The Lancashire Witches (Historical Novel). William Harrison Ainsworth

Ashbead, with a scornful laugh, “Cum on, then. Hadsta aw t’ fiends i’ hell at te back, ey shouldna fear thee.”

      “Yield!” cried Demdike in a voice of thunder, and fixing a terrible glance upon him.

      “Cum on, wizard,” rejoined Ashbead undauntedly. But, observing that his opponent was wholly unarmed, he gave the pike to Hal o’ Nabs, who was close beside him, observing, “It shall never be said that Cuthbert Ashbead feawt t’ dule himsel unfairly. Nah, touch me if theaw dar’st.”

      Demdike required no further provocation. With almost supernatural force and quickness he sprung upon the forester, and seized him by the throat. But the active young man freed himself from the gripe, and closed with his assailant. But though of Herculean build, it soon became evident that Ashbead would have the worst of it; when Hal o’ Nabs, who had watched the struggle with intense interest, could not help coming to his friend’s assistance, and made a push at Demdike with the halbert.

      Could it be that the wrestlers shifted their position, or that the wizard was indeed aided by the powers of darkness? None could tell, but so it was that the pike pierced the side of Ashbead, who instantly fell to the ground, with his adversary upon him. The next instant his hold relaxed, and the wizard sprang to his feet unharmed, but deluged in blood. Hal o’ Nabs uttered a cry of keenest anguish, and, flinging himself upon the body of the forester, tried to staunch the wound; but he was quickly seized by the arquebussiers, and his hands tied behind his back with a thong, while Ashbead was lifted up and borne towards the abbey, the monks and rustics following slowly after; but the latter were not permitted to enter the gate.

      As the unfortunate keeper, who by this time had become insensible from loss of blood, was carried along the walled enclosure leading to the abbot’s lodging, a female with a child in her arms was seen advancing from the opposite side. She was tall, finely formed, with features of remarkable beauty, though of a masculine and somewhat savage character, and with magnificent but fierce black eyes. Her skin was dark, and her hair raven black, contrasting strongly with the red band wound around it. Her kirtle was of murrey-coloured serge; simply, but becomingly fashioned. A glance sufficed to show her how matters stood with poor Ashbead, and, uttering a sharp angry cry, she rushed towards him.

      “What have you done?” she cried, fixing a keen reproachful look on Demdike, who walked beside the wounded man.

      “Nothing,” replied Demdike with a bitter laugh; “the fool has been hurt with a pike. Stand out of the way, Bess, and let the men pass. They are about to carry him to the cell under the chapter-house.”

      “You shall not take him there,” cried Bess Demdike, fiercely. “He may recover if his wound be dressed. Let him go to the infirmary—ha, I forgot—there is no one there now.”

      “Father Bancroft is at the gate,” observed one of the arquebussiers; “he used to act as chirurgeon in the abbey.”

      “No monk must enter the gate except the prisoners when they arrive,” observed Assheton; “such are the positive orders of the Earl of Derby.”

      “It is not needed,” observed Demdike, “no human aid can save the man.”

      “But can other aid save him?” said Bess, breathing the words in her husband’s ears.

      “Go to!” cried Demdike, pushing her roughly aside; “wouldst have me save thy lover?”

      “Take heed,” said Bess, in a deep whisper; “if thou save him not, by the devil thou servest! thou shalt lose me and thy child.”

      Demdike did not think proper to contest the point, but, approaching Assheton, requested that the wounded man might be conveyed to an arched recess, which he pointed out. Assent being given, Ashbead was taken there, and placed upon the ground, after which the arquebussiers and their leader marched off; while Bess, kneeling down, supported the head of the wounded man upon her knee, and Demdike, taking a small phial from his doublet, poured some of its contents clown his throat. The wizard then took a fold of linen, with which he was likewise provided, and, dipping it in the elixir, applied it to the wound.

      In a few moments Ashbead opened his eyes, and looking round wildly, fixed his gaze upon Bess, who placed her finger upon her lips to enjoin silence, but he could not, or would not, understand the sign.

      “Aw’s o’er wi’ meh, Bess,” he groaned; “but ey’d reyther dee thus, wi’ thee besoide meh, than i’ ony other wey.”

      “Hush!” exclaimed Bess, “Nicholas is here.”

      “Oh! ey see,” replied the wounded man, looking round; “but whot matters it? Ey’st be gone soon. Ah, Bess, dear lass, if theawdst promise to break thy compact wi’ Satan—to repent and save thy precious sowl—ey should dee content.”

      “Oh, do not talk thus!” cried Bess. “You will soon be well again.”

      “Listen to me,” continued Ashbead, earnestly; “dust na knoa that if thy babe be na bapteesed efore to-morrow neet, it’ll be sacrificed to t’ Prince o’ Darkness. Go to some o’ t’ oly feythers—confess thy sins an’ implore heaven’s forgiveness—an’ mayhap they’ll save thee an’ thy infant.”

      “And be burned as a witch,” rejoined Bess, fiercely. “It is useless, Cuthbert; I have tried them all. I have knelt to them, implored them, but their hearts are hard as flints. They will not heed me. They will not disobey the abbot’s cruel injunctions, though he be their superior no longer. But I shall be avenged upon him—terribly avenged.”

      “Leave meh, theaw wicked woman.” cried Ashbead; “ey dunna wish to ha’ thee near meh. Let meh dee i’ peace.”

      “Thou wilt not die, I tell thee, Cuthbert,” cried Bess; “Nicholas hath staunched thy wound.”

      “He stawncht it, seyst to?” cried Ashbead, raising. “Ey’st never owe meh loife to him.”

      And before he could be prevented he tore off the bandage, and the blood burst forth anew.

      “It is not my fault if he perishes now,” observed Demdike, moodily.

      “Help him—help him!” implored Bess.

      “He shanna touch meh,” cried Ashbead, struggling and increasing the effusion. “Keep him off, ey adjure thee. Farewell, Bess,” he added, sinking back utterly exhausted by the effort.

      “Cuthbert!” screamed Bess, terrified by his looks, “Cuthbert! art thou really dying? Look at me, speak to me! Ha!” she cried, as if seized by a sudden idea, “they say the blessing of a dying man will avail. Bless my child, Cuthbert, bless it!”

      “Give it me!” groaned the forester.

      Bess held the infant towards him; but before he could place his hands upon it all power forsook him, and he fell back and expired.

      “Lost! lost! for ever lost!” cried Bess, with a wild shriek.

      At this moment a loud blast was blown from the gate-tower, and a trumpeter called out,

      “The abbot and the two other prisoners are coming.”

      “To thy feet, wench!” cried Demdike, imperiously, and seizing the bewildered woman by the arm; “to thy feet, and come with me to meet him!”

2. Locus Benedictus de Whalley.

      Chapter 4.

       The Malediction

       Table of Contents

      The captive ecclesiastics, together with the strong escort by which they were attended, under the command of John Braddyll, the high sheriff of the county, had passed the previous night at Whitewell, in Bowland Forest; and the abbot, before setting out on his final journey, was permitted to spend