THE INTERROGATION

 THE INTERROGATION

by Richard Banks                         

“Do you know who I am?”

         What shall I tell him? That I know him for the murderer he is, the man who has killed more folk in these parts than any soldier of King or Parliament. The Lord's work he calls it. He holds the bible when he says that, turns the pages to Exodus 22.18, then reads what it says: 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'. But who are the witches? Is every old woman with a gargoyle face a witch? For it is mainly them that hang. Few men are witches, neither are there many that are young – maid or man. So why me, why have I been accused? Me, Tilly Roe, not yet twenty years of age. What have I done? Who has spoken against me? Someone has.

         “Do you hear me, mistress?”

         “I do, sir.” I must be polite, humble. If this man takes against me, I am lost.

         “Then what is your answer?”

         “You are the Witchfinder General, sir, come to rid us of those who worship Satan and do harm against God's people.”

         “And are you one of God's people?”        

         “I am, sir, truly I am. And whoever says different speaks not the truth.” I look him in the eye like my father taught me; that, he says, is the mark of an honest person. Does the Witchfinder know that? He looks uneasy. Perhaps he thinks I try to enchant him? I look down at his hands. He takes a pen

from the table at which he sits and writes something down on a sheet of paper.

         “Your accusers are five. Can they all be lying?”

         “But who, sir, are my accusers? Am I to hear what they say?”

         “Of course. That is the purpose of this interview. I put forward the evidence against you. Your answer. If you answer well you go free. If not, you will be arraigned at the sessions in Chelmsford. We work within the law, Mistress Roe. The innocent have nothing to fear. Are you fearful Mistress? Your face is pale. What has drained it of its maiden's glow?”

         “I am tired, sir. The searchers would not let me sleep. They kept me standing all night in my night shift.”

         “And did they search your body for unholy marks?”

         “They did, sir.”

         Then they have done their duty well and you should be grateful to them. They watch for Satan, for his familiars that feed on witches blood. They can not suffer you to lie down. A bed has unseen places; there can be no watching there.”

         I pretend gratitude to the searchers. Say I will remember them in my prayers. Does he soften towards me? His face is without expression. He takes up another piece of paper full of writing.

         “Can you read, Mistress?”

         I tell him no.

         “Then I will read for you. Have you know that this is the testimony of Ann Cook spoken to me two days ago. She is your first accuser.

         “And what does she say, sir?”

         “That you did steal by witchcraft the affection of Tom Hewer, who was Mistress Cook's sweetheart, and that you did cast a spell by which you made her unwell of the sweating sickness. And furthermore that you did come to her when she was hot with fever in the form of a satanic imp boasting of all you have done. What sayeth you?”

         “I cast no spells, sir. Tom and Ann quarrelled. That is why he left her. It was no doing of mine. Neither did I bid him to come to me. It was he who did the courting, as all men should.”

         “So Tom Hewer is now your sweetheart and not Ann's?”

         “But not by witchcraft, sir.”

         He looks thoughtful, writes down his thoughts, returns his pen to the inkwell. He seeks to catch me out. Honesty is not enough, my cunning must be the match of his or he will ensnare me.

         “So if Tom Hewer was not bewitched and you did not draw him to you why did he choose you instead of one of the other maidens in the village. There are ten are there not? Comely maids, so I be told, four with marriage portions, one a miller's daughter. Yet he chose you the cuckoo in the nest, the foundling child with heathen, gipsy blood. Why you?”

         “Should you not be asking this of him?”

         “But I'm asking you, Mistress Roe. Surely he told you why he loved you?”

         “He did, sir. He told me many things that should stay a secret between lovers. But this I will tell you, that he thought me loving and kind which is more than Ann Cook ever was.”

         “So you despise Ann Cook? Is that why you put a spell on her?”

         “There was no spell, sir. Ann caught the fever last month along with two other folk. I know not why she caught it. It was nothing to do with me. I cast no spell. Neither did I visit her when she had the fever. She may think I did for when the fever is at its worse people go wandering in their thoughts and see things that never happened. But even if the imp was real why should it be me? I look no more like an imp than you or any other Christian person.”

         He looks angry, commands me not to be insolent. But my arguments are sound. He picks-up another sheet of paper, again full of writing. He asks me if I know Master and Mistress Grindley.

         “Yes sir. Master Grindley is Uncle to my Father.”

         “Your Father?”

         “Yes sir, the man who took me in when I was a foundling child.”

         “And do your Father's relatives have reason to give false testimony against you?”

         “None that I know of, sir. They have always been kind to me.”

         “So, what they say must be true?”

         “I know not, sir until I hear it.”

         “Then hear this, the testimony of Master Grindley. 'On Saturday fifth day of August I rode to Colchester where on passing the parish church my horse, a good and healthy steed, did fall to the ground and die. This being at midday when the church clock was striking the hour. At that time I saw young Tilly on the far side of the road dressed in a black cloak and hood which I never saw her wear before. And though I waved at her and called out her name she made no move to come to my aid. Indeed she stared at me with such unfriendly expression that I thought she meant me harm. When I told Mistress Grindley, my wife, of this she was much troubled because on that same day at a quarter past twelve she saw Tilly in the yard of her father's house astride a broomstick on which also sat a black cat. This we told to the curate of this parish who said it was our duty to tell all to the Witchfinder'.”

         “So Mistress Roe how did you move between two places ten miles distant in only one-quarter of an hour?”

         “Because the journey was never made, sir. I have never been to Colchester, neither do I own a black cloak or hood.”

         “So Master Grindley is also lying?”

         “No sir, Master Grindley is short of sight. Only last week he mistook a horse for a cow. I do not doubt that he thinks he saw me in Colchester but he is mistaken. I never stirred from the village that day. Ask my father and other persons who were with me.”

         “And what of the broomstick?”

         “It is a broomstick, sir. I use it to sweep the dust from the house. When Mistress Grindley sighted me I was holding it steady between my knees so my hands were free for the fixing of a new sweeping head.”

         “And the cat?”

         “What about it, sir?”

         “Is it not your familiar?”

         “No sir, it is not. It is a kitten, eight weeks born and no threat to anything bigger than a mouse. He was climbing on the broom while I was fixing it. I call him Francis after the saint who loved all God's creatures.”

         The Witchfinder is silent. He knows his evidence is not enough. If it be known at the Sessions that Master Grindley is poor of sight the case against me will surely fall. Thank goodness the Witchfinder was not able to persuade Mistress Grindley that Francis is a familiar. No doubt he tried but she stays true to what she saw. How many accusers did he say there were? Five? yes, five. So there are two left. He takes up the paper that has their words.

         “This is the evidence of Mistresses Turley and Brine.”

         “Who are they, sir?”

         “They are the searchers that watched over you; the godly woman whom you spoke so well of.” He smiles, but not pleasantly. Like me, he knows them for what they are, lewd women who take pleasure in touching the private places on a maiden's body.”

         “And what do they say?”

         “That at mid-night Satan appeared in the form of a goat that stood entirely on its hindquarters. And when they asked why it came the goat said to drink the blood of the gipsy girl who was his sister in darkness. And this it did through a mark on the gipsy's leg that was red and tender like it had been used this way many times before.”

         “I protest, sir. This never happened.”

         “So they lie too?”

         “Indeed they do.”

         “And why should they do that?”

         “I know not what is in their thoughts but, like you, they are paid for what they do. No witches, no fee. Maybe that is why they do it, or maybe they delight in doing harm? If so, they are as wicked as the devils they claim to see.”

         “Stop this ranting, woman. The searchers tell the truth. They are servants of the Lord.”

         My mind struggles to devise an answer. What can I say? Then, almost without thinking, the words I need come to me and I am speaking them. “What does the other searcher say?”

         “The other searcher?”

         “Yes, there were three. What does she say? Something else to be sure, or otherwise her words would also be on the paper you read from. What is her name, sir? I demand that her evidence also be heard.”

         “Demand what you will, witch. You will get what you deserve, not what you demand.”

         “Her name, sir?”

         He refuses to tell me. Then I remember. It was spoken by one of the other searchers: Mistress Beecham. She drank less beer than the other two, was quieter for it, hung back when the others did what they did. I confront him with the name. He looks startled, almost afraid. I press home my advantage.

         “Why have you not taken her testimony? Does she say differently from the other searchers? Is that why you are silent about her? You have sent her away, have you not, but no matter, my father will find her and we will know her words as well. And what if she says that no devil came and that you refused to hear her evidence? That would not go well for you, Witchfinder. Does the law allow you to do such things? I think not.”

         I expect him to bark back at me but he says nothing. I have him.

         “I will make a pact with you Witchfinder. Declare me innocent of all charges and in return I will be silent about what you have done. I say this with my hand on your bible. If I lie then God strike me down. ….Now, sir, all that remains is for you to write your verdict and for me to walk freely from this room.”

         He does as I request. He calls out: “Guard, Mistress Roe is leaving, there are no charges.”

         I walk out of the room into the office where the guard sits. He gets up and escorts me to the outside door. He looks surprised but says nothing. The Witchfinder sits at his desk and also says nothing. But my silence is more powerful than theirs.

         Me, more powerful than a man? What need have I to be a witch?

                                    Copyright Richard Banks