The Vanishing Witch (58 page)

He went to the window and glanced out. The light glinting off the river was blinding in the afternoon sun. Nonie was outside tending their little
patch of vegetables and Col was firing his sling at any bird foolish enough to perch in the nearby trees, though he hit none. Royse was in the byre. He might not find another chance to be alone with the lad and they could come for him at any hour.

Gunter knelt by his son’s bed. Taking the boy’s hot little hand in his, he whispered, ‘Hankin, you must listen to me.’

The boy grunted and his eyes
fluttered open, then closed again.

Gunter squeezed his hand. ‘You must confess, Bor. You must tell all that you’ve done wrong, just like you do to the priest. I’ll not be angry and I swear I’ll tell no one, but we can’t go to the church. You’re too sick. So you must confess to me . . . in case . . .’

Without opening his eyes the boy murmured, ‘Am I dying? I don’t . . . want to die.’

‘No, son,
but we never know when death may strike. We must always be ready.’

‘Don’t . . . let me die, Faayther.’

A hard lump rose in Gunter’s chest. ‘Try to think, Hankin.’

The boy muttered something, but Gunter could make little sense of it. He’d no idea if he was confessing or simply crying out in his dreams.

He knelt by Hankin’s bed. ‘Blessed Virgin, take him straight to Heaven. He’s innocent. He’s
not a bad bone in his body. Whatever he’s done, I’ll pay the price for it. Whatever he was forced to do, it was my fault. I should have protected him. I should have protected them all. Blessed Mary, don’t hold it against the boy, punish me for his sins. I’ll take them, take them all on me. He’s only a bairn.’

The boy’s breathing had fallen into the shallow but steady rhythm of sleep. His lips
parted as he sucked in the stifling air.

Sweat ran down Gunter’s face. He slid the sheepskin from the bottom of the bed and paused, looking down at the smooth red cheek. Then, as gently as he could, with trembling hands, he pressed the fleece over the boy’s face.

Gunter had thought his breathing would quietly stop. But at once Hankin tried to push the skin away, thrashing his arms and legs.
He was as weak as a nestling, but still he fought desperately for his life. Gunter felt Hankin’s hands grasping at his own arms, trying to push him away. Tears streamed down his face as he pressed harder, willing the boy to surrender and die.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Forgive me.’

Nonie, crouching down, tugged at the bindweed that had wrapped itself around her beans. It grew so much faster than
any crop, snaking out in the night to choke the plants. Why did weeds grow so vigorously and food so slowly when the same rain and sun touched them both? She rocked back on her heels, wiping her hand across her dripping forehead. As she raised her head, she caught sight of someone standing on the riverbank in front of the cottage, but against the sun’s glare, and the dancing glints from the river,
she couldn’t make out who it was.

Grasping her weeding stick, she struggled to her feet, wiping her grimy hand on her sacking apron. She shielded her eyes. Two children stood hand in hand close to the water’s edge, a girl and a boy. They were looking at the little cottage.

Nonie was still unable to see them clearly because of the glare. She guessed the children had been sent with a message.
Maybe someone needed goods transporting or wanted to be taken downriver. She hoped so: they needed every penny Gunter could earn. She took a step forward.

‘Your faayther wanting to hire the boat, is it?’

The children didn’t turn their heads, or make any sign that they’d heard her.

‘Come here,’ Nonie called, a little irritated now.

Hankin! Hankin, come and play.
The words were so faint, so
high-pitched they might have been the breeze in the tree-tops or the piping of a lark, except there was no breeze, no lark.

‘What do you . . .’

The words turned to stone in Nonie’s mouth, for she suddenly knew why the sun was shimmering so brightly around them. Water was streaming from their clothes and hair, as if they had just risen from a lake, or a river – water that did not stop flowing.
Nonie’s head slowly followed the direction of the children’s gaze. She stared at the closed door of the cottage. Then, with a single shriek, she flung down her stick and ran.

The door opened behind Gunter. Nonie flew across the room, clawing at him, with all the fury of a she-wolf. ‘Holy Virgin, what are you doing to the bairn? Get away, get away from him!’

Shoving Gunter violently aside, she
grabbed Hankin, tore the sheepskin from his face and hauled him into her arms. She rocked back and forth, as the boy clung to her sobbing and gasping for breath.

Gunter reached out a hand to soothe the lad, but Nonie slapped it away. ‘Don’t touch him! Don’t you dare touch him!’

‘I had to, Nonie. If they arrest him . . . I couldn’t let them take him alive.’

‘Why should anyone arrest my son?’
Nonie clutched Hankin to her. ‘They should arrest you, that’s what they should do. Trying to smother your own bairn. You’ve run mad. You want locking up, you do.’

‘But, Nonie, you don’t understand the danger.’

‘What danger? The only danger he’s in is from his mad father, that’s what. Get out! Get out!’ she screamed.

Gunter, his eyes blinded by tears, stumbled to the door and out into the blazing
sunshine. He sank against the wall, shaking violently, his chest heaving as he sobbed. He was so distraught he didn’t even notice the men dismounting from the horses at the side of the cottage. Only when they were almost upon him did he realise he was not alone.

‘Gunter of Greetwell. I am here on the orders of the King’s Commissioners to arrest you and your son for high treason.’

Witches can turn themselves into foxes. The hunt will often see them run into a cave or cottage and think they have trapped them, only to find nothing inside except an old woman.

Hugo Bayus descended the stairs slowly, muttering to himself. Adam stood by the casement of the hall below, staring out into the street. He didn’t turn, not even when the physician ruffled his hair.

‘No need for you to mope around indoors, young man. Your father is recovering well. He’ll soon be up and about again.’

‘I said as much to you this morning, didn’t I, Mistress Catlin?’ Diot said triumphantly. ‘I said he was on the mend.’

‘That is good news, isn’t it, Adam?’ Catlin said. ‘We were all so worried.’

Adam wasn’t. He’d felt not the slightest concern when they’d brought his father
home on a cart two days ago, groaning in pain and raving like one of the mad beggars who accosted people on their way to and from the cathedral. Edward and the carter had hauled him up the stairs and the physician had hurried round soon after. The pains had lasted for two days and nights, but today he lay still and quiet. Adam was disappointed. He’d hoped the sickness would last longer, much longer.

‘Will he make a full recovery?’ Catlin asked.

‘He’s weak, of course. He should rest in bed for several days more, but knowing your husband, Mistress Catlin, I doubt he will. But he should have only a beef bonet for the next two days, nothing richer than that. See that the beef is well ground and seethe it in a good measure of blood and water. Beata will know. She’s skilled at preparing such dishes.’

Adam turned to stare pointedly at his stepmother. She was seated at the table next to Edward, in front of a stack of parchments and ledgers. Mother and son exchanged glances before Catlin spoke.

‘I’m afraid Beata no longer works here.’

The physician’s bald pate gleamed in the sunlight from the casement. ‘A pity, but I’m sure you will manage.’

‘Course, we will.’ Diot bridled. ‘I’m twice the
cook that mad trollop ever was, and you don’t have to fear waking up with your throat slit when I’m in charge of the kitchen.’

‘Will the sickness recur, Master Bayus?’ Catlin asked.

‘I am not certain it was a sickness,’ the physician said cautiously.

Diot glanced swiftly at Catlin, alarm and fear on her plump face, but Catlin’s expression didn’t change.

‘Course the master was sick,’ Diot said
hastily, her face flushing so red, she herself might have had a fever. ‘Half the city’s been taken bad. Stench from the ditches, that’s what caused the sickness and no mistake.’ She plucked agitatedly at her skirts, her eyes repeatedly darting towards Catlin.

‘Certainly in this infernal heat many in the city have fallen ill with the summer flux,’ the physician said, ‘but Master Robert had none
of the usual symptoms. His only complaint was the severe pains and the madness . . . that is to say, the delirium that often accompanies fever of the brain, yet he appears to have no fever. I’ve enquired of the other physicians of my acquaintance and none of them has had a patient with such an illness. It seems to me, Mistress Catlin . . .’

He hesitated and looked at Adam. ‘Why don’t you run
outside and play, young man? I’m sure you must be itching to be out on such a day. I’m not so old that I don’t remember such things from my own boyhood.’ The old man gave the chuckle of one who fondly recalls a childhood that only ever existed in their dreams.

‘He’s my father,’ Adam said. ‘I’ve a right to know what’s wrong. More right than anyone else in this house. It’s them you should be sending
out.’

Edward half rose from the table. ‘You little brat!’

But Catlin grasped his arm. ‘He’s just a child, Edward, and naturally he’s concerned for his father.’ She smiled icily. ‘Adam, do as Master Bayus says. Go outside. I’ll discuss this matter with you later.’

Adam was on the point of refusing, but he saw her fingers turn white as she gripped the table and sensed she was becoming dangerously
angry. His nerve failed him and, as slowly as he dared, he walked from the room. When he opened the door, he almost collided with Leonia, who was standing immediately behind it. She shrank into the shadows. But as soon as he had closed the door, she tiptoed back, a finger to her lips, and leaned her shorn head against the wood. Adam joined her. He could hear Hugo Bayus talking.

‘As I say, Mistress
Catlin, I do not believe this to have been a summer fever. It bears all the hallmarks of poison.’

‘I’ve not poisoned anyone!’ Diot shrieked. ‘I’d swear on every holy saint that ever was.’

‘Don’t be foolish, Diot dear.’ Catlin gave her tinkling laugh. ‘Master Bayus is certainly not accusing you, are you?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of suggesting that anyone in this household . . .’ Bayus said hastily,
as if he feared Diot might start crying.

‘Quite,’ Catlin said softly. ‘But who on earth would want to poison my dear husband, Master Bayus?’

Leonia twisted her head round to look at Adam. She was smiling gleefully. He opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed her cool little fingertips to it, flicking her eyes warningly towards the room.

‘Any man in your husband’s position will have enemies,
and I understand he has been made a Commissioner of Array. There are many who would wish to harm those who render such loyal service to the Crown.’

‘Have the others been attacked?’ That was Edward’s voice.

‘I fear I cannot answer that,’ Hugo Bayus said. ‘It’s not known who the other members are. Only Master Robert’s name seems to be bandied abroad, though how that came to be, I’m at a loss to
know.’

‘But I gave my husband a ring with a serpent’s tongue embedded in it to render any poison harmless. He’s always careful to touch the ring to every dish when we dine away from home.’

The physician gave a nervous little cough. ‘Master Robert tells me that shortly before he became ill he drank some cider. He says he was distracted and cannot recall if he took the precaution of touching the
ring to the liquid.’

‘There was certainly no poison in the cider,’ Edward said emphatically. ‘As Master Robert will tell you, I drank first from the same flagon. He saw me. It didn’t taste mouldy or tainted and I suffered no ill-effects.’

‘The poison may have been in the cup, not the drink. Was it left unattended at any time?’

‘It was standing in the tally room a good hour or more before I
returned,’ Edward said. ‘That room is reached by the staircase on the outside of the warehouse. Anyone could have crept up there unobserved.’

Hugo Bayus grunted. ‘Then I should take the utmost care, Mistress Catlin. If the poison was intended for Master Robert—’

‘What do you mean,
if
?’ Edward said. ‘Who else could it have been intended for?’

‘Without knowing who committed the crime, I really
cannot tell,’ Bayus said. ‘But, of course, your stepfather was the most likely target. Let’s just be thankful that it was not a lethal dose. Now I must take my leave.’

Leonia grabbed Adam’s hand and they ran out into the courtyard. Moments later the door opened and the physician came out in search of his horse, jamming his hat on his head to keep the sun from his bald pate.

Leonia and Adam ducked
out of sight behind the kitchen and as soon as he had ridden off they slipped out of the yard. Adam turned in the direction of the river, but Leonia tugged at his arm. ‘No, this way.’

They climbed the steep hill and turned into one of the small alleyways whose steps led up to Pottergate and out through the city wall. They were panting after the climb in the heat and paused to draw breath and
stare out over the valley below. They were standing on the edge of the escarpment; above them and just visible over the city walls was the great cathedral. To the right lay the Bishop’s Palace, vineyards sprawling down the slope below, but where they were standing the hill ended in a sharp cliff.

Opposite, on the other side of the valley, another huge cliff curved away to the left, and to the
right lay the flat basin of Braytheforde harbour, crammed with boats which, from that height, looked like tadpoles swarming in a puddle. Between the scarp and the distant cliff, the glittering river wound through flat fields and hamlets towards the fens. A dense, shimmering heat rose from the land below, mingled with the smoke of cooking fires, so that the little cottages seemed like midges dancing
in a haze.