I also dreamed of Grace.
Most of all, I dreamed of my mother, on that final night. Her last in this world. Her dry fingers in mine. The little rasping sounds of her breath, her skin so pale I could see the blue-green veins beneath it, like a network of rivers. Her parting words. ‘Remember your promise,’ she said. She has been gone these last three years, but the memory of her in her sickbed was as strong as if I had just lost her.
Time seemed changed by the trial. Whereas before, my days had been broken up by little rituals and milestones – milking the goat of a morning; picking berries in the afternoon; readying tonics for the sick in the evening – now there was just court and sleep. Fear and dreams.
The day after he questioned Doctor Smythson, the prosecutor called the Kirkby lad. Daniel.
We’d attended his birth, my mother and I. I couldn’t have been more than six years old, had only seen animals birthed. Lambs in blue cauls. Kittens with milky eyes. Birds, hatching pink and scrawny. I had felt their fear, coming into the world with all its unknowns. Its dangers.
I did not know birthing babies was something humans did, too. I took my own existence for granted, and it was only after watching Daniel’s mother push him out of her body that I learned my mother had made me with a man and pulled me from her like a root from the earth. I never found out who the man was. She refused to tell me. ‘That is not our way,’ she’d said. She hadn’t known her own father either, she told me later.
As a babe, Daniel Kirkby had screamed so loud that I’d covered my ears. But in court he spoke with a quiet voice. He was solemn and wide-eyed when he took the oath. I saw him look towards me, then away, like a horse flinching from the whip. He feared me. My mother would have been sad to know this, having assured his safe passage into the world.
‘How long have you worked at the Milburn farm, Daniel?’
‘Just since last winter, sir.’
‘And what was the nature of the work you undertook?’
‘Just helping, like. Whatever the master needed. Milking the cows, when Mistress Milburn could not.’
His cheeks coloured, at her name on his lips. His eyes flickered, roaming the gallery. I wondered if he was seeking her face.
‘And were you working this past New Year’s Day, in the year of our Lord 1619?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Please could you tell the court the events of that day, as you can best recall them.’
‘I got up early, sir, when it was still dark. It’s a long walk from ours to the Milburn farm so I set off in good time like I always did.’
‘And when you got there?’
‘Everything was normal, sir. Same as before. I met John – Master Milburn – round the back, outside the byre.’
‘And did he seem well to you?’
‘He seemed in good health, sir. John were always hale. I never known him to be ill or have funny turns, not while I worked there.’
‘And what happened after you arrived?’
‘We milked the cows, then freed them from the byre, so they would go out to the field.’
‘And how did the cows seem to you? Were they placid, docile? Or aggressive?’
‘They were less keen than usual to get outside into the field, sir. It was a very cold morning. But they were calm.’
‘Did you ever know them to be aggressive in any way, while you worked for Milburn?’
‘No, sir.’
‘I see. So, you and Master Milburn were out in the field, having just released the cows from the byre. Are you able to tell the court what happened next?’
‘I was looking back to the byre, sir, thinking I ought to go and shut the gate. Then I heard the cows … they weren’t making no sound I’d ever heard an animal make before. They was almost – shrieking, like. There was a bird – a crow, I think – swooping down from the sky. They were spooked by it, sir. Their eyes were back in their heads, their mouths were frothing. John was trying to calm them. He loved them, you see, those cows. Didn’t want them to be scared.’
At this the boy’s voice broke. I saw his Adam’s apple quiver as he gulped away tears. He was fifteen, a man. It would not do to cry, not in court, wearing the finest wool he was ever like to wear, seeing that his master got justice.
A brave little lad. I could see it was important to him, the getting of justice. I knew the value of it, myself.
I wondered what he’d known, while he worked there. I knew Grace would have fed him, those mornings. She’d have fed the both of them, would have ladled steaming pottage into their bowls when they came in from seeing to the cows. The three of them would have sat round the table together, Grace looking down into her bowl, John looking at Daniel, wondering if he’d ever have his own boy to help him take the cows to the field.
I saw the muscles work in Daniel’s jaw as he gritted his teeth to continue his tale.
‘But the cows couldn’t be calmed, no matter what John did. They dug at the ground with their hooves, eyes rolling, as if they were about to charge. Like they were bulls. And they did charge. They charged straight at John.’
He paused. The air in the courtroom grew taut as a skin drum.
‘It was loud, with the cows’ hooves thundering and John shouting … He fell and I couldn’t see him no more. The shouts turned to screams.’
I looked down at Grace. Her head was still bowed. I saw some in the gallery watching her as Daniel Kirkby continued with his testimony.
‘John became quiet. Then the cows stopped. As if nothing had ever happened. As if … as if …’
He turned his head to look at me. I could see in his face that he did not want to look at me, that he was forcing himself. But he kept his eyes on me while he spoke.
‘As if a spell had been broken.’
Gasps and cries rent the air. I didn’t look at the gallery. I watched the spider, still spinning its web.
I didn’t need to see the prosecutor to know the look he had on his face. I could hear the pleasure in his voice.
‘Thank you, Master Kirkby. You have been very brave. Your king and our heavenly Father will be grateful for your service. I hope not to take up too much more of your time. Please could you tell the court what you saw next?’
‘I saw the master’s injuries, sir. They were … I still see them now, when I shut my eyes. I pray I never see anything like them again. Then Mistress Milburn came running out the door of the farmhouse. She kept asking what had happened, repeating herself again and again. Then I saw there was someone running towards us. It were the accused, Altha Weyward. She were yelling out the mistress’s name. She flung her cloak on the master’s body – for the sake of decency, she said – and told me to fetch Doctor Smythson from the village. I ran and did what she said, sir.’
‘Thank you, son. And was that the first time you saw the accused that day? You didn’t see her – or anyone else – besides the Milburns, before the incident occurred? Did you see her muttering an incantation, inciting the cows to stampede their master?’
‘No, sir. I didn’t see her before then, that day. But I had a funny feeling that morning, before it happened, when we was taking the cows out to the field.’
‘And what was that?’