‘Would it not be better to move him to Scotland now?’
‘No. He must stay here. We will do nothing but build up his name. Let his legend grow while the fires rage. The prince’s hand must remain clean, unstained by blood. The moment will become clear. When blood and fire rain down on Scotland and when England’s Roman Catholic faithful take arms against the dog-spittle Cecils. That is when the prince will step forward as saviour.’
‘If ever I settle down to a quiet life farming some orange grove in Castile, I think you would make a perfect wife, Dona Ana.’
Ana smiled and performed a light curtsy. ‘I am flattered, Mr Laveroke, though I fear I will never be the marrying kind. Now, sir, let us kneel and pray for God’s benediction on our enterprise, done in His name. Then you must ride. By the time the Sieve blows its hole you should be halfway to Edinburgh, for I believe you have an appointment with the King that you must not miss.’
It seemed to Boltfoot that William Sarjent slept. He had been watching him through narrowed eyes for the best part of half an hour and had seen no movement. Sarjent had done with his incessant tales of his own heroism in battle, but was he really sleeping?
Boltfoot ached in every bone and sinew. The skin on his back was on fire with pain from the burning, yet he had to move, and move with stealth. Now. There might be no other time.
He rose to his feet. It was dark save for a guttering tallow candle. He was a little stronger now. He looked down at the still figure of William Sarjent, and his eyes immediately went to the man’s wheel-lock and dagger. He looked about at his surroundings. There was nothing here to hold him in, yet could he move soundlessly enough to escape? If Sarjent awoke, Boltfoot would never outrun him. Sarjent had the weapons. Boltfoot had to take control before he could get away. He took a pace forward. He was within three feet of the man. If he could prise the dagger from the belt, he would have Sarjent at his mercy.
Sarjent exhaled, then drew in a deep breath that rattled in the back of his throat. He was snoring. He must be asleep. Boltfoot went down on one knee and reached out for the hilt of the dagger. Sarjent’s hand flashed out like the head of a snake; his fingers clasped on Boltfoot’s hand, like hissing jaws.
With his other hand, Sarjent took the wheel-lock from his belt, and pushed its muzzle into the centre of Boltfoot’s face.
‘Dear me, Mr Cooper. I told you mariners were no match for a soldier. Sit yourself down, if you would.’
Boltfoot gritted his teeth in frustration and sank back in his place close to the tower’s wall of stone blocks.
‘Now where was I? Ah, yes, I was telling you about the Scottish lads and lassies. They were witches, you see, Mr Cooper. Mighty riled by their king, I do believe. Do you not know the tale of the witches of North Berwick?’
Boltfoot said nothing.
‘It is a tale of much dancing, cannibalism and fornicating with the devil. But let us start at the beginning. Three years ago, King James of Scotland sailed home from Copenhagen with his new young bride, Anne of Denmark. And a mighty anxious time he had of it, by all accounts, for a great storm blew up, sinking one of his fleet and endangering his own life. It was said that his ship was the most badly buffeted save the one that perished. No one could explain this strange, unexpected weather, for the sea had been calm. What you may ask, Mr Cooper, had this to do with witches? All became clear a year later. A coven was uncovered by a lord’s bailiff in a village near Edinburgh.’
Sarjent quaffed some ale and offered the flagon to Boltfoot. He took it and drank, for his throat was as arid as a stone.
‘It came about like this. The bailiff had a pretty young maidservant named Gellie Duncan, who claimed some magical skill at the curing of illnesses and the healing of wounds. The bailiff suspected her of witchcraft to have such powers. With the help of others, he questioned the wretched girl with the help of a thumbscrew and other means, but she confessed to nothing.
‘But then a mark was spotted upon her throat, the mark of Satan. Again she was tortured, and this time she confessed that she was, indeed, a bride of the devil and that all her cures were done by witchcraft. Once her mouth was open, there was no stopping her. The names of all the rest of her coven came tripping from her tongue — men and women, goodwives of Edinburgh, even a schoolmaster. In all, she accused thirty or more people of being witches with her.
‘Among them was a midwife named Agnes Sampson, who at first denied any dealings with the devil. But when she was tortured and a mark of Satan found upon her, she confessed to all that pretty maid Gellie had confessed. And she told yet more of their doings, the most notorious being a meeting of two hundred witches in the church of North Berwick on the eve of All Hallows.’ Sarjent wiped his sleeve across his ale-soaked beard. ‘Are you following me, Mr Cooper?’
Boltfoot growled sullenly.
‘It was said this church meeting was organised by the schoolmaster, Dr John Fian, a man with powers, who was as nimble as the devil. He used this skill for the collecting of cats for Satan, to help him raise storms. His purpose in bringing all the black-clad coven to this church was to meet the devil himself. Well, old Lucifer did turn up, baring his fangs and scaring them with his claws, no doubt. And he told them he had a little mission for them: he wanted them to go to sea and sink King James’s ship, for he did not like his Christian ways.’
None of this made sense to Boltfoot. He had other matters on his mind. Yet he found himself curiously beguiled by the tale.
‘Without ado, the witches set to sea in sieves, carrying with them a cat that had been drawn nine times across a fire, one of the beasts captured by the catlike Dr Fian.
‘When they saw what they believed to be the King’s ship, the devil ordered Dr Fian to hurl the cat into the sea — a satanic version of baptism, I am told by those who know about these things — which he did. This caused the seas to rage and the wind to howl up into a tempest that nearly sank the King’s ship and did sink another. The devil’s fleet then returned to North Berwick in their sieves. Upon reaching shore, the happy witches marched to the church. Gellie Duncan was at the front playing the Jew’s harp.
‘The church door was locked, so Dr Fian blew through the keyhole and it burst open. The church was in darkness, so the cunning schoolmaster blew on the dead candles and they came alight. The devil was already there, waiting for them, standing in the pulpit with his long tail hanging over the edge. He made all the witches kiss his arse, then out they trooped into the churchyard and feasted on dead bodies from the graves. The evening ended with another dance, Gellie Duncan on her Jew’s harp once more, playing a little satanic ballad called “Kimmer, go you before, kimmer go you”.’ Sarjent smiled evenly at Boltfoot. ‘I trust I am not making you queasy, Mr Cooper?’
‘I have not heard such gibberish in all my life.’
‘Nor I, Mr Cooper, nor I. But there’s many as did believe it, including the King of Scotland himself. All this was told at the trial of the witches, an event attended by King James in person, for he has a keen interest in witchcraft. He was also present at much of the torture of the unfortunate souls who were accused, and even had Agnes Sampson brought to him at the palace of Holyrood House so that he might examine her in person. While there, she implicated Lord Francis Hepburn, saying he was the leader of the witches and had been the chief conspirator.
‘This earl, you may know, Mr Cooper, is the cousin of the King and would inherit his crown if he died without leaving children of his own. The King was loath to believe all this wild talk by Agnes, but then she asked him to draw near and whispered in his ear something that he had said to his bride on their wedding night, and which only they could know. James was so struck by this that he had the earl arrested. It didn’t help poor foolish Agnes Sampson, though. She, Gellie Duncan, Dr Fian and many others were all burned to death on Castle Hill in Edinburgh, on the King’s orders, for he proclaimed that witchcraft was a crime so abominable that it was God’s law they should be so destroyed.
‘As for the earl, he escaped and is still at large. But the thing is, you see, Mr Cooper, this all caused much resentment among those who loved the ones burned as witches. For each one burned at the stake, another ten wished harm upon their king. That was bad news for James, but a fine opportunity for a muster-master to raise an army of insurrection. Sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces, mothers and fathers — all came flocking to our cause when they heard we had work to be done against this Scottish king and his English cousin. Do you understand a little now?’
Boltfoot made the occasional noise to make Sarjent think he was interested. All his thoughts were on finding
