Original Fic: Annisland Place (Part 1)
Okay, this is the first part of an original fic I've been playing with for quite a while now, a historical horror novel set in County Durham, in the North East of England where I live. The first part is set in about 1573, some years after a rebellion against Queen Elizabeth I called 'The Rising of the North'.
Annisland Place
Chapter One: The Witch Burning
Author: Joanne Raine
Annisland Place
Chapter 1: The Witch Burning
“We do charge Margaret Lovell with being a common witch and enchantress, not having God before her eyes, but seduced by the instigation of the Devil. We do charge her with the murder by witchcraft of Jonathan Langley, Andrew Langley and Elizabeth Langley. We do charge her with the desecration of the graves of Andrew Langley and Elizabeth Langley and the removal of their bones to be used in further godless rituals. We do charge her with the making of waxen images and of consort with demons…”
They brought the witch to justice at the dawn of the shortest day. Margaret's long, dark hair had been clipped close to her skull the night before, as was proper. The women who had performed the duty had taken scant care over it and her scalp smarted from the cuts they had inflicted on it. The pale skin of her face and bare arms showed all too clearly the bruises from the lynch mob that had attacked her two days before when they had dragged her from the house. Margaret's ribs and stomach still pained her from the blows she had taken. Her wrists and ankles were already wealed and blistering from the irons that hobbled her. She had been given neither food nor water and her thin, torn kirtle gave her no protection from the cruel cold of that winter’s day.
Even though the day had barely begun and a hard frost rimed every surface, virtually the whole village had turned out to see the spectacle. There were those among the tensely watching crowd who took great pleasure in seeing the lady of the manor brought so low. With the rebellion of three winters before still fresh in the memory, her association with the rebel forces, however tenuous, still told against her. Margaret overheard herself discussed by two goodwives, happy to have their suspicions confirmed. “Though if they do bring a witchfinder it would not surprise me if more in that family were not so tainted.”
Others could only wonder at the turn of events, at how so sweet and gentle a lady could do so terrible a thing. Yet in these changing times, who could be surprised about anything anymore. And no one dared raise their voice against such a sentence. For one accused of witchcraft there could be no sympathy. It was the quickest way to find yourself in the same cruel position.
Margaret was numb with cold and grief. She had tried to resign herself to death, to consign her immortal soul to judgement before God who must know her innocence of these wicked and false charges, but she could not. She knew that if she did die this day, her soul would not find an easy rest. Lifting her heavy head she scanned the crowd, all of them friends, neighbours, people she had known all her life. Most would not meet her gaze, not even Elizabeth, her own sister, whose eyes were red and swollen with weeping. When Margaret's gaze fell upon her, Elizabeth shuddered and turned away from her into the protective circle of Clive's arms. Clive looked as unhappy as she had ever seen him. She knew he believed the charges against her false, but it was his brother and two of his own children that she was charged with murdering by witchcraft. He had already lived through the sorrow of their deaths once and now all that grief and more were reawakened.
Only Annis met her gaze, but that was to be expected. For all her youth, Annis feared no one and nothing. She met Margaret's gaze proudly and defiantly, her pale eyes sparkling with malice - and the knowledge of her total victory. She did not even pretend to sorrow for her sister. That little smile that just to say curved her mouth and did not reach her eyes spoke volumes.
Margaret wondered how they could all have been so blind - her most of all. It was Annis, of course, who had instigated this madness against her, Annis who had murdered her beloved Jonathan, Annis who had poisoned Clive and Margaret's children and then desecrated their graves and left their painted skulls amongst other abominations on the altar of the small parish church. It was Annis who stood to gain most from Margaret's death, moving herself a step closer to becoming Lady of the Manor, to becoming David's wife.
David - where was he? Surely Annis had not poisoned his mind against her as well. She had hoped that he at least would have tried to prevent this travesty from continuing. Perhaps he also believed the stories against her. Perhaps there was truly no hope and today she would die.
They had set the pyre on open ground to the south of the village, within half a mile or so of the cliffs. The breeze was brisk, salt laden. It would speed the flames, at least making her agonies short. Those who had condemned her had showed her some mercy. She was to be strangled before she was burnt at the stake, out of regard for her position in society. She would be dead, or at least insensible, before the flames took her. A small mercy indeed.
David Langley, by dint of changing horses at Northallerton, had ridden hard all night through foul weather and worse roads with the proof that would save Margaret and condemn another woman to the flames. Simon Magus had told him of Annis's studies, of the poisons she was so adept at concocting, poisons that could strike a man down within seconds, or could be administered in such a way that the lethal effects would not manifest themselves until hours or even days later. It was Annis, not Margaret, who had killed his brother Jonathan and his young nephew and niece. As the watery dawn lightened the eastern sky, he could only hope that he would be in time.
Margaret felt her legs begin to quiver and buckle under her as the hemp rope noose was thrust over her head; its coarse fibres making her skin itch on contact. The irritation would be short-lived, she told herself. Thomas, who in better days had been Jonathan's steward, could be trusted to do his job well. He would see that her agonies were short, that she was dead before her body was consigned to the flames. He offered to bind her eyes, but she refused. This death, however unjust, would be met with dignity.
Father Dominic began to read from the Bible, she had thought he might choose an appropriate text. "Thou shall not suffer a witch to live," sprang to mind. But she was no witch, and she wanted very much to live.
He had decided to preach extempore on such an auspicious occasion. His eyes glittered as he looked at her. Margaret had not realised how much he hated her. "We live in times of great evil, with plots and rebellions against our great queen, the very fabric of our churches and our lives threatened by traitors and malcontents. Even here, in our small community, evil came among us in the shape of Kit Neville and his men. There are those in this community who aided them in their work and in their escape from justice, and their punishment shall come in time." He paused and stared directly at Annis. Annis met his gaze, an expression of scorn on her face. She feared neither priests nor their god. She turned away from him, giving up all pretence of listening, her whole attention focussed upon smoothing an imagined crease in the lace at her cuff.
Thomas, sensing that the priest was nearing the end of his sermon, came closer, standing behind her. She felt the noose about her throat tighten. As the crowd echoed the priest's 'amen', she felt her breath shut off.
Annis felt nothing as she watched her half-sister throttled. She knew that Kit would have crowed over it for the act of pure evil that it was. Her dark master would also be pleased. She knew she would dream of him that night and shivered in anticipation of his caress.
Margaret was neither dead nor completely insensible. Something had gone awry. Her will to live was just too strong. She could taste blood. The smell of the pitch-soaked kindling sickened her. Margaret felt her whole body spasm as she tried to flee from the terrible heat and pain that she knew would follow very quickly once the fire was set.
At the very last, her strength and courage failed her. Margaret felt her tears begin to fall, her limbs trembling visibly with fear and exhaustion. She did not want to die, despite the chance to be reunited with Jonathan.
Tarred ropes bound her upright to the stake. The kindling was piled to her knees. If she was lucky, the smoke would kill her before the flames began to consume her flesh and the pain would truly begin to test her.
David crested the hill. He could see the long low gables of the Hall, his home. From here, he also had a good view of the land right across to the see. He reined in his horse, drawing it rearing to a halt, as he paused, anxious to make certain of what he had glimpsed. Near the cliff, people were gathered; smoke was beginning to rise from a large fire. Let me not be too late, he prayed. He kicked the tired horse into one last effort, and screaming at the top of his lungs to attract their attention, launched the horse down the slope, taking the most direct route across the fields. Sooner than he would have thought possible, he was there, people scattering out of the way of the careering horse.
"Let her go!" he cried, controlling his horse as it reared and danced, uncomfortable with the proximity of the fire and the milling crowd. "Let the Lady Margaret go! She is innocent!" He could see her now, her poor bruised face, her shorn head, and the noose around her neck, the flames already licking at her gown. Her eyes were closed, but she was still breathing shallowly. Scant minutes later and she would have been dead. Thomas acted quickly, slicing through Margaret's bonds and lifting her clear of the flames, holding her securely. Clive helped him, kicking away the burning faggots. David slid down from his horse, exhausted and terrified it skittered away from him. He held the saddlebag with Simon's confession inside it close to his heart.
It was eighteen months since Margaret and her half-sister Annis had come to the Hall, Margaret to be Jonathon's bride, Annis to live with them since she had no other home to go to. All their other relatives had disowned her, her reputation and manner counting against her. Margaret found her younger half-sister disturbing, difficult to like and full of sly tricks and secrets. She had had very little to do with her father's other family having lived with her eldest brother Clive and his wife Elizabeth since the death of her mother when she was a small child. And giving further ammunition for the wagging tongues of the district, Annis had brought her child, Christa, with her, her illegitimate daughter; it was said fathered by Kit Neville himself.
Annis's looks were as strange and otherworldly as her nature. She was extremely fair-haired, her pale skin almost translucent, her eyes the palest green that seemed to look not just at you but through you and beyond. She could not be called beautiful, but men looked twice at her, and she was intelligent and mannered enough to keep that attention once she had gained it. It was only a few weeks after Annis had come to live with them that Margaret discovered that Annis was in love with Jonathon. Margaret chose to treat the infatuation kindly, realising that the girl was still young, barely eighteen, and (so Margaret thought) had led a relatively sheltered life until Kit Neville had seduced her. It was several months before she realised just how deep the girl's infatuation ran. Jonathan had come to her, his face troubled, and told her how her Annis had thrown herself at him, demanding that he kiss her. He admitted that at first he thought she was teasing him and he had kissed her - as a brother - but that Annis had thrust herself at him.
"I think that we should find her another place to live," he said. "My cousin David and his wife Eleanor will take her, I am sure. She could be of help with their children."
Clive approached. "David - we thought you still in York."
"I've ridden all night to see that justice is done. I have the notarised confession of Simon Levy, also called Simon the Magus and Simon the Jew. He confessed before the Assizes that he practised witchcraft alone and with another woman to cause the death of Jonathan Langley."
"We have her!" someone called from the crowd.
"Aye, kill the witch!" someone else called. David thought he recognised the voice of Richard Appleby, one of Annis's many admirers.
"You do not have her," David said. Quick as thought he reached out and grasped Annis by the wrist. Confident as ever, she had not fled certain that she would not be unmasked. "Here is your witch. Annis Lovell. Simon Levy named her his pupil under oath. He taught her necromancy, glamours, bewitchments and poisons, all the black arts. And she was an apt and willing pupil. The Lady Margaret is innocent."
"No!" Annis screamed, lunging away from him, but despite his exhaustion, David's grip was too strong. Clive, who had never trusted his sister-in-law helped him to restrain her, the cuff across her jaw to silence her not a gentle one. Thomas carefully removed the rope from around Margaret's throat and knelt before her to remove the irons from her ankles and wrists, careful not to injure her further.
"Forgive me, my lady," he said quietly. "It seemed so strange to all of us that so gentle a lady as yourself could be guilty of such terrible things, but the evidence against you..."
"Was obviously fabricated," Clive said his voice cold iron. Annis, pale with fury, the mark of his hand standing out clearly on her cheek and jaw still struggled in his grasp. Margaret stood alone, near to fainting, coughing and choking as she tried to clear the smoke from her lungs. The flames had charred her skirts, her legs smarted painfully. Elizabeth rushed forward to wrap her cloak around Margaret's bare shoulders, holding her close as David addressed the crowd.
“Go to your homes now. There will be no burning done today. Annis Lovell will be tried for witchcraft and murder before the next session of the Assizes. I have a signed affidavit from the man who procured the poison that killed my cousin and the children. I have a warrant for her arrest and conduct there. Let's have no more instant justice."
Clive tried to shackle Annis. Annis knew how the iron would burn her if she let it touch her bare skin. She had never been able to suffer the touch of metal, not gold, not silver, and not iron. Her fair skin began to blister and burn within the hour. She screamed piercingly and managed to wriggle free of Clive's grasp. She clawed at Clive's face, her long sharp nails aiming for his eyes and laying open his cheek. With an oath, he loosened his grasp on her arm and she broke free. Screaming curses she ran fleet footed, avoiding those amongst the crowd who sought to restrain her who either because they were clumsy with cold or through some hastily cast spell of misdirection, all failed to catch her.
Annis ran swiftly over the stubble field, pausing to catch her breath for a few moments in the bracken overrun coppice at its furthest edge. On her hands and knees now she crawled through the bracken, hampered by her skirts and petticoats which tangled in the bracken and briars. She made for the cliff path. She startled a hare that leapt up and fled across the field at right angles to the way she had come, towards the safety of Hall Woods. Many of the mob who were poking about on the edge of the coppice went after it, thinking that she had shape-changed to escape them, as witches were reputed to do.
Her skirt caught again on a briar and she paused to untangle it, trying not to move the briar which would signal her presence as well as any flag. She had perhaps fifty yards to go to reach the cliff path. If she could just make it to the path and from there to the beach below, she could hide in one of the many caves that honeycombed the cliff. When the time was right, she could make her escape, maybe work her way down the beach towards Hartlepool. She still had friends there. They would shelter her, perhaps she could even get passage over the water, finally follow her beloved Kit to Flanders where he lived in exile since the Rebellion failed.
Annis paused at the edge of the coppice. The way ahead was clear. She could hear voices raised in excitement some way behind her. Evidently they had caught and killed the hare, clubbing it to death. Despite the order for arrest she knew she could expect little better treatment from them if they caught her, not after she had made such fools of them. Seizing the moment, whilst her would-be pursuers were distracted by their blood lust, Annis gathered up her skirts again and ran for her life.
Clive and David, unconvinced by the distraction of the hare saw the flash of movement and raised the hue and cry again. They set off after her. The girl had about a hundred yards start on them, and it quickly became obvious that neither man, exhausted as they were by the events and travails of the past days, were going to catch her.
Annis reached the cliff edge and realised that her luck had deserted her. The tides were at their height, foaming water crashing against the cliffs, flooding the caves in which she might have found temporary shelter. There could be no escape by that route for several hours to come - and she had mere minutes at her disposal. The thought of capture was insupportable. It must not happen.
"Kit, why did you abandon me?" she whispered.
Her quick mind did not let her down and came up with the scrap of an idea. Terrier-like, she pursued it. She remembered a picture in a book, a charm. She wove it around herself, steeling her body to her will. It must be. She must make the leap from the cliff top and trust her fate to the powers granted her by her dark master. Swiftly, she shaped the spell around herself and stepped to the very edge of the cliff. The two men paused, only feet away, conscious of the crumbling rock at the cliff's edge, the look of quiet desperation on the girl's face. They were not so much concerned that she would jump to her death but that in doing so she would destabilise the cliff face and endeavour to take them with her in her suicide leap.
"Annis, please," David shouted. "Step away. Don't do it. There have been enough deaths. Think of your little girl, if nothing else."
"How would you have me remembered by her? Better to drown in a cliff fall than burn as a witch." Annis knew she could not afford to let herself be distracted any further by them. "So mote it be!" she screamed, and jumped.
Three miles away, Annis's daughter Christa struggled in the arms of her nurse. "Put me down," she demanded, with all the hauteur a three year cold’s voice could muster. 'I have things to do.' Annis's mind lurked behind her daughter's eyes, the child's infant mind extinguished forever.
Annis's body washed up on the beach two days later. Thrice damned as a witch, a murderess and a suicide, her remains were flung down a disused well, the shaft capped with rubble. Many remembered her part in the rebellion against the Queen, the name of her erstwhile lover Kit Neville was still a byword for treachery and evil in the county.
Twenty years later Christa Lovell, having married well and then been quickly widowed, bought the land on which her mother was buried and built a house over the well. The house was passed on through the female line and is known as Annisland Place. The family has a strong matriarchal tradition. Men do not prosper. The daughter always inherits. Annis continues to live through her descendants.
Black Annis, Hag Annis
Throw her down the well
Hag Annis, Black Annis
Send her back to Hell
Hag Annis, Black Annis
She will steal your soul
Hag Annis, Black Annis
Unless you pay the toll
One penny, two penny, three penny…
[Skipping rhyme first recorded in the 1700s in Blackhall, Durham]