Sarum

  It was just past the manor house that he stopped and stared in surprise.

  On the slope above there was a small wooden sheep house. It undoubtedly belonged to the manor.

  Why therefore should a figure he clearly recognised as Obadiah Shockley the preacher be coming surreptitiously out of it?

  Shockley was not aware of him. Quickly he strode up towards the footpath on the ridge above.

  That afternoon, while Samuel and Jacob Godfrey were up on the high ground an unexpected visitor came to call upon Margaret. His name was Daniel Johnson.

  He was a quiet, serious man with a polite manner. He had come, he explained, from Obadiah.

  “And since my horse went lame halfway here, I had a long walk,” he added a little ruefully.

  Margaret was a little sorry for him, and since she was feeling somewhat elated after her meeting with Forest, she saw no harm in hearing him out.

  He pleaded the case for Samuel’s education well. He said that Obadiah was hurt she should deny him his natural role in helping to bring up the child. She judged that, having listened to her brother, the man was possibly quite sincere. What could she say to him?

  He was agreeable at any rate. He had a pleasing way of listening to her so that she was encouraged to go on. She gave him her rough and ready views on many subjects. He was interested to learn about how she had fought for the Clubmen, dressed in men’s armour. He asked if he might see round the farm, and she showed him her cows, speaking to them gently as they nudged shyly away from the stranger. Proudly she took him to the floated meadows. On their return she even, at his request, showed him the nearly tame birds that she called by name. He seemed well pleased with everything he saw. At one point, while she had to attend to one of the farmworkers he even spoke in a friendly way to the serving girl and gave her a shilling.

  As far as Mr Johnson’s mission was concerned, she returned his politeness, but was non-committal. Soon she would have the documents signed by Forest and that would be the end of the matter.

  They parted amicably, having reached no conclusions.

  She was surprised a few minutes later to see that Samuel, who had just come in, was white as a sheet. And why should he look at her so strangely when he asked who her visitor had been?

  “Mr Johnson,” she told him, “from Obadiah. He was pleasing enough.”

  “Johnson? He called himself that?”

  “Why not?”

  For a second he paused, as though suddenly he was not sure whether to speak.

  “’Twas Matthew Hopkins,” he blurted out, “the witchfinder general. What does he here?”

  The birds she called by name. The cows she spoke to. The serving girl he gave a shilling to. She felt the colour drain from her face.

  Obadiah.

  Worse. With his influence as a preacher and with Matthew Hopkins on his side . . . the evil cunning of the man. She had fallen into a terrible trap.

  Later that afternoon, one of Sir Henry Forest’s sheep died.

  The agreement between Sir Henry Forest and Margaret Shockley was signed and sealed the next day. It was agreed that Samuel would begin his life at Avonsford Manor the following month, when Lady Forest and her children came back from a visit to her family.

  Margaret returned home thoughtfully afterwards. If he knew the boy was safely with Forest, would Obadiah still attack her? Or would he attack all the more, to try to annul the agreement? Were agreements by people found guilty of witchcraft still valid? She did not know.

  She had no illusions though. Whatever his plan, if Obadiah and Matthew Hopkins attacked, she would have little chance of surviving.

  When she got back she summoned Samuel and told him:

  “You’re to live with the Forests. It’s a great opportunity.” And she explained to him both about Forest’s fine tutor and about the water meadows. “You will have companions of your own age as well,” she added.

  That evening, the second of Forest’s sheep died. When the shepherd and steward opened the dead animal up to look for signs of murrain, they could find none. They could not tell what either sheep had died of.

  The two men chose their spot well – by a small clump of trees on the path that led to the water meadow. As they expected, the boy came by in the early afternoon, and Obadiah hailed him softly.

  “Samuel. We must speak with thee.”

  They were grave, the two men. Hopkins, as always, quiet and pleasant; Obadiah sorely troubled.

  “It is hard, Samuel, to think such a thing of our sister,” he said sadly. “Still I pray God it may turn out to be false.”

  “But you must be observant,” the witchfinder said. “Anything you see may be significant.”

  Was it really possible that Margaret, his Margaret, was practising witchcraft? Ever since the day before he had been worrying about the significance of Hopkins. Yet despite the respect he had for the two grave men, he could not bring himself to think that it was so.

  As though reading his thoughts, Obadiah reminded him:

  “The devil is subtle, Samuel. He may choose to possess even those we love.”

  When they asked him what she had done in the last day, he could only tell them about her transaction with Forest.

  Obadiah was taken aback by this news. But he quickly recovered to take advantage of it.

  “That land was meant to come to you, Samuel,” he said. “She has sold your patrimony to pay Forest. Yet had I not offered the same education to you myself for nothing?” He shook his head. “Hers is a distorted mind. I fear the worst. We shall try, if we can, to get your land back.”

  And as he considered this, whether or not he thought she might be a witch, Samuel Shockley felt a touch of anger towards his sister.

  The accusation was made the very next day. He would demonstrate, Hopkins promised, that by her unnatural behaviour in dressing up as a man, by her speech with animals and by other signs, Margaret Shockley had shown herself to be steeped in the arts of necromancy. For good measure, it was subjoined that she had bewitched her neighbour’s sheep, and the death of two of Forest’s was adduced as evidence.

  It was a damning charge and all Sarum was buzzing with it. The matter would be laid before the Justice of the Peace—Sir Henry Forest – the very next week, but there seemed little doubt that he would send the matter forward to the Assizes for trial. The fact that the bewitched sheep belonged to him was not held to prejudice the matter in any way.

  The next day, however, Sir Henry Forest received a most unexpected call.

  It was from Aaron the Jew.

  After hearing about the accusation, it had taken courage for Aaron to go to Forest. As a Jew, his position in England was tenuous. Did not his people know to their cost, for centuries of persecution, the terrible risks of calling attention to themselves? Had he any need to make enemies of powerful men like Obadiah? Margaret Shockley was nothing to him, nor Sarum, where he might only stay a month before passing on.

  But it was written in the law: Thou shalt not bear false witness. It was written in the law, and if he did nothing, his conscience would not let him rest. He had seen what he had seen.

  Briefly, without suggesting what it might mean, he told Sir Henry how he had seen Obadiah.

  Forest listened, and as he did so, he grew thoughtful. When the Jew had finished, he thanked him, then, choosing his words with care;

  “This is a delicate matter,” he warned, “and I advise you to say nothing about it. I shall investigate it diligently though. Be assured of that.”

  Then he dismissed the man.

  For some time after Aaron had gone, he considered the business in every aspect. Then drew out the agreement he had made with Margaret only days before. Even in the event of her condemnation and death, he judged that it might still be valid. Without her life tenancy at a low rent, the value of his acquisition would be raised many times.

  Forest considered carefully, then decided to remain silent and wait upon events.

  Margaret Shockley fo
resaw the next move against her.

  That same day, she packed Samuel’s possessions into three larges boxes and placed them in the cart. Then she drove the boy round to Avonsford Manor.

  “It’s best he remains with you,” she told the baronet, and reminding him of their agreement she pointed out: “’Twill be easier for you to keep your part of the bargain if he is already safely in your hands. Not so easy if Obadiah’s already got him.

  Forest took him in without a word.

  Two hours later, Obadiah and six men arrived at the farm. They had come for Samuel. She noticed that neither Jacob Godfrey nor any of the farm hands made any attempt to stop him.

  “You come too late,” she told Obadiah. “He is safe with Sir Henry Forest, where even you can’t touch him.”

  “I am the head of the family, impudent woman,” he said with icy coldness. “Forest will yield him to me.”

  “I think not. He’s an interest in keeping the boy. He’s also a magistrate before whom you are to bring me,” she added shrewdly.

  Obadiah scowled, but let the subject drop.

  Before he left however, when the two of them were alone together for a moment, she asked:

  “If you can’t have the boy, Obadiah, why bother to persecute me?”

  To which, with all the hatred of the past in his dark eyes he softly replied:

  “So that you burn.”

  She nodded.

  “And then you’ll truly be head of the family,” she answered.

  But it was no word spoken by Obadiah that day that hurt her, nor the fact that the Godfreys and the farmworkers were suddenly silent and awkward if she came close to them. It was the fact that, as they got into the cart to go to Avonsford, young Samuel sat as far away as possible and that at the manor, he had gazed at her once, with fear and doubt in his eyes, before leaving without a word of farewell. And in that, she had to confess, Obadiah had won, since he had taken away from her the love of her only child.

  Aaron was not satisfied. He had spent a lifetime in business with all kinds of men and, although he had no idea of the reason, he knew that Forest was going to conceal what he had told him.

  And now he was in a quandary. For even if he had the courage to raise the matter himself, what would the word of a Jew count against a powerful Presbyterian? He would do nothing but invite persecution for himself or any other Jews who passed that way.

  Then he saw the boy in Wilton. He was sitting in Sir Henry Forest’s carriage, but the merchant he had been speaking to pointed Samuel out and told him, “That’s the Shockley boy.” He remembered him vaguely from the day in the water meadows.

  There could be no doubt. It was a sign from God.

  It did not take Aaron long to tell Samuel what he had seen. He did not say that he had told Forest, but he explained:

  “I cannot testify. It will do you no good. Yet, for the love of God,” he urged, “Do something. Watch the sheep house.”

  But his heart sank when he looked into the boy’s eyes, and saw they were disbelieving.

  There were four days before Margaret was due to appear before the magistrate.

  That night, another sheep was found dead.

  Yet Samuel Shockley was not unmoved. He was confused. Was he to believe that the men of the party of his hero Cromwell, the stern Presbyters of Sarum, were frauds? Or was he to believe, as he already half did, that his sister was a witch?

  He no longer even knew what he wanted to think.

  Alone in the big manor house with Sir Henry Forest, of whom he was rather afraid, he plucked up courage to ask him what would happen to Margaret and the baronet had told him:

  “She must come before me and I hear the charges. If I think there’s a case to answer, then I send her to gaol until she can be properly tried by judge and jury at the Assizes.”

  “And will you send her for trial?”

  “Probably,” Forest told him frankly. “Unless she can refute the charges.” He thought of the Jew.

  “How can she refute them, sir?”

  “Evidence. Reliable witnesses who will stand up in court and prove she did not do what she is accused of.”

  A Jew would be useless.

  He wondered whether to tell Forest about the sheep house but decided against it. What if he wanted to get up befor dawn to watch it and the dark, severe man opposite him forbade it? What would the magistrate think of the word of a Jew anyway? No, he must make sure for himself. He would have to act alone.

  “And if there is no evidence to save her?”

  Forest did not answer. The boy had seen the trial of Ann Bodenham.

  Samuel noticed that there was an increasing awkwardness about the baronet’s answers; he supposed it was because of the likely outcome.

  He slept badly that night. The Jew’s story came back to him again and again.

  Just before dawn he got up and slipped out of the house. But though he wandered about near the sheep pens until the sun was well up, he saw nothing.

  The next two nights the same thing occurred.

  No doubt the Jew had lied. Probably he hated God’s ministers.

  But the last night before the session, when he thought of Margaret, and all that she meant to him through his childhood, he was overcome with grief.

  “I will save her somehow,” he vowed. Then he cried himself to sleep.

  It was almost dawn when he woke. The big stone manor house was silent. Quickly he slipped on his clothes and hurried out.

  In the valley, it was cold and silent. He waited.

  The first hint of light was coming over the ridges. He looked hopefully up and down. Nothing.

  Until he saw a figure below in the shadows.

  It was tall, wrapped in a black cloak, and it was moving towards him.

  Obadiah Shockley moved silently along the river’s edge. This would be his last journey. One final sheep would die, on the day she left the farm, then no more. Such proof had already impressed Hopkins and would be devastating at the trial.

  By the water’s edge, a single swan pushed out into the river, so as not to encounter him.

  The sheep house lay some way up the slope and he drew level with it. Obadiah left the valley bottom and made his way swiftly towards it. How tall he seemed in the faint light.

  It was while Obadiah was coming up the slope that Samuel realised what he must do. Running quickly down from his vantage point, and keeping the sheep house between them, he reached the door a hundred yards ahead of Obadiah. A slight dip in the path gave him a second when the preacher could not see the door of the sheep house and he used it to slip inside.

  His heart beat wildly as he looked for a place to hide. The sheep stirred uneasily. There were three pens there and a space in the far corner where a handcart stood beside two bales of hay. In a moment he was behind them.

  When Obadiah entered he was swift. Hardly bothering even to glance round, he walked straight to the nearest pen and selected a sheep at random. Then reaching to his belt, he pulled out a little pouch and poured out some small pellets into his hand. He fed them to the sheep. Whatever they were, he had prepared them well; the sheep ate pacifically from his hand. As soon as the sheep had eaten most of the pellets, he stepped back, took a last, cold look at it, and was gone.

  Samuel waited as long as he could, until he reckoned Obadiah must be twenty yards away, then raced across to the sheep. He prised open its mouth. It was still half full. Reaching in, he pulled out all he could until he had half a handful. Then he waited, several minutes, until he was sure that Obadiah would be gone.

  He had decided what to do.

  It was an informal court, for in recent years the operations of the justices had been less well organised than in formal times. To suit himself, Sir Henry Forest had convened it in the great hall of his own manor house.

  But a court it was, a petty session, with its proceedings properly recorded and forwarded to the next quarter sessions. The magistrate sat on a high-backed chair, behind an oak table, raised
on a low platform, and he looked impressive.

  There was a crowd of fifty standing pressed against the back wall of the hall. For there were few in Avonsford who were not curious to see the Shockley woman brought before the magistrate by her own brother.

  As Margaret and her accusers came forward, Sir Henry Forest’s stern face gave nothing of his own feelings away.

  In fact, his feelings were very mixed. Like many justices, who were mostly of the gentry, he did not believe in witchcraft. Still less did he believe in most of the evidence presented at witchcraft trials. On the whole by this time, local justices and the judges in the Assize courts were trying to discourage these prosecutions. But the state of popular opinion was still some way behind them. Secretly, Forest despised the proceedings from beginning to end. But wisdom taught him to give the people at least some of what they want. If they wanted to burn Margaret Shockley as a witch and her brother and Matthew Hopkins were set on it, then he supposed she would have to burn. In any case, he did not have to try the case, only send it to a higher court.

  The private revelation of the Jew however made him uneasy. He looked at the parties before him warily.

  Margaret’s face was pale. Its expression registered nothing except contempt. Since it was clear to her that every hand was now against her, she looked at no one, not even Samuel.

  But the evidence, briefly recited by Hopkins, was devastating. Her dressing up in men’s clothes, and fighting with a strength which, he suggested, could not be natural; her conversation with animals; her command over birds, which she knew by name. Catholics had come to her house in the war – he had discovered Charles Moody. She had threatened to set her dogs on a Presbyterian preacher. And now, no less than four sheep had died on her neighbour’s estate. Clearly all these argued malignant powers.

  Forest had to admire the thoroughness of the case. He looked about for anyone to contradict the charges. He did not expect anything.

  But now, Samuel stepped forward and to everyone’s astonishment announced that he had testimony. Forest frowned.

  “Are you sure?” What could he know?