that on the eve of May 1 they built great bonfires in the open grass, these being lighted only from the needfire, or the fire they made themselves from sticks, and they danced all night about the bonfires, making merry. And in such revelry, this child’s mother, Suzanne, the fairest in the village and the May Queen of that year, had conceived of Deborah, the surviving child.
A merry-begot she was, and therefore much beloved, for no one knew who was her father and it could have been any of the village men. It could have been a man with noble blood. And in the olden times, which were the times of the pagans and best forgotten, though they could never make these villagers forget them, the merry- begots were the children of the gods.
“Take her now, brother,” they said, “to this good minister in Switzerland and the Duke will be glad of it, but have something to eat and drink before you go, for the witch has paid for it, and there is plenty for all.”
Within the hour, I rode out of the town with the child on my horse before me. And we rode right through the ashes at the crossroads, to which she did not to my knowledge give even a glance. To the circle of stones, she never once looked that I could tell. And she gave no farewell to the castle either as we rode down to the road that runs on the banks of Loch Donnelaith.
As soon as we reached the first inn in which we had to lodge, I knew full well what I had done. The girl was in my possession, mute, defenseless, and very beautiful, and big as a woman in some respects, and there I was, little more than a boy, but plenty more to make the difference, and I had taken her with no permission from the Talamasca and might face the most terrible storm of reprimands when I returned.
We put up in two rooms as was only proper, for she looked more woman than child. But I was afraid to leave her alone lest she run away, and wrapping my cloak about me, as if it would somehow restrain me, I lay down on the hay opposite her and stared at her, and tried to think what to do.
I observed now by the light of the reeking candle that she wore a few locks of her black hair in two small knots on either side of her head, high up, so as to keep back the bulk of it, and that her eyes were very like the eyes of a cat. By this I mean they were oval and narrow and turned up ever so little on the outside ends, and they had a shine to them. And beneath them she had rounded though dainty cheeks. It was no peasant face by any measure, but far too delicate, and beneath her ragged gown hung the high full breasts of a woman, and her ankles which she crossed before her as she sat on the floor were very shapely indeed. Her mouth I could not look at without wanting to kiss it, and I was ashamed of these fancies in my head.
I had not given the slightest thought to anything but rescuing her. And now my heart beat with desire for her. And she a girl of twelve merely sat looking at me.
What were her thoughts, I wondered, and sought to read them, but it seemed she knew this, and closed her mind to me.
At last I thought of the simple things, that she must have food and decent clothes-this seemed rather like discovering that sunlight makes one warm and water satisfies thirst-and so I went out to procure food for her and wine, and to acquire a proper dress, and a bucket of warm water for washing, and a brush for her hair.
She stared at these things as if she did not know what they were. And I could see now, by the light of the candle, that she was covered with filth and marks from the lash, and that the bones showed through her skin.
Stefan, does it take a Dutchman to abhor such a condition? I swear to you that I was consumed with pity as I undressed her and bathed her, but the man in me was burning in hell. Her skin was fair and soft to the touch, and she was ready for childbearing, and she gave me not the slightest resistance as I cleaned her, and then dressed her and at last brushed her hair.
Now I had by that time learned something of women, but it was not as much as I knew of books. And this creature seemed all the more mysterious to me for her nakedness and helpless quiet; but all the while, she peered out at me from the prison of her body with fierce, silent eyes that frightened me somewhat, and made me feel that, were my hands to stray in some improper way upon her body, she might strike me dead.
She did not flinch when I washed the marks of the lash on her back.
I fed her the food with a wooden spoon, Stefan, and though she took each morsel from me, she would reach for nothing and assist in nothing, on her own.
During the night I woke dreaming that I had taken her, much relieved to discover that I had not. But she was awake and watching me, and with the eyes of a cat. For some time I stared at her, again trying to divine her thoughts. The moonlight was pouring into the uncovered window, along with a good deal of bracing cold air, and I saw by the light that she had lost her blank expression and now seemed malevolent and angry, and this was frightening to me. She seemed a wild thing, dressed in her stiff starched white collar and bonnet, and blue dress.
In a soothing voice I tried to tell her in English that she was safe with me, that I would take her to a place where no one would accuse her of witchcraft, and that those who had descended upon her mother were themselves wicked and cruel.
At this she seemed puzzled, but she said nothing. I told her that I had heard tell of her mother, that her mother was a healer and could help the afflicted, and that such persons have always existed, and no one called them witches until these terrible times. But an awful superstition was afoot in Europe; and whereas in the olden days, men were admonished not to believe that people could speak to devils, now the church itself believed such things, and went looking for witches in every hamlet and town.
Nothing came from her, but it seemed her face grew less terrible, as though my words had melted her anger. And I saw the look of bewilderment again.
I told her I was of an order of good people who did not want to hurt or burn the old healers. And that I would take her to our Motherhouse, where men scoffed at the things which the witch hunters believed. “This is not in Switzerland,” I said, “as I told the bad men in your village, but in Amsterdam. Have you ever heard of this city? It is a great place indeed.”
It seemed then the coldness came back to her. Surely she understood my words. She gave a faint sneer at me, and I heard her whisper under her breath in English, “You are no churchman. You are a liar!”
At once I went to her and took her hand. I was greatly pleased to see she understood English and did not speak only the hopeless dialects one finds in these places, for now I could talk to her with more courage. I explained that I had told these lies to save her, and that she must believe that I was good.
But then she faded before my eyes, drawing away from me, like a flower closing up.
All the next day she spoke nothing to me, and all the next night the same, though she ate now unaided and well, I thought, and seemed to be gaining in strength.
When we reached London, I woke in the night in the inn to hear her speaking. I climbed up off the straw and beheld her looking out the window, and I heard her say in English, and with a thick Scottish accent to it, “Go away from me, devil! I will not see you anymore.”
When she turned round, there were tears shining in her eyes. More than ever she had the aspect of a woman, looming over me, with her back to the window, and the light of my candle stub rising up into her face. She saw me without surprise and with the same coldness as she had shown me before. She lay down and turned her face to the wall.
“But to whom did you speak?” I demanded. She said nothing to me. In the dark I sat and talked to her, not knowing whether or not she heard. I told her that if she had seen something, be it a ghost or a spirit, it need not be the devil. For who was to say what these invisible things were? I begged her to talk to me of her mother and tell me what her mother had done to bring the charge of witchcraft against her, for now I was certain that she herself had powers and that her mother had possessed them, but she would not answer even one word.
I took her to a bathing house, and bought her another dress. These things brought no interest from her. At the crowds and the passing coaches she stared with coldness. And wanting to hurry from the place and reach home, I divested myself of my clerical black, and put on the garments of a Dutch gentleman, as these would most likely bring respect and good service.
But this change in me provided her with some grim and secret amusement and again she sneered at me, as if to say she knew I had some sordid purpose, but I did nothing to confirm her in this suspicion any more than I had in the past. Could she read my thoughts, I wondered, and know that every waking moment I imagined her as she had been when I bathed her? I hoped it was not so.
She looked so pretty in her new dress, I thought to myself, I had never seen any young woman who was prettier. Because she would not, I had braided a part of her hair for her, and wound this braid around the top of her head, to hold her long locks back out of her face, as I had seen women do, and ah, but she was a picture.
