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By Root 3199 0

Ahead of them lay a stretch of oak wood. To continue straight would lead down into the large dell where the dark little village of Burley lay. Instead, therefore, they cut right, through some woods and down a slope known as Burley Rocks. Crossing a big empty area of marshy lawn, they took a little track that led along the edge of some moorland. ‘That’s Burley moor on our right,’ Pride told her. ‘White Moor lies ahead. And that’ – he indicated a tummock on top of which a single tree seemed to be waving its arms distractedly – ‘is Black Hill.’ The track suddenly turned left, leading down to a stream, running swiftly as it made a sharp turn, like a crook in a man’s arm. ‘Narrow Water,’ he said. On the right, along the stream was a boggy area infested with stunted oaks, holly, birch and a tangled mass of saplings and bushes. And just past this, quite alone, stood an untidy collection of huts and a mud cabin with a roof made of branches, twigs and moss through which wisps of smoke were seeping.

They had come to Puckle’s place.

Pride had not wanted to take her, but she had insisted. ‘I don’t know where he lives and I don’t want to ask. People mustn’t know I went there. I think’, she added, looking at him hard, ‘that you owe me a favour.’ The deer. He couldn’t deny it. ‘Besides,’ she continued with a smile, ‘if you ask her, she’s more likely to agree to talk to me.’

And there was the rub, the real reason why he had been unwilling to take her. For it was not Puckle she wanted to see, but his wife. The witch.

Adela waited by the stream while Pride rode up to the cabin and went in. After a while she saw Puckle and various children and grandchildren emerge and busy themselves outside.

Then Pride appeared and made his way over to her. ‘She’s waiting for you,’ he said briefly. ‘You’d best go in.’ A few moments later Adela found herself stooping her head as she went through the small doorway into the witch’s little house.

It was rather shadowy inside. The cabin consisted of a single room, such light as there was coming from a window whose shutters were only partly open. In the centre of the floor a circle of stones served as a hearth in which a small turf fire was glowing. On the other side of the fire sat a figure in a low wooden chair. By her feet, warming itself, was a grey cat. There was a three-legged stool, also by the fire, to which the other woman motioned.

‘Sit down, my dear.’

Although Adela had not formed any precise image in her mind, Puckle’s wife was not what she had expected. Before her, as she got used to the light, she saw a comfortable middle-aged woman with a broad face, a rather snub nose and grey eyes spaced wide apart.

She was observing Adela with mild curiosity. ‘A fine young lady,’ she now continued quietly. ‘And you’ve come all the way from Winchester?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fancy that. And what can I do for you?’

‘I understand’, Adela said bluntly, ‘that you’re a witch.’

‘Oh?’

‘They say you are.’

‘They do, do they?’ The older woman seemed to receive this information with quiet amusement. Not that the accusation was so shocking: although witchcraft was certainly frowned upon by the Church, systematic persecution was rare in Norman England, especially in the depths of the country where ancient folk magic had always persisted. ‘And what if I were?’ she went on. ‘What would a fine young lady like you be looking for? A cure for a sickness? A love potion perhaps?’

‘No.’

‘You want your future told. A lot of young girls want to know the future.’

‘Not exactly.’

‘What is it then, my dear?’

‘I need to kill someone,’ said Adela.

It was a moment or two before the other woman spoke after that. ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you,’ she replied.

‘Have you ever?’

‘No.’

‘Could you?’

‘I wouldn’t even try.’ She shook her head. ‘These things only happen if they’re meant to be.’ She looked at Adela severely. ‘You should be careful. Wish someone good or wish someone evil, it will return to you three times.’

‘Is that what the witches say?’

‘Yes.’ After waiting for that to sink in, the older woman continued more kindly, ‘I can see