride out as soon as this business is done. So?' he demanded, turning to Raffaele without drawing breath. 'You are incapable of dealing with a village squabble, are you?'

Raffaele stepped forward, his face flushed with anger. 'The girl stands accused of murdering her own infant. As you are her lord —'

'Murder? Interesting. Who brings such a charge?'

'The girl's mother-in-law, Joan. She came to me at first light and said that Elena had killed her grandson.'

'Is this woman present?' Osborn stared at the crowd of women at the far end of the hall, trying to guess which might be the mother-in-law.

Raffaele beckoned and Joan came hurrying up to the dais, throwing a look of loathing at Elena as she passed.

'I came home from the fields last night, my lord . . .' She faltered, realizing she had neglected to curtsy in her haste to blurt out her story. She made an awkward half-curtsy, half- bow which nearly pitched her head-first on to the dais.

'Are you drunk?' Osborn demanded. 'Then do stop jiggling about, woman. You came home from the fields and what? You found your grandchild dead?'

Joan shook her head vehemently, then stopped abruptly as if she feared this might be counted as jiggling.

'She said my grandchild was asleep in the cradle. I didn't look for I was afeared of waking him. Let sleeping babes lie, my mother always said. And I was that worn out, what with the hay harvest and getting up a dozen times a night to see to the bairn. It's me that's had the care of him; that wicked girl didn't even want to suckle him. She would've left the poor bairn to starve to death if I hadn't been there. I kept telling her —'

Osborn drummed his fingers impatiently. 'So you're saying the baby died of neglect and hunger?'

'No, my lord, no, she murdered him in cold blood. Dashed his brains out, poor little mite. She'd been threatening to do it since afore the baby was born. Said she dreamed of doing it. Now she's gone and done it, killed my poor innocent little grandson. She's a wicked evil murderer, that's what she is. I warned my son about her. I told him she was no good.' Joan sobbed noisily.

For a moment or two Osborn stared at her, a look of disgust on his face as she continued to moan and wail. Several women in the crowd began to weep too, as if their own babes had been snatched from them.

Finally Osborn gestured to Raffaele. 'Fetch the body, Master Raffaele. I've seen enough men, and children too, killed in war to know if she speaks the truth.'

'But there is no body, m'lord,' Raffaele said. 'Joan apparently found the cradle empty. She claims Elena confessed to having murdered her baby, as she'd threatened to do, but we've only Joan's word for that. We've searched the cottage and the toft. There's no sign of a body or of blood come to that.'

'So we only have the word of this villein that any crime has been committed,' Osborn said, pressing his fingers together. 'She wouldn't be the first mother-in-law to quarrel with her son's wife.' He leaned forward, frowning hard at Joan. 'But if you've been wasting my time, woman, making malicious accusations out of spite, I'll make you wish you'd never drawn breath. I'll have you flogged to the bone and -'

Terrified, Joan fell to her knees. 'No, no, my lord. It's the truth, I swear it on the Blessed Virgin's robe. My . . . my son, he'll tell you. He heard her threaten the bairn many times afore he was even born, and he heard her confess to the murder last night.' She swivelled on her knees, pointing at Elena, 'And if she hasn't done away with my grandson, where is he? Tell her to bring him here and prove herself innocent.'

Osborn nodded. 'She may be a garrulous halfwit, but she has a point.' He stared at Elena. 'So where is your baby? Did you kill him, like this woman says?'

Elena's throat was so swollen from pleading and crying half the night that she wasn't sure she could speak.

'I. . . didn't kill him, I swear,' she whispered.

'Speak up, girl,' Osborn barked. 'If you are telling the truth, let's hear it.'

Elena longed for just a sip to drink, but she dared not ask for it. She tried to speak up, but she couldn't seem to make her voice loud enough. Osborn leaned forward impatiently, straining to hear her.

'I was afraid that I would kill my baby ... I kept having these dreams about harming him, Joan's right about that, but I didn't hurt him. I didn't. I tried to protect him, to keep him safe.'

'Then I will ask you again, girl, where is the child? It's a simple enough question. Any fool could understand it, surely. WHERE IS YOUR BABY?' he said with exaggerated clarity, as if he thought she was deaf or stupid or both. 'Just tell us where to find him, then all this will be over and you can return to your sheep or your spinning or whatever it is you do.'

Elena tried to moisten her dry lips with her tongue. 'My lord, I didn't harm him, but I was so afraid I would that I took him to the cunning woman's house near the forest, to Gytha and her mother. Gytha promised to find a wet nurse in another village to take care of him until he is older, then she will bring him back to us when the danger of the dream is past.'

Fierce muttering broke out behind her as the crowd of villagers tore apart this new morsel.

Osborn held his hand up for silence. 'Which village? Where was she to take the child?'

'I don't know,' Elena wailed. 'She wouldn't tell me in case I was driven to go there to find him and the dream should in that way come true. She said she'd known such things to happen and the only way to prevent it was if I didn't know where to look.'

The villagers excitedly debated the truth of this amongst themselves, but whispering this time, fearing Osborn's anger.

Osborn glared at Raffaele. 'Am I the only one who has any wits left in this manor? Why didn't you go to this woman Gill or whatever her blasted name is, and ask her to tell you where the child is to be found? It seems plain enough to me that either she can produce the infant, in which case the girl is innocent, or she cannot, in which case we may safely assume the baby is dead. It should be a simple matter to prove, even for you.'

The effort of keeping his tone civil showed plainly in Raffaele's face. 'I did go to the cunning woman immediately I heard Elena's story. But Gytha and her mother have gone and taken all their possessions with them, what little they had, anyway.'

'When did they depart?'

'They lived out near the forest, well beyond the last crofts in the village, and no one recalls seeing them for a week, but that signifies nothing for the villagers only go to them when they have need. Gytha could have left yesterday or even this morning before we arrived.'

Several of the villagers nodded in agreement.

Elena broke in. 'I gave my bairn to them yesterday morning. So they must have gone to take him to the wet nurse. When they come back they'll tell you, I know they will.'

Joan, who had scrambled to her feet, stepped closer to the dais, her fear replaced with a look of triumph now that she could see things were swinging her way.

'That's certain proof she's lying, my lord. Gytha's mother was blind and couldn't even stir from her bed, hasn't walked for years. What cause would Gytha have to drag the old woman on such a journey if she was only going to deliver the child and then return to the village? And why would she take all her pots and stores? No, they've done a flit, gone for good, left a week ago, which that witch Elena knows right well. She's an unnatural mother. There's plenty of women in Gastmere can swear that we had to hold her down and force her to suckle her own babe when he was born. Even Elena's own mother will tell you that. What kind of a mother doesn't want to nurse her own child? What manner of woman begs the faeries to take her child?'

Several women in the crowd crossed themselves and hissed their hatred of such wickedness. Elena's mother was sobbing loudly, in the arms of one of her neighbours, telling any who would listen that she couldn't understand what had come over her daughter and that she had tried her best to raise her to be a good girl. Neighbours sadly shook their heads; the shame of this would surely send the poor woman to an early grave.

Joan, spurred on by the outrage of the crowd, bellowed her words out as if she was a priest in the pulpit. 'Elena murdered my precious little grandson just to spite me, and she pretended the bairn was with Gytha, 'cause she knew right well that Gytha and her mother had already gone from the village days ago, so they wouldn't be here to gainsay her.'

Raffaele opened his mouth as if to protest, but nothing came out and he stared down at the floor, his face grim with misery.

Osborn leaned back in his chair and addressed the assembled company. 'Then, unless anyone else has proof to the contrary, there can be no doubt the girl is guilty.'

Elena was trembling violently. She stared wildly around the hall, desperately searching for someone who would say something to defend her, but all she received in return were cold stares from faces grim with shock and revulsion.

'Mam,' she pleaded, 'tell them I wouldn't do such a thing. Tell them I'd never hurt my own bairn.'

But Cecily only sobbed harder, turning her face away from her daughter into the comforting arms of her friends.

Elena took a few steps towards the crowd, who as one drew back from her as if they feared she was going to attack them.

'I didn't hurt him. You have to believe me. I gave him away to keep him safe. Athan, tell them, please! You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt our son. You told Joan I couldn't have done it. Tell them, Athan, tell them!'

Even beneath his tan, Elena could see the blood draining from Athan's face.

Osborn jerked his head in Athan's direction. You, boy, are you the baby's father?'

Athan twitched rather than nodded, his face stricken with anguish, but Osborn took the movement for assent.

'Have you anything to say in this girl's defence? Did you give her permission to take your son to this cunning woman?'

Athan stared from his mother to Elena, his mouth working convulsively. Silent tears began running down his cheeks. He made a desperate gesture, holding out his arms as if he was reaching for Elena.

'I'm sorry, so sorry,' he whispered. 'I love you . . . even if. . . I'll never stop loving you.'

Then he bolted for the door, shoving through the servants clustered around it, and fled out into the sunlight.

Osborn raised his eyebrows. 'I think we can take that as a no. So we'd better proceed to sentence.'

'But surely,' Raffaele protested, 'Elena should have the chance to prove her innocence?'

'How exactly do you propose she does that, Master Raffaele? She cannot produce the living child, nor the woman to whom she says she entrusted him.'

'We could wait and question Gytha when she returns.'

Elena felt a surge of hope leap up in her, and she fixed her eyes on Osborn's face, praying that he would agree.

Osborn snorted. 'You should pay more attention to your own eloquent testimony, Master Raffaele. Was it not you who told us that this cunning woman had taken her infirm mother and all her possessions with her? Plainly she has no intention of returning to Gastmere, which leaves us with the problem of what do with the girl. If this land were not under the Pope's Interdict, then she could be tried by the ordeal of water or fire and I would not have had to waste a good day's hunting over this matter. But since, thanks to the Pope, there is not a priest left to administer the oath, I must be the judge of her innocence or guilt. By order of our beloved sovereign King John, I am commanded to keep the king's peace in these parts and see that those who break it are justly punished. The girl will hang at first light tomorrow.'

He delivered the last sentence in such a matter of fact tone, as if he was giving orders for his horse to be groomed, that Elena couldn't grasp what he had said.

'Wait!' A voice rang out from the minstrels' gallery at the far end of the hall. Everyone turned and stared upwards. Lady Anne was gripping the gallery rail.

'It is the Church's teaching, is it not, that an infant who dies before baptism is not counted a human creature for he has no soul? Therefore a woman who does away with her newborn child before baptism is not guilty of murder.'

Osborn smiled the smile of a torturer who revels in his work.

'How gracious of you to take an interest, Lady Anne. But as I was just explaining to my steward here, who like you seems to be woefully ignorant of such matters, we are suffering under an Interdict. Who knows how long it will be before children may be baptized again? Why, these babes may be men themselves by then, and are we to say that if they are then murdered their killers should go unpunished?

'And please, mistress, do not waste my time in pleading that the girl was acting in a fit of melancholy and did not know what she did. On her own admission she had been dreaming about committing this crime for months, even torturing her poor mother-in-law by openly threatening it. But even if that was not the case, I am not punishing her for murder alone.'

Osborn turned a faintly amused glance on Raffaele, as if he was deriving a great deal of pleasure from Lady Anne's challenge. 'I take it neither this girl nor her husband were born freemen. They both are villeins?'

Raffe nodded dejectedly.

'Then the dead child was a villein also and as such belonged to the manor. This girl has not only deliberately murdered her own baby, but in doing so has destroyed manor property, my property, mistress. The death of a midden brat does not concern me overmuch, but the loss of a future workman does, not to mention the generations of villeins he might have fathered. By rights I should hang her twice, once for murder and again for theft. But I am inclined to show mercy. I will merely hang her once. That will suffice. Take the girl away and lock her up till morning.'

Someone was screaming. Elena didn't know if it was herself or her mother who was shrieking, for her legs buckled under her and she crumpled senseless to the ground.





9th Day after the New Moon,

June 1211



Bluebells — Some call them Deadmen's bells, for a mortal who hears a bluebell ring is listening to his own death knell.

A bluebell wood is the most enchanted place on earth and mortals should never venture there alone for it is full of faerie spells. A child who picks bluebells alone will vanish, never to be seen again. An adult will be pixie-led and wander round and round in circles, unable to escape the wood, until he dies of exhaustion, unless someone should find him and lead him safely home.

There is a game that mortal children play in innocence, laughing as they weave through each other. In and out the dusty bluebells. . . they sing ... I am your master. They should not play such dangerous games so lightly or wantonly, for the master they name is none other than the Faerie King himself who will lead them on a merry dance from which there is no return to this life.

The Mandrake's Herbal