BARBARA SMITH

" I know not Nick, but we'd best be making inquiry." He urged his horse forward up a steep banking, guiding it skilfully through a small plantation of saplings. Banisters was a few paces behind him as they crested the rise.

" Hell's teeth." Nowell's oath was uttered in a low growl. " That damn brood from the Malkin Tower. What mischief have they conjured now?"

From the top of the rise the land fell away into a shallow valley. Halfway down the sloping ground stood a sturdy stone house and beyond it a granary, its large wooden mill wheel churning the waters of the pond at its side. Between the house and the mill stood the miller, Richard Baldwin, his lean body taut with rage. Before him, an old crone supported herself on a stick. On the ground at her side, a young girl lay sprawled in the grass, wailing and holding a hand to her cheek.

" Get thee away from here, while the Lord still stayeth my hand." The cold fury in Baldwin's voice carried to the two men as they rode towards the scene.

" What goes here Master Baldwin?" asked Nowell as he slid from his saddle. Banisters followed suit and stood at his side. Before the miller could reply, the old woman spoke up.

" There's payment owed." Baldwin's eyes glittered with hatred.

" Aye and payment shall be delivered." He raised the whip in his hand. The young girl squealed and scrambled to her feet, grabbing at the old woman's arm in an attempt to draw her away. A large red weal on her cheek bore testament that the whip had already found its mark. When they had gone a few paces, the old woman turned her head, fixing Baldwin with milky, almost sightless eyes.

" Remember I shall Master Baldwin, the charity of you and yours." The three men stiffened at the icy venom carried by the words. Then the pair shambled away.

" What payment does she speak of Richard?" Nowell spoke quietly to the angry miller.

" Demdike's spawn, Lizzie Devise laboured for me the morning. Then I found the thieving wench in my larder and offered her payment with this." He raised the whip before him. " So she sends the old crone and the whelp to ask for her dues. Aye! And if she had her dues, her and the whole brood would be committed to Lancaster and the Assizes."

" We've argued on this before Richard," said Nowell patiently.

" Aye, we have and I still hold, that you Master Nowell, as Magistrate and Kings Justice for these parts, are remiss in not dispatching them so."

" On what charge Richard?"

" You know well the charge Master Nowell! Does not the good book say,' Thou shall not permit a witch to live'? Even his Majesty King James himself, cautions us to be ever vigilant in these matters."

" What you say is true, but even His Majesty requires evidence of such doings. What evidence can you offer me?" The miller's eyes burned with a fury that made Nick Banister step back a pace.

" EVIDENCE! Have I not a daughter dead these twelvemonth? And what of Henry Mitton? Not but two weeks gone, struck down by some dark force that leaves him twitching and dying in his own fields and the slut grandchild of Demdike seen on the Hill of Pendle above?"

" I asked for evidence, not say so." Banister caught the rising anger in his friends' voice.

" SAY SO! is it? Shouted the miller. " Well, such is evidence enough for people hereabout. Mark my words well Master Nowell, the time comes when justice may be lifted from your hands and taken by others." Nowell stared hard at the man before him, his emotions barely controlled.

" And were such a thing to happen Master Baldwin, t'would be others and not Demdike on the road to Lancaster." The two men glared at each other, then without another word, Baldwin turned and strode off towards the granary.

The two friends retraced their journey through the forest without speaking. It was not until they broke from the trees and turned onto the track that would take them to Nowell's home at Read that Bannister broke the silence.

" I have no recall of this Demdike during our dealings Roger." Like Nowell, Bannister was Magistrate at Altham, an area five miles to the east of Pendle and the two men often held shared court when the need demanded.

" Nay, but we have had truck with the granddaughter Alizon, for petty doings."

"Then I'm perplexed as to why the miller should harbour such malice towards them."

"They're paupers Nick and as such, thieves and whores as circumstance demands. They bide yonder at the Malkin Tower. A grim place, a pigs sty, Though I would have worry about keeping even pigs there. As for our Master Baldwin. He's puritan through and through, it offends his senses that such creatures are allowed to exist."

" There's just the three wenches then?"

" Nay, apart from Demdike and the granddaughter Alizon who we saw today, Lizzie Devise has two more bastards. James the son, is moon kissed, a half wit, though canny enough at filching mutton. Jennet, the young un, cannot be more than eight years. She comes a begging for scraps at Read. Lean as a stick, all skin and bone and a plastering of filth. Still beneath it all, she's an uncommon pretty little maid, for one whelped by squinting Lizzie."

" Squinting Lizzie!" laughed Bannister " How was the wench named so?"

" A sore affliction of the eyes, one rolls down, the other up." He shuddered. " Not a comely wench."

" Well, some must have thought so, to have whelped three." Nowell laughed aloud, his good humour returned by his friend's jest.

" Aye well said Nick, but I still maintain that the night and the ditch must have been fearful dark."

*****

1998

Tony Nowell stopped as he reached the entrance to the pub and gazed beyond the building to the great hill that shadowed the village. He loved the sight of Pendle at this time of day. It lay almost purple in the rays of the dying sun, like some huge slumbering beast.

Inside the pub the usual Friday night crowd were well into their drinking session, to judge by the shouts and ribald laughter that echoed around the taproom.

" Evening Tony, the usual?" Ken the barman was already filling a glass with beer. Tony smiled and nodded as he counted out the money for the ale. As soon as the glass was set before him, he swept it up and took a deep swallow. It had been a long hot day and he had been looking forward to this.

" Can I have a word Tony?" He turned and groaned inwardly at the sight of George Baldwin, this was something that he didn't need.

" What's the problem George? As if I didn't know, he thought.

"Me and some of the others, were wondering what you're doing about em"

" Doing about who?"

"You know what I'm talking about. The bloody riffraff that's moved in at the other end of the village." Tony turned deliberately back to his beer and tried to keep his voice even.

" Nothing we can do. They're not breaking any law." George let out a snort of disgust.

" I don't know what the hell we pay the police for. That's all you lot ever say, nothing we can do. Too busy chasing some poor bugger with your breathalysers if you ask me." Tony ignored the insult and stared fixedly at his pint.

" Like I said George, camping on common land isn't against the law. Anyway, they only stopped because the old man needed a doctor. Soon as he's on the mend they'll be on their way, so there's nothing to worry about, is there?"

"Nothing to worry about!. Let that lot get away with it and next thing you know the place will be full of all-sorts. Pakis, Chinks,Wogs and God knows what else will think they can move in without so much as a by your leave. My family has lived here for centuries, alongside decent folks, and that's how I mean to keep it. For Christ's sake Nowell, you're the village bobby, you should be worried about it" Tony fought to stem the hot anger that coursed through him. He turned and stared into the other man's eyes.

" Do you know what worries me George?" his voice was low and angry. " It's people like you. You're a narrow minded bigot and believe me, bigots are bloody dangerous."

" Bigot am I? Well then, so is half the village and I'll tell you something else. They're sick to the teeth of the police doing nothing, so don't be surprised if they decide to do something about it themselves." Tony's hands curled into fists as he fought off an overpowering urge to strike this sanctimonious little pig of a man.

" Then you had better tell these 'people', to be very careful, or they might find out just how fast the police can act with lawbreakers." George Baldwin's eyes were bulging as he glared at Tony, who glared back with equal venom. George, his chubby face scarlet, opened his mouth to reply, then changing his mind snapped it shut and stamped back to his cronies in the corner. Tony became aware that the pub had fallen quiet during the exchange. In the silence, his muttered ' Stupid Prat', was heard by everyone.

*****

1612

Roger Nowell was feeling the full weight of his fifty years. The events of the last month had taken their toll. His normally jovial face was grey and strained. Nick Bannister had ridden over from Altham at first light. Nowell was glad of the other man's company, he valued Nick's counsel. Over the years a deep friendship and trust had grown up between the two men, each naturally turned to the other in troubled times. Now, as the two crested the hill, the sun broke through the sullen clouds, casting a warm glow over the wild rugged beauty of Pendle. The sight did nothing to lighten Nowell's mood. Drawing his horse to a halt, he stared morosely to the west, where the moorland fell away into a deep lush valley. Below him the village of Whalley lay slumbering in the strengthening sun. Beyond Whalley he could see the great abbey. Once it had housed a community of monks, but no longer. Papist was not to be tolerated in England. A new puritan spirit was rife in the land, preached by stern faced, intolerant men; men like Richard Baldwin. A few Catholic priests still ministered covertly to the faithful, but it was a risky business. They were hunted down like animals and rewarded with a painful lingering death. Only people accused of witchcraft faced a worse fate.

With a deep sight he broke his gaze from the scene below and turned to Bannister.

" A pretty pickle, he Nick?" he said wryly. Bannister nodded.

" So this man Law, the one who was bewitched, you know of him?"

Aye, John Law, he's a packman from out of Yorkshire, a giant of a man, red faced with a liking for food and ale. Well received by the ladies hereabout for his fine stock of silks and fripperies. It's a month gone now, he was travelling the road to Colne when he met up with Alizon Devise. She tried to beg some pins from him, but he rounds on her, calls her a midden slut. She retaliates with a string of curses. When Law reaches the ale house at Colne he's all of a sudden struck down by some affliction, that lames him down one side and twists his tongue, making his speech slurry. Word is sent, summoning his son Abraham, who comes all speed. Meantime word has reached Master Baldwin, who is at pains to discover what curses were laid on him. The upshot is that Baldwin and Law's son round up Alizon and bring her to Law's sickbed. Whereupon she wails and begs forgiveness of the sick man, saying she never meant him harm. Tis two days before they bring the wench to me and by the look of her, two days in which she had been sorely used. Right away she starts in with her confession, that she is a witch, that her whole family are witches, that the Chattox, their feuding neighbours are witches. She'd have named half the county had I let her. To give the Devil his due, she had been well tutored in the words." He stopped speaking and gave another weary sigh.

" You could do naught else than what you did Roger," Banister's voice was low and comforting. " Had you refuted such confessions and word of it had reached the King, well then, the prison at Lancaster would have been your destination." Nowell shook his head sadly.

" Baldwin took to it like a terrier to a hare, trouping in witnesses to swear to deeds. Held them guilty of everything from murder, to sheep death and soured ale. Twelve in all, committed to the Assizes and every poor soul of them weighs on me heavy. I can say this only to you Nick, but I have grave doubts about this witchcraft, that speaking words can kill---"He broke off with a shake of his head

*****

1998

At six-o-clock in the evening the pub was a haven of peace. All that would change in an hour or so, when the local farmers would be rounding off their day at the weekly cattle auction in the village. For now though, John was glad of the quiet atmosphere that would allow him to unwind after a fraught day. Taking his beer, he settled himself into the window seat and opened up his newspaper. An article on the Hale Bopp comet caught his eye and he was soon engrossed in it.

" Evening John, mind if we join you?" Without waiting for a reply George Baldwin settled his ample frame next to John's. Irritation flared in John as he moved to accommodate the unwelcome guest. Baldwin was a loud-mouthed bully and John usually took pains to avoid him, now it looked like he was stuck with him.

" Hello George," he tried to keep his voice civil, " Mary, Alice," he nodded a welcome to Baldwin's wife and the other woman who were taking seats across the table from him.

" No doubt you've heard about what happened to that lot in the caravan?" Baldwin's voice was tinged with almost gleeful malice.

" Yes, Tony Nowell was telling me about it. I can't believe anybody could do such a terrible thing."

" Personally, I think that they did a good job," Baldwin smirked. John stared at him aghast.

" You can't mean that! My God, the old man died." The other man shrugged, unconcerned. <P." " He's right John," Mary Baldwin intervened. " There's no knowing what might happen with them sort. Coming round the village selling them charms and things. And you're obliged to buy."

" Why on earth are you obliged to buy?" Mary looked at him nonplussed.

" Well--, you never know what they might do, people like them." John was incredulous

" Surely you're not talking about curses are you?" Mary drew up her plump little body indignantly

" You can laugh all you want John Bannister. My sister once had words with a gypsy and ended up with a miscarriage because of it." John snorted in amazement.

" Don't be ridiculous Mary, even you can't believe that!"

" I know that she shut the door in a tinkers face and two weeks later she lost her baby. No reason for it according to her doctor."

" Oh come on Mary, it was just coincidence. You can't seriously believe that you can kill someone by cursing them!" The woman's eyes glittered angrily.

" Well ask Billy Mitton then, if he thinks it's just coincidence that the day after he chased them off his land two of his sheep are dead." John stared at her dumbfounded.

" It's not just things like that though," the other woman broke in. " I mean, the state that old man was in. Like George said, he looked like he was at death's door. I wouldn't be surprised if he had that Aids thingy. He could have been passing it on to all of us."

" Alice, you can't catch AIDS like that. In fact it's quite hard to catch at all, apart from the obvious ways," said John patiently.

" Say's who?" asked Mary

" Say the doctors, that's who."

" Seems to me that the doctors only tell us what they want us to hear. That doesn't necessarily mean it's true," sniffed Mary. John stared at the three of them in exasperation.

" I can't believe I'm hearing this. It's nineteen ninety-eight for Christ's sake, not the dark ages. We're supposed to be civilised not raving savages. They were gypsies pure and simple. I admit I didn't want them here anymore than the rest of you, but to burn them out like that--, it's unforgivable.

" Best thing to do with rubbish is to burn it." George's face was almost triumphant. " One thing's for sure, they won't be bothering us anymore and I'll drink to that."

*****

1612

The ride from Lancaster had been hot and dusty on this warm August day. Roger Nowell was glad to be home. The spectacle at the prison had sickened him. Of the twelve he had dispatched two months previously, eleven had hung this day. The old crone Demdike had passed away in the first week of imprisonment. Her advanced age was no match for the fetid dungeons of Lancaster Castle. Maybe it was a blessing, he mused, that she had been spared the final degradation.

The atmosphere outside the castle gates had been almost carnival. Vendors had hawked ale and sweetmeats, alongside jesters and ballad singers, while the crowd had milled around in festive mood. Whole families had made the trek, bringing children, some mere babes in arm, to see the witches hang.

An open cart had brought the prisoners from the castle. The crowd had become frenzied, jeering and pelting the pathetic figures with rotten fruit and cow dung. Nowell had watched from the outskirts, his heart heavy with guilt and pity for the poor wretches.

When it was over and the final breath had sped silently from the last emaciated body, the crowd had bayed like wild animals. The heat and the emotion had wrapped itself around Nowell in a nauseating cloak. He had fought his way through the press of bodies, desperate to retrieve his horse from the inn and be away from this madness. On the long journey he had played events over in his head, seeking some way he could have averted this travesty, but he knew there was none.

Now as Pendle came into view, glorious in the late afternoon sun, he felt his spirits lift a little. The hill and the moorland surrounding it, had been here forever, witnessing an ever-changing tide of events. And so it would remain long after he was gone. Maybe some future generation would find a way to some new understanding, away from the bigotry and superstition he had viewed this day. The thought gave him comfort as he turned for home.

*****

1998

" What's so interesting in that newspaper? Is it the page three girl that you're gawking at, while your customers die of thirst? Laughed Tony Nowell.

" Sorry Tony." The barman moved to fill the glass of his solitary customer. " I was reading about the Pendle Witches. Some Historic Society has petitioned the High Court demanding a Royal Pardon for them."

" You're joking! That was four hundred years ago. Anyway, what do they need a pardon for? It's obvious to everybody that they did nothing wrong. The barman nodded in agreement.

" Aye, it was a bit far fetched wasn't it? If I remember rightly, George Baldwin told me one of his ancestors was involved in it, Richard, I think his name was." Tony gave a snort of derision.

" Yeah, and if he was anything like George, he would be the one leading the witch-hunt. A predecessor of mine was involved as well. Though I suppose that's true of a lot of the families round here, most of them have been around since the year dot."

" From what I read in the paper, it was a real put up job?"

" Yeah, can you imagine trying to bring a case like that today, all superstition and innuendo, it would be laughed out of court."

" We've certainly come on a bit since then," laughed the barman.

" But maybe not as much as we think," said Tony sombrely." All that fiasco with the gypsies last month. Things like that make me wonder whether we've progressed at all.