‘Burn! Burn! Burn, witches, burn!’

Suddenly the whole situation seemed hopeless. Some in the front rank of the crowd started to shy rotten fruit at the prisoners but the guards on the flanks, probably worried about being hit by mistake, drew their swords and rode directly at them, driving them back into the throng, causing the whole mass of people to sway backwards.

The cart came nearer and halted, and for the first time I could see the Spook. Some of the prisoners were on their knees, praying. Others were wailing or tearing at their hair, but my master was standing straight and tall, staring ahead. His face looked haggard and tired, and there was the same vague expression in his eyes, as if he still didn’t understand what was happening to him. There was a new dark bruise on his forehead above his left eye, and his bottom lip was split and swollen – he’d evidently been given another beating.

A priest stepped forward, a scroll in his right hand, and the rhythm of the drums changed. It became a deep roll which built to a crescendo then halted suddenly, as the priest began to read from the parchment.

‘People of Priestown, hear this! We are gathered here to witness the lawful execution by fire of twelve witches and one warlock, the sinful wretches whom you see before you now. Pray for their souls! Pray that through pain they may come to know the error of their ways. Pray that they may beg God’s forgiveness and thus redeem their immortal souls.’

There was another roll of drums. The priest hadn’t finished yet and in the succeeding silence he continued to read.

‘Our Lord Protector, the High Quisitor, wishes this to be a lesson to others who might choose the path of darkness. Watch these sinners burn! Watch their bones crack and their fat melt like candle tallow. Listen to their screams and all the while remember that this is nothing! This is nothing at all compared to the flames of Hell! Nothing compared to the eternity of torment that awaits those who do not seek forgiveness!’

The crowd had fallen silent at these words. Perhaps it was the fear of Hell that the priest had mentioned, but more likely, I thought, it was something else. It was what I now feared. To stand and watch the horror of what was about to happen. The realization that living flesh and blood was to be put into the flames to endure unspeakable agony.

Two of the hooded men came forward and roughly pulled the first prisoner from the cart – a woman with long grey hair that hung down thickly over her shoulders, almost as far as her waist. As they dragged her towards the nearest pyre, she began to spit and curse, fighting desperately to tear herself free. Some of the crowd laughed and jeered, calling her names, but unexpectedly she managed to break away and began running off into the darkness.

Before the guards could take even a step to follow, the Quisitor galloped his horse past them, its hooves throwing up mud from the soft ground. He seized the woman by the hair, twisting his fingers into her locks before bunching his fist. Then he tugged her upwards so violently that her back arched and she was almost lifted from her feet. She gave a high, thin wail as the Quisitor dragged her back towards the guards, who seized her again and quickly tied her to one of the stakes on the edge of the largest pyre. Her fate was sealed.

My heart sank as I saw that the Spook was the next prisoner pulled down from the cart. They walked him towards the largest pyre and bound him to the central stake but not once did he struggle. He still just looked bewildered. I remembered once more how he’d told me that burning was one of the most painful deaths imaginable and he didn’t hold with doing that to a witch. To watch him bound there, awaiting his fate, was unbearable. Some of the Quisitor’s men were carrying torches and I imagined them lighting the pyres, the flames leaping upwards towards the Spook. It was too horrible to think about and tears began streaming down my face.

I tried to recall what my master had said about something or someone watching what we do. If you lived your life right, he’d told me, in your hour of need it would stand at your side and lend you its strength. Well, he’d lived his life right and had done everything for what he thought was the best. So he deserved something. Surely?

If I’d been part of a family that went to church and prayed more, I’d have prayed then. The habit wasn’t in me and I didn’t know how, but without realizing it I whispered something to myself. I didn’t mean it to be a prayer but I suppose it was one really.

‘Help him, please,’ I whispered. ‘Please help him.’

Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck began to move and I instantly felt cold, very cold. Something from the dark was approaching. Something strong and very dangerous. I heard Alice give a sudden gasp and a deep groan, and immediately my vision darkened so that, when I turned and reached towards her, I couldn’t even see my hand before my face. The murmur of the crowd receded into the distance and everything grew still and quiet. I felt cut off from the rest of the world, alone in darkness.

I knew that the Bane had arrived. I couldn’t see anything but I could sense it nearby, a vast dark spirit, a great weight that threatened to crush the life from me. I was terrified, for myself and for all the innocent people gathered there, but could do nothing but wait in the darkness for it to end.

When my eyes cleared, I saw Alice start forward.

Before I could stop her, she walked out of the shadows and headed directly towards the Spook and the two executioners at the central pyre. The Quisitor was close by, watching. As she approached, I saw him turn his horse towards her and spur it into a canter. For a moment I thought he intended to ride her down but he brought the animal to a halt, so close that Alice could have reached up and patted its nose.

A cruel smile split his face and I knew that he recognized her as one of the escaped prisoners. What Alice did next, I’ll always remember.

In the sudden silence that had fallen she lifted her hands towards the Quisitor, pointing at him with both forefingers. Then she laughed long and loud and the sound echoed right across the hill, making the hair stand up on the back of my neck again. It was a laugh of triumph and defiance and I thought how strange it was that the Quisitor was preparing to burn those people, all of them falsely accused, all of them innocents, while free and facing him was a real witch, with real power.

Next, Alice turned on her heels and began to spin, holding her arms stretched out horizontally. As I watched, dark spots began to appear on the nose and head of the Quisitor’s white stallion. At first I was puzzled and didn’t understand what was happening. But then the horse whinnied in fear and reared up on its hind legs and I saw that droplets of blood were flying from Alice’s left hand. Blood from where the Bane had just fed.

There was a sudden overpowering wind, a blinding flash of lightning and a clap of thunder so loud that it hurt my ears. I found myself on my knees and could hear people screaming and shouting. I looked back towards Alice and saw that she was still spinning, whirling faster and faster. The white horse reared up again, this time unseating the Quisitor, who fell off backwards onto the pyre.

Another flash of lightning and suddenly the edge of the pyre was alight, the flames crackling upwards and the Quisitor on his knees with flames all around him. I saw some of the guards rush forward to help him but the crowd was also moving forwards and one of the guards was dragged from his horse. Within moments a full-scale riot had begun. On all sides people were struggling and fighting. Others were running to escape and the air was full of shouts and screams.

I dropped the bag and ran to my master, for the flames were travelling fast, threatening to engulf him. Without thinking, I charged straight across the pyre, feeling the heat of the flames, which were already starting to take hold on the larger pieces of wood.