Heinrich and Richard jerked to attention and peered from their cover as Emma was pulled out from the church doorway. Her hands were bound and little Ingelbert clung to her side in terror. The tattered woollen cloak Emma wore seemed little defense against the stiff wind, yet she walked upright and proud into the center of the circle.
“Woman, this is no trial. There is none with proof to accuse but we needs ask you things.” Reeve Lenard sounded reasonable in his tone, though Heinrich did not trust any man who would beat a defenseless dog. “It has been said that your spirit flies by night to scrump. Swear by the Virgin it is not so.”
Frau Emma looked about the village men and sighed. A breeze pulled her scarf from her head and wisps of brown hair fell into her eyes. She faced the reeve submissively but answered with a hint of sarcasm. “Good Reeve. Neither me nor my ghost has stolen anything.”
“Do you so swear?”
“My answer is enough.”
“But do you swear it?”
“My ‘aye’ is ‘aye.’”
The reeve began to pace. “Are you a witch?”
“No.”
“Are you heathen?”
“No.”
“You seem … odd. And your freak child bears the mark of evil.”
Emma flushed and her temples pulsed. “With respect, Reeve Lenard, are you a Christian man?”
Lenard was dumfounded. “What? Of course I am a Christian man!” He turned to Father Johannes who nodded, approvingly. His confidence assured, he pressed on. “From whence come you?”
“Quedlinburg.”
“And…”
“And what?”
“And why are you in Weyer?”
“It has a nice stream.”
The villagers chuckled. Lenard was now impatient. “And tell us of the shadows on All-Souls Eve!”
The men grew suddenly quiet and leaned forward. All had heard rumors of strange things around the woman’s hut on that dreaded night, but none had dared venture near. None, that is, save Arnold. The woman was visibly startled by the question. She drew a deep breath and smiled wryly. “I bar m’door well at night. If I be on the inside, I dare say I’d have no idea what those without do see.”
She had barely finished when the men began to grumble. “Nay, ‘tis no answer!” groused one. Another rose with a pointing finger. “You’d be lyin’! You’ve visits from the Devil on the deads’ day … and y’ve this monster as our proof!”
The men approved as the accuser went on. “Y’needs confess to us now, strumpet. Tell us of your harlotry and blasphemes! You’re in league with the witch, as well! Since y’ve come we’ve naught but bad ways and plagues, swords and famine. Methinks y’needs be put out, else flogged for what heresies must go on behind your walls!”
Midst the uproar of the men, poor Emma stood still and silent. Finally, a chunk of muddy snow was hurled at the woman and struck her on the face. The men laughed. Brave Emma held her son under her bound arms as the melting ice slid slowly down her face. The council grew quiet until another ball of snow was thrown, then another. The woman bent over her son and sheltered him as best she could from the ensuing storm of ice and mud until a shrill voice was heard above the din. It was Heinrich.
The boy charged from his cover, his brave cousin at his side. They threw rocks, not snow, into the council, earning a roar of disapproval. They kicked and clawed their way to Emma’s side and stood by her, screaming and cursing at the men now laughing all about them. Father Johannes tripped his way through the jeering crowd and cracked the two atop their heads. He then turned and whispered to Lenard. “You’ve proof of naught. Methinks that if she’s guilty she’s been frightened to stop, if not, ‘tis not pleasing to heaven to do more.”
Reeve Lenard raised his hands and declared the council ended.
The mid-August feast of the Assumption of the Virgin was glorious. Baldric had been granted a bonus by the bailiff, and Arnold, in turn, was granted a shilling extra for his exceptional care of the forests around Weyer. The fields were yielding more grain than could be remembered in recent years and the villagers rejoiced in plenty. For Baldric’s unfortunate wife, Hedda, however, the feast was not glorious at all. She had lain on her bed for nearly a month, sickened with milk-leg and scabs. Baldric refused her any remedy and commanded her to rely solely on her faith.
Early in the morning of the feast day Heinrich slipped the suffering Hedda an herbal infusion. Despite the lifting of the prior ban, the lad had hesitated, less out of fear for Baldric than for fear of God’s judgment. When he had seen the poor woman’s pleading eyes, however, he sighed and scurried to do the deed, hoping all the while that God would forgive him of his sin and that Baldric would never know.