He who eats with the Devil needs a long spoon.
He who walks with a witch
should also keep his distance.
I came to a halt and sniffed again. The creature was approaching from the south and was on our trail.
Thorne sniffed, then smiled. “The bandits are between us and our enemies. That should prove interesting! They’ll be wetting themselves!”
We ran on, and soon we heard a distant bestial roar, followed by screams and shouts of fear and anger. The drunken men would stand no chance against our enemies, but they might slow up the pursuit a little. I glanced back at the boy; he was breathing heavily with the exertion of the run. Whatever his level of fitness, his confinement would have weakened him.
I halted again, handed the sack to Thorne, and grabbed the boy. He flinched at my close proximity but did not resist as I hoisted him up onto my shoulder. We continued north at a slightly slower pace. My weakness had not returned, but my stamina was not as good as usual. I tried to put all doubts about my fitness to the back of my mind, but they nagged at me like rotting teeth. I pushed them away and tried to be optimistic. So far my bouts of weakness had not occurred at moments of immediate danger. Despite Agnes’s concerns that my body might be permanently damaged, I still hoped to make a full recovery.
By late morning we had slowed our pace to a fast walk. We seemed to have left the kretch behind, though without doubt it still followed us. Now a threat lay ahead. We were following a dirt track through a narrow, treeless valley with low hills on either side. Twice I had glimpsed figures on the skyline. We were being watched.
I halted and eased Will back onto his feet. “How far to the castle now, boy?” I asked.
“Less than an hour. My father’s men already provide an escort,” he said, gesturing up to the summits of the hills.
“I’ve seen them,” I told him. “No doubt they will have sent word that you are in the company of witches.”
Ten minutes later we saw dust on the horizon directly ahead. It was a man on horseback, galloping straight toward us. I sniffed concern but little fear.
“It’s my father!” Will exclaimed as the rider drew closer.
The knight wore light chain mail and was mounted on a dappled mare. He had no helmet but carried a sword at his hip and a shield slung across his shoulder. He halted his horse in front of us, barring our path, and drew his sword, pointing it right at us.
“Stand back and allow my son to step forward!” he commanded.
The knight was of middle age and, to my judgment, slightly overweight. He was no real threat to either me or Thorne. No doubt he had declined physically since the deeds of his younger days, but he still had courage. Not many men would dare face two witches with a mere sword.
“He is free to do as he pleases,” I answered. “Lower your sword!”
“Do not attempt to command me, witch!” he retorted.
“But they freed me, Father, and helped me to escape from my captors,” Will interceded. “They are pursued, and I have offered them refuge in our home. I said that you would help them to fight the dangerous enemies that are on their tail. I gave my word.”
Anger flickered across the knight’s face. I sensed that he was a fair man, but he seemed less than pleased by what his son had agreed.
“I thank you for freeing my son,” he answered, lowering his sword and returning it to its scabbard. “For that I am in your debt. But this presents me with no small difficulty. I am a God-fearing man; within my castle is a chapel where the faithful worship every Sunday. The bishop himself visits twice a year to bless the altar and pray for the sick. My chaplain will be outraged.”
“My word of honor, Father!” Will cried, his voice becoming shrill. “I gave them my word!”
The knight nodded. “What’s done is done. I will ride on with my son. My home lies directly ahead. Its gates will open for you. I am Sir Gilbert Martin. How are you named?”
“I am Grimalkin and this is Thorne,” I told him. I saw fear in his face and was pleased to note that my notoriety had preceded me. I wanted him to be afraid because then he was more likely to be cooperative.
“Go with your father, boy,” I said, turning to Will. “We will join you soon.”
With that, the boy ran forward, and his father leaned down, grabbed his arm, and helped him up onto the horse behind him. Then, without further acknowledgment, they galloped away into the distance.
“Do you think he will let us into his castle?” Thorne asked.
I shrugged. “I have my doubts. Soon we will know what honor is worth to such a man. But I think that what waits ahead is better than what follows behind.”
So we continued along the dusty track until the castle came into view; before it ran a narrow, fast-flowing river. The fortification was modest, with just a single inner keep, but it did have a moat and a drawbridge, above which stood a small defensive tower with battlements. Surrounding the castle lay the cultivated fields of tenant farmers, dotted with small cottages, but there was no one working there. I noted that two of the dwellings were burned and blackened. The war had reached even this isolated backwater of the County.
We crossed the river at a ford, the water reaching up to our knees. As we passed the first cottage, I peered through the window to confirm what I had suspected.
I was right: A half-eaten meal lay on the table. The occupants had left in a hurry. In times of danger, the tenants, workers, and servants of a knight such as this took refuge within the castle. But what did the knight consider the danger to be? Did he fear two witches, or that which pursued them? Perhaps both? We would find out soon enough.
As we got nearer, I saw figures watching us from the ramparts. There was a clank and grinding of chains over a capstan, and the drawbridge was slowly lowered, but when we stepped onto it, we saw that the portcullis and the sturdy iron-studded door beyond it were still closed against us.
Then a voice called down to us from above. It wasn’t the knight, just one of his minions. I sniffed and knew him for a blusterer—but one who could kill in cold blood and made his living by use of violence.
“Unsheathe your weapons! Place them at your feet!” he cried.
I shook my head. “My blades stay where I can reach them!”
I sniffed again and found danger. There were armed men in a state of high alert. But I sensed discipline too. They were obedient and awaiting orders.
There was no reply, but I heard murmurs from above. My refusal was being debated.
Seconds later, there was a clank of chains and the portcullis began to rise. Thorne leaned across and whispered in my ear. “It could be a trap,” she said.
I nodded but did not reply. Could we trust this knight? I wondered. I sniffed—this time a long sniff, attempting to read the future, especially the threat of death. I sniffed for Thorne. She would not die here. I felt sure of it.
The heavy wooden door swung inward, groaning on its hinges. About ten paces beyond the door stood the knight; behind me there was another closed portcullis. He was still dressed in chain mail but no longer carried the sword. He beckoned us forward, and Thorne and I stepped through the doorway, advancing about five paces. As we came to a halt, the portcullis behind us started to descend. I glanced back and saw that the inner door remained open.
“You are welcome to my home,” Sir Gilbert said, his voice mild and courteous. “I bear no arms within these walls, and I ask that you do likewise. Remove your blades and lay them at your feet.”
“Your customs are not my customs,” I replied. “My habit is to keep my blades within reach at all times.”
“I offer you refuge, but it must be on my terms!”
I drew a throwing blade and pointed it toward him. No sooner had I made that threat than two bowmen moved into position behind him, their arrows pointing through the bars of the portcullis. I glanced to my left and right. There were arrow slits in the stone walls. We were being targeted from three sides. Arrows fired from longbows have great velocity and force. They can even puncture armor. But despite the extreme danger, I remained very calm as I analyzed the situation and considered my options.
“Before an arrow reaches me,” I threatened, “my blade will be in your throat.”
That was true. To slay the knight would be as easy as flicking a fly from my brow. He was less than a second from death. We could also slay the bowmen behind him. I could not be sure of killing the men behind the arrow slits, though. And even if I was successful, we would be trapped in this gateway, with a portcullis on either side and no means of escape.
“Then all three of us would be dead,” said the knight. “It would be a waste, and so unnecessary. You rescued my son, and for that I am grateful and will hold to his word. I offer you refuge within these walls. Food, drink, and clean clothes await you. Just put down your weapons, I beg you, and all will be well.”
Our eyes met, and I read his intent—he meant every word. So in answer I knelt and began to take out my blades and lay them down on the floor. After a moment’s hesitation, Thorne did likewise. When I returned to my feet, Sir Gilbert was smiling.
“Is that all?” he enquired. “Have I your word that there are no weapons in the bag on your shoulder?”
“It contains no weapons. I give you my word,” I replied.
“What does it contain?”
“Something that must remain in my presence at all times. If you like, I will show it to you later. But then you will wish you had never seen it.”
The knight raised his hand, and the bowmen behind the inner portcullis stepped to one side; it began to rise. He gestured for us to follow him, and we stepped through into the castle yard. To the left, in the wide area farthest from the inner tower, the tenant farmers were gathered with their families, cooking over braziers. They were accompanied by sheep, cows, and goats; they had evidently brought all their livestock within the walls for safety.
There were few soldiers to be seen, but the eight archers remained by the gate, arrows now returned to their quivers. Then I noticed a figure in the distance. He was garbed in the black cassock of a priest and was frowning as he stared toward us. He was someone who would certainly not greet us with open arms.
We followed Sir Gilbert into the inner tower. A female servant waited just within the entrance. She was matronly, getting on in years, and was dressed in a gray smock with mousy hair pulled back into a tight bun.
“This is Mathilde,” said the knight. “She will take you to your room. When you are washed and dressed appropriately, she will bring you to the banqueting hall.”
With those words, he smiled, bowed, and left us.
“This way, please,” Mathilde said, scurrying off down a corridor. I noticed that she avoided our gaze, no doubt fearing the evil eye. She opened the door to our quarters and left hurriedly.
Thorne’s eyes opened wide in amazement at the opulence of our surroundings; she had known nothing before this but witches’ hovels and the dwellings of the poor. The room was large and hung with tapestries that seemed to tell a story: a knight was fighting a huge fanged creature in the middle of a fast-flowing river. No doubt it was Sir Gilbert defeating the worme. I quickly glanced about me. There were two beds, two upright chairs, and a table bearing a large pitcher of water. On each bed was draped a pale green dress.
“Dressed appropriately!” I said, raising my eyebrows and smiling at Thorne. “Have you ever worn a dress such as that before?”
Thorne shook her head. She wasn’t smiling. “We have given up our weapons and now must dress like foolish women of the court. There are no bowmen here to enforce Sir Gilbert’s will. Why should we obey?”
“It will do no harm, child, to see how others live. We should wash the stink from our bodies and dress in clean clothes for a while. Soon the kretch will arrive, so enjoy this brief respite. In any case, no doubt the boy will approve of the dress!”
Thorne blushed to the roots of her hair but was too embarrassed to make any reply, so I turned away and laid my straps and sheaths down beside the bed. I took off my dirty clothes and washed myself while Thorne sulked. That done, I donned what seemed to be the longer of the two dresses. When I’d finished, Thorne grudgingly began her own ablutions. At last she faced me, wearing her green dress.
“What a pretty lady you are,” I mocked, “and more than ready to take your place at court!”
Thorne’s face twisted in fury and she ran at me, nails set to rip my face off.
I took a step backward and smiled, holding out my hand to ward her off. “I’m only jesting, child. Don’t take offense. Wear your best smile so that we can charm this knight and bend him to our will.”
When we left the room, Mathilde was waiting nervously in the corridor; she led us straight to the banqueting hall. She glanced at the leather bag, which I carried in my left hand. I saw her shudder. Maybe she sensed the evil within. Some people were sensitive to such things.
The hall was huge, with a high hammer-beam roof, and could probably have accommodated a hundred people. There were six long tables, with an oval one at the head, opposite the main door. This was the only one occupied. Two people were seated there: Sir Gilbert and his son. They were finely dressed in dark blue silk, as befitted gentlemen of a court. However, the father would have looked better in his chain mail. His round belly was now open to our gaze. He was clearly a man grown comfortable in middle age and accustomed to an easy life.
As we approached, they both rose to their feet and smiled, but I noticed their gaze flick toward the leather bag, which I placed beside my chair. I wondered where the kretch and the other supporters of the Fiend were now. They might arrive at the castle at any time.
“You are welcome. Be seated,” Sir Gilbert said. He and his son waited until Thorne and I had both taken our places before they sat down.
Servants moved in and placed dishes of meat and bread on the table.
“We have much to discuss, but you must be hungry. So let’s eat first and talk later.”
I needed no second invitation. While we ate, large glasses of mead were poured, but both Thorne and I sipped sparingly. We needed clear heads to negotiate with this knight. He had given us refuge—but for how long? There was still much to be decided.
When we had finished, the servants collected the plates but left the glasses before us. Sir Gilbert steepled his fingers and looked at each of us in turn before speaking. “Once again I must thank you for rescuing my son and escorting him home. He tells me that you are being pursued by some strange creature that is unknown to me. I would know more.”
“The creature is called a kretch, and is a hybrid of a man and a wolf. It has been created by dark magic specifically to hunt me down. It is intelligent and ferocious, and possesses great strength. It can use weapons such as blades, and its claws are coated with a deadly poison. Additionally, its head and upper body are armored with thick ridges of bone, and if wounded, it can regenerate itself.”
“How could it be killed?” he asked.
“It is possible that removing the heart and destroying it by fire or eating it might suffice. But in order to be sure, it must be dismembered and cut into small pieces.”
“It is not alone?”
“It is accompanied by a band of witches and a powerful dark mage named Bowker. Their combined strength makes them formidable.”
“And what have you done to make them hunt you down in such a way?”
I reached down and lifted the sack onto the table. “Within this sack is the head of the Fiend,” I said. “He has been bound temporarily while we search for a way to destroy him. Our enemies wish to reunite the head with the body and set him at liberty.”
“I find this hard to believe,” said the knight, an expression of incredulity on his face. “You mean the head of the Devil himself is within that sack? Is that what you are telling me?”
“He was summoned to earth by the Pendle covens. Now he is trapped in the flesh and in great pain. Do you not believe me? Do you require proof?” I demanded.
A faint groan issued from the sack, and what sounded like a sharp intake of breath. Will and his father both started, but the latter quickly regained his composure.
“I am a man of peace, and happy attending to my own affairs. I take up arms only when the cause justifies it. I know little of witches and dark magic and believe that much that seems strange can be put down to superstition and ignorance. But I do have an open mind and would very much like to see the contents of this sack.”
“Then I will grant your wish,” I said, undoing the ties. I lifted the Fiend’s head out by its horns and held it up before the knight and his son.
Both came to their feet in shock. The boy looked as if he was about to flee from the chamber. The head groaned faintly once more, and the flesh around the ruined eye twitched. There was a thick crusting of blood running from that eye to the wide-open mouth. If anything, the head was even more hideous than before.