The Witch Hunter's Tale(93)

“Tell me what happened.”

I told the jury the story of George’s death. I omitted his awkward marriage proposal, of course, but when I told how Will, Martha, and I had found his body, my lies began in earnest.

“When we discovered him, he had been beaten most terribly,” I said. “We carried him to my home and comforted him as best we could. It was then that he told us what happened. He said that he had been in his home when Joseph Hodgson came to his door and asked to speak to him outside. George thought it strange given the late hour and the cold, but never suspected Joseph might kill him.

“Once they were outside, Joseph struck him. George fled, but he could not escape. We heard his cries, but by the time we arrived, Joseph was gone and George could not be saved. He lived for an hour after we returned to my house. When he first told me who had done this, I refused to accept it. What woman wants to believe her beloved nephew is a murderer? But he swore on his soul that it was the truth.”

“So you believed him?”

“No dying man would imperil his soul by telling such a lie. The danger is too great and the profit too small.”

“Was there anything else that convinced you of Mr. Hodgson’s guilt?” The prosecutor was playing his part admirably. The only shame was that he was aiding perjury.

“Aye. When Joseph and the other Aldermen came to my house to view the body, a strange and wonderful thing happened. It could only be a sign from the Lord.” I paused for a moment, knowing that I held the jury in my hand. “Mr. Breary had been dead for some hours, and his wounds had long stopped bleeding. But as soon as Joseph entered the room, his wounds began to bleed afresh, as if he’d only suffered them moments before.”

The jurymen nodded to themselves. There could be no surer mark of Joseph’s guilt.

After I’d finished, the prosecutor summoned Martha, who echoed my story, adding a few details to secure Joseph’s guilt and execution. Joseph protested as the bailiffs dragged him from the room, but none paid him any mind.

Martha and I waited while the jury considered the case.

They found Joseph guilty both of witchcraft and of George Breary’s murder. He was, of course, sentenced to be hanged.

Tears froze on my cheeks as Martha and I walked home.





Chapter 25

By the time we got home my tears had stopped, but Martha and I had not yet spoken. She broke the silence when the door shut behind us.

“It was the right thing to do,” she said.

“My nephew is going to hang for a murder he did not commit,” I replied. “How can that be the right thing to do?”

“If an innocent man is going to hang, better Joseph than Will. Better that icy-hearted beast than someone we both love. And do not forget that he threatened to hang us, or that your lies saved Tree’s life and kept Elizabeth in your home. Those may have been lies, but they were among the finest words ever spoken and the world is better for them. This was a war, and you cannot lament the enemy dead. Not until they are safely buried.”

“What of the guards who died when Will and Tree escaped?” I asked. “What wrong had they done? Why should they die while Will and Tree live?”

“Because death was their lot. Because Will and Tree are yours, and the guards were not. Mourn them, comfort their families, pay school fees for their children, do what you must. But do not think you took the wrong course.”

“School fees will not bring back their fathers or replace the love their widows have lost,” I replied. Without warning I was overcome by weakness and tumbled into a chair. I felt as if every drop of blood had been drawn from my body. “School fees will not salve my conscience.”

“Your conscience needs no salve.” Martha knelt next to me and took my hand. “You did nothing wrong. The preachers tell us we live in a fallen world. So much of what they say is mere baggage, but in this they are right. This week we all drew lots. The guards drew Death, as did Mark Preston, Joseph, and all the women he hanged. You were lucky. You drew Life. Do not forget that it could have been otherwise.”

I felt a sad smile cross my face. “When did you start listening to ministers?”

“It is the one sensible thing they’ve said,” she replied. “And I don’t need a sermon to tell me the world is a cold and heartless place that has no regard for the weak.”

I sat for a time, considering her words. Although I knew it was too late to change course, I tried to imagine a way to save Will, Tree, and Elizabeth that did not require Joseph’s death.

I could not find one.

* * *

The next day—the day Joseph was to be hanged for witchcraft and murder—I stayed in my house. I prayed that the Lord would wash my hands of the guilt that I still felt, but that prayer only put me in mind of Pontius Pilate, and I felt all the worse. That afternoon a boy from the Castle came to us and told us that Joseph was dead.