Hidden Enemies. Steve Reilly
Читать онлайн книгу.
them than when she had first heard them. A slight change in the direction of the breeze brought with it a hint of sound out of place in the evening chorus. As Camille turned to rise, she noticed the glow. It seemed to be coming from the town and moving along the road leading towards her home. The noise was rising with the glow, impinging on the peaceful evening. The glow was bright, too bright to be a villager coming to ask for her mother’s aid. The noise as angry and threatening.
The beauty of the night was broken. She picked up the basket of nightweed bulbs and headed back down the track. The noise and glow continued to penetrate the sparse bush. She crested the final hill and saw the people gathered in the clearing at the front of her house. The crowd continued to grow as the tide of townsfolk flowed from their homes. They were waving torches and yelling. She kept herself hidden on the hill, crept forward to a small thicket overlooking her house and lay quietly watching. She could see her house clearly. The little mass of shrubs was barely large enough to hide her but they somehow offered security.
Her mother stood at the door with hands on her hips and a frown on her brow. Myrle’s face was marked and twisted. Her yellow dress was cut plain and embroidered with patterns of green leaves over the bodice and around the sleeves and hem. Her long black hair with a streak of grey running from the left temple gave her face the appearance of ancient knowledge as well as strength of character. She appeared calm in front of the chanting crowd. Camille could hear the shouts of “Witch,” and, “It’s all her fault”. She was confused. The entire town knew that both she and her mother were witches. Her mother stood quietly in front of the mob. The noise grew as the crowd fuelled its own courage with vicious words until Myrle raised both hands over her head, somehow quietening those gathered before her. Her mother’s voice was clear.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit from the good folk of Thistledowne?”
The silence persisted for a few moments until a lone voice called, “She’s the witch. It must be her fault. She made the river dry up. She wants us all dead.” The shouts began again. Myrle stood silent while the voices grew, then once more raised her hands commanding silence. The light of flickering candles from inside the house made Myrle appear to be glowing, adding to her appearance of power and control.
“Matt,” her mother said, selecting one man in the front, “Do you really believe that I could or would attempt to bring you any harm? Wasn’t it only last week that I gave you the herbs for your son’s fever? How is he? And Jon, how is your leg after I set the break for you? Jobin? Bern? All of you I have helped in times of trouble. Do you believe that I would do this?”
Myrle stood silently looking as many in the crowd began to shuffle their feet and reconsider their actions. The hint of a smile showed on her mother’s face as she looked at each man. Camille could see them waver. Myrle’s confidence seemed to grow with each dropped head and each set of eyes that looked away.
Then the spell was broken. A rock thrown from the crowd caught her mother on the side of the head and she fell to the ground, stunned. The lone voice called again, “We must save the town. We must get rid of the witch.” Other brave souls began to add to the calls. “Grab her, tie her up.” One man cautiously approached the fallen woman, followed by another, then two more until the crowd had once more found its courage. Her mother was bound, gagged and dragged out to the open space in front of the house. The voice from the crowd was now bolder and Camille could see that it belonged to a worker from the neighbouring farm who had arrived in town about two months ago. He looked to be in his early twenties and she knew his name was Xavier, a despicable little man with ratty eyes and a long mane of dirty red hair. Xavier worked his way through the crowd and wherever he went the sounds of discontent became louder. It became obvious that something terrible was going to happen. She could see that others, friends of Xavier, were also fuelling the crowd’s courage. A call went up to search the house. Camille could hear the sounds of furniture being destroyed, breaking crockery and general destruction. Then she heard something that made her blood run cold. “She’s not here,” called an unknown voice and Camille realised that they could only be talking about her. She could not think why they would want to find her.
“Search the woods. Find her. She can’t be far.” Men ran off in all directions. Camille crouched deeper into her hiding place and hoped that the leaves and the darkness would keep her safe. The men swarmed around, searching every place while Camille huddled lower in the bushes. Then Xavier was standing right beside her. “Find her,” demanded Xavier. “We can’t let her get away.” Camille was too scared to shake or even breathe.
It seemed an eternity but was probably more like an hour when the men finally gave up and began to gather back at the house. There Xavier and two other men had torn the pole from the front porch and driven it into the soft earth. Myrle was dragged to her feet and tied to the pole. Xavier worked the crowd into a frenzy, searching for someone to blame for all their woes. Myrle was the perfect scapegoat, trussed, gagged and unable to offer any resistance. The noise of the crowd grew dramatically with each passing minute. People who had been friends were acting as strangers. The whole situation was a nightmare. Scared and confused, Camille’s isolated existence on the farm had left her unprepared. Her mind spun, trying to make sense of what was happening. She heard Xavier calling for timber and anything else that would burn and watched in horror as pieces were torn from the old walls. Two men brought her bed from the house, along with her mother’s dresser. All of this was thrown around the feet of her helpless mother. Camille longed to run forward from her cover and call for the people to wake up.
Xavier walked to a nearby man where he took a torch and calmly threw it on the pile around the helpless Myrle. The flames sputtered, then slowly took hold to spread across the pile. The crowd was now silent as they watched the deadly scene unfold before them. The fire seemed to hold back as if savouring the moment before leaping forward to catch hold of Myrle’s dress. Her death was not quick but Myrle stood calmly in the pillar of flame staring down her attackers until the fire reached high to enjoy its meal. The crowd stood silent as the import of what had just occurred set in. The smell of burning flesh spread over the clearing. Another torch was thrown into the house and within minutes Camille’s whole life was burning before her eyes.
She lay huddled beneath the bush and tried to think but thoughts eluded her. She was wrapped in grief and lay her head down as silent tears streamed down through the valleys of her face.
CHAPTER 2
Camille awoke with a start, disoriented. The sun was well into its journey across a clear blue sky. Above her a single buzzard circled and the smell of smoke lingered in the still air. Memories began to fight their way through the fog of waking. She looked down upon the clearing now dominated by two large piles of ash. There was no sign of her mother, her house or the mob that had taken her life away. Her eyes rose toward the town unseen down the road. A hint of breeze passed over her, raising small puffs of ash in the clearing as if her mother were trying rise from the ground, and then the breeze took her away.
Fear submerged grief when she heard the sounds of men talking. Looking out through the leaves Camille could see three men and could hear another behind her. They were searching, prodding the clumps of bush with sticks, looking behind any rock or rise that could hide their quarry. One of the men was Xavier, his red mane shining in the morning light. As they passed, Camille heard part of their conversation.
“She’s long gone,” said one man to Xavier. He was a big man with powerful shoulders that held a balding head, shining in the light. He walked with a slight limp.
“I would expect so,” said Xavier.
“Halfway to the next district, I reckon.”
“Probably.”
“Why’re we wasting time here then?”
“Fire-oath, Thom, we can’t leave her to come back and cause trouble for us now. We put too much time into stirring up the town to have her come back and ruin it. She must die. She is a witch and this land belongs to men who deserve it. The boss won’t accept anything less.”
“But she ain’t here.”
“Do you want me to send you to report back