It was not very far from the cathedral, and that was probably very convenient for Gifford. We approached the hard iron bars of Mathilde’s cell with the guidance of one of the French lawmen, and she looked back at us with hazel eyes half-hidden by her uncontrollable brown hair.
‘Mathilde le Clerc,’ Godke said. ‘You have been found guilty of the crime of infanticide. Do you confess to being a witch?’
She shot us a defiant look that only French women could muster. ‘The child was miscarried. I will confess to no such thing, for I have committed no crime.’
‘Not according to the Malleus Maleficarum,’ Godke responded, referring to the closest thing we witch hunters had to a guide or set of rules. We rarely use it except when we need to provide additional justification for our actions. ‘Or according to God.’
‘I’ve told you. I’m no witch,’ Mathilde said and I wondered why they always had to make things so difficult. Did they not know that the only consequence of giving in so easily to the Devil like this was pain?
‘Would you recite the Lord’s Prayer for us?’ I asked her, wanting to get things moving.
‘I will do no such thing,’ she responded.
‘Truly, the Devil has a strong grip on her,’ added an elderly prisoner from one of the neighbouring cells. Godke shot him a glance which told him never to speak in the witch hunter’s presence again.
‘We will search you for the Devil’s mark later,’ Godke said and he led me out of the prison building before speaking to me. ‘We have to move her to the witch house with the cover of darkness. We’ll have to be quiet – we don’t want her supporters knowing we’ve moved her.’
I nodded, and then Godke gave me the rest of the day to spend as I liked. As in Prague, I decided to use my time wisely and search for a suitable reward.
And in the marketplace, I found one.
----------------------------------------
The Archbishop had said that our reward should fit into our pockets, and I would have purchased the most capacious jacket if Gifford’s dubious guidelines had meant anything to me.
For that day I met Fleur, a beautiful blonde French girl. She was about my age and though we did not know each other, she smiled meekly when she caught me staring at her. She had a prominent beauty spot on her left cheek. I knew instantly that she would be my prize, and I was determined not to screw up Mathilde’s interrogation as I had Martin’s.
I went to speak to her, but she was not a free woman and her master struck her across the back with a riding crop when he caught her idling. She immediately disappeared into the crowd of merchants and serfs behind the stalls and though I waited for her to return, she did not. I realised that she was a servant girl, and her family probably worked at the markets in exchange for a place to live.
I considered searching for her, but I felt that would be premature and would risk making my face known to the people of Reims. I made up my mind to return the next day and I spent the rest of the day performing odd jobs: I assisted Hurland in his research about Mathilde’s extensive family, I joined Jacob in helping out at an orphanage, and I sharpened some of Thies’ medical equipment.
By the time night fell, it had been a long day and I fell asleep in the tavern without saying my nightly prayer. Godke awakened me shortly before dawn. He had already awakened the rest of the warband, and despite our shortened sleep we left the tavern with only a single lantern to guide us.
We walked to the prison as quietly as possible and whispered our identification to the guard. He released Mathilde to us. Thies gagged her, and Gunnar carried her on his shoulder to the witch house.
The witch house at Reims was built of stone, like the one at Prague, but this one had only the single room, like the one at Pilsen. That was fitting, as the city of Reims itself was an odd blend of the majesty of Prague and the size of Pilsen. Perhaps it was even smaller, I didn’t spend much time exploring the city. The witch house contained its own torture devices, and while the rest of us said the Lord’s Prayer to Mathilde and Jacob placed the rosary beads around her neck, Thies looked through the instruments of pain.
Jacob had also collected some holy water from the cathedral, which he dipped his fingers in before making the sign of the cross. Gunnar and Godke stripped the lady of her clothes, and once she was naked Jacob sprinkled her with the holy water. It was a very cold winter’s night and she began to shiver, though Hurland whispered that her convulsions were the result of the Devil resisting exorcision.
Jacob made a personal plea to God to help Mathilde and we all said ‘amen,’ and then Thies extracted his razor and went to shave Mathilde. Again, she struggled against the ice-cold steel of the blade, but her hands and ankles were bound and Gunnar held the relevant parts of her body still with impressive strength. Thankfully, the shaving process was unnecessary as Thies pointed to a large brown mark on her left buttock with his cane as Gunnar restrained her on her front.
‘The mark of the Devil,’ he said and Jacob echoed his words. ‘The prayer and holy water and rosary have rendered it visible.’
‘Praise to the Saint,’ said Hurland, referring to the origin of the rosary beads.
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‘It looks like a birthmark,’ I said and the others turned to face me almost in anger.
Thankfully Thies, as always, stayed calm. ‘It is clearly the mark of Satan. It is quite simple to discern between natural and unholy blemishes.’
‘My apologies,’ I said, frowning. I wish they’d explained the difference to me, I was an acolyte after all and I wanted to learn.
Mathilde’s tremors had gained in severity due to being pressed against the icy stone floor and being prodded with the metal tip of Thies’ cane, and I thought that we should cloak her to prevent her premature death from frostbite. However, I said nothing because my previous remark had earnt so much ire, and because they wanted to believe that the Devil was being exorcised.
‘Karl will extract the confession,’ Godke said after several seconds, and I hesitated. The last time I took charge I’d killed the witch and cost the warband their pay and their happiness, and I’d already annoyed them today. I was nervous considering the circumstances, but I had also been waiting a long time for this opportunity.
‘Remove her gag,’ I ordered and Gunnar removed the strip of cloth that had been muffling Mathilde’s moans.
‘Please, I’m so cold,’ she pleaded and I motioned for Thies to place his thick brown coat over her. He obeyed without question and I enjoyed that; being in charge.
‘Do you admit to being a witch?’ I asked her.
‘I…’ she stuttered and I realised that she was on the verge of confessing. I had expected a long interrogation as at Pilsen and Prague. I learnt then that there was a wide variety of pain tolerance that people could accept and while the burgher Martin had been brave, the singer Mathilde was not.
I leapt on the chance. ‘Bring me the screws!’ I commanded, extending my arm as if to summon them directly to my hand.
Mathilde suddenly shouted, ‘no!’
‘Will you confess?’
Even though she was now sitting rather than lying on the stone she chose to stare at it as she responded. ‘I...’ she repeated. ‘Will you kill me if I confess?’
‘That’s up to the Archbishop,’ I said, which was true enough. I was afraid that if I’d given her the truth – that the Archbishop had already given us permission to execute her – she’d have chosen not to confess. I was probably right. However, she was still reluctant to confess. I got the feeling that Mathilde wasn’t the first witch that Reims had seen in recent years. ‘I can suggest leniency,’ I lied, the words coming from my mouth with some difficulty. I said them in the heat of the moment because I didn’t want to lose this chance to have a success after my previous failures, but I did shudder as I briefly recalled Godke lying to Wallenstein.
‘I confess,’ she said eventually. She was cold and scared and hoped that her status and my offer would keep her from being tortured and killed, but she was wrong. I suppressed a surge of sympathy for the woman: all witches must die, and she must have known that, and been lying to herself about her fate before I’d ever lied to her. At least, that’s what I told myself.
Hurland sidled forward with the document. I observed that it was written in both French and Latin, and had her full name, Mathilde le Clerk, beside the space for her signature. Mathilde signed it and I noticed that there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks as she did so.
I felt bad for the deception, but once the document was signed I turned to Gunnar. ‘Gag her,’ I said, and Mathilde’s eyes widened like Moses parting the sea in one of Hurland’s tales.
And that was when the mistake was made. Before she was gagged, Godke unsheathed his sword in preparation for her beheading and the sound of metal sliding against wood informed Mathilde of her fate. Dawn was poking through the barred window-holes and when Mathilde let loose her potent scream it was met with shouting in the street outside.
I swore, and Godke clenched his eyes shut as if trying to erase the event from his mind. ‘Quick, let’s get this over with,’ he said, and handed his sword, protective Sinclair hilt-first to Gunnar.
Jacob removed the rosary beads from Mathilde’s neck and said a brief prayer. Godke held her tied wrists steady behind her back as she was forced to her knees. She was struggling, but bound and hungry she was no match for Godke’s warrior’s strength.
Gunnar beheaded her with four swift strikes. There was no room for him to raise the sword and behead her fully in one strike as he had beheaded Bohdan in Pilsen. He handed the sword back to Godke and said, ‘I think you’re going to need it.’
‘Arm yourselves,’ Godke said and sheathed his sword, instead drawing his pistol. Gunnar left his musket strapped to his back and drew his Lucerne hammer. Thies drew his pistol and Hurland drew a musket. I had no weapons as we had not been wealthy enough to purchase any of value in Metz, and I had foolishly refused to wield the common man’s messer.
Gunnar led the charge out of the witch house and though I was not the last to leave there were already three dead Frenchmen on the ground when I was able to see the situation. There were about a dozen townspeople gathered near the entrance to the witch house and several of them had attacked Gunnar as he left the building. None of them were armed with anything better than a pitchfork or reapers, and now they backed off as they saw our numbers and that three of us were armed with gunpowder weapons. We dared not fire them, however, for fear of the sound drawing more of Mathilde’s supporters to the conflict. They had clearly been alert to the possibility of Mathilde being moved from the prison to the place of her execution, and we’d not been discreet enough to prevent them from knowing when it had taken place.
‘Get to the stable,’ Godke commanded.
We did not run, nor did we amble. Gunnar stayed facing the crowd, which followed us at a safe distance, as we made our way back to the stable at a moderate speed. At first, Gunnar kept the crowd at bay as the rest of us loaded our things from the tavern into Ros’ carriage, and then we mounted our horses and began heading out of the city.
Godke, however, had not been impressed by the size of the crowd pursuing us, and he had a mind that we should take some payment from Reims before fleeing the town. Before we left the town, and with the crowd still following us for we moved at a mere trot, Godke gave us new orders.
Gunnar and Jacob were to stay with the carriage. Jacob was useless in a combat situation and Gunnar was the best man to guard the carriage on its way out of Reims. The rest of us were to ride to the marketplace, which would now be open as it had been at least an hour since dawn, and extract our payment from the wares there.
I knew exactly what I wanted as payment, and when Hurland suggested that I should stay with the carriage I simply stated that I was going with Godke and that was that. The fact that no one told me otherwise made me feel like an equal member of the group, and despite the pressure of the situation and the uneasy morality of my means I smiled in the knowledge that I had successfully extracted my first confession.