VROLOK (36 page)

“So where will I live?” Nicolae began again.

“Wherever you want to live. I am going to England next week. If you want to, you can come with me.”

“I will… what else can I do but go with you?”

“If you go with me I can teach you how to only punish the guilty.”

“I don’t want you to teach me anything. I am staying with you until I can think of somewhere else to go.”

Isabella had had enough of this conversation. “I will leave you to sleep now. You will not get any sleep in the light. It is best to find a place where you can sleep in total darkness; light will be a constant irritation to you.”

The pair left for England a week later. Nicolae wanted to find a place where he could exist were no one knew him. Nicolae was civil to Isabella, even polite on occasion, but whenever she would come near him, he would flinch away from her. He did not despise her but he did despise what she was and what he had become. He understood that she was not completely to blame for her own situation, but still, he could not forgive her.

It was hard for Isabella to remember he was not the husband who died so many decades before. He was so like Nicolae, not just in his appearance, but his character as well. He was incapable of hating, or she at least hoped he was. Isabella convinced herself that this person would react the same way that Nicolae would have eventually reacted to her. It was like a second chance for her to make her peace with her husband.

They travelled through England together. Isabella taught him as much as she could, but she soon realised he was not as powerful as she was. He was not as strong; he did not have the skill that Isabella had. Also, any exposure to sunlight burnt his skin. She wondered whether it could be that the powers decreased from Vampire to Vampire. If so, then how strong must Vlad be?

England was not the same place she had left fifty years before. It was not as opulent and extravagant as she remembered. The country had been plunged into civil war and witch trials were rife. Isabella was still sickened by these trials and the persecution of women who were just slightly different from everyone else. But at least they were not burning these girls here. They were getting hanged, which was slightly more humane to Isabella’s mind than burning. But a lot of people were dying and Isabella was determined to stop as much of it as she could. The killing of innocents was totally abhorrent to her now.

Meanwhile, Nicolae was growing to like the kill, perhaps a little too much, but Isabella was never one to judge another Vampire. She felt she did not have the right to do so.

They had been in England for a few years and had decided to settle in the south of the country. One morning, when Isabella wandered a little further than she usually would, she happened upon one of the public hangings. An eighty-year-old man was condemned. He was standing on the scaffold and he turned towards the crowd and shouted at the top of his voice, but he couldn’t be heard over the shouts of the unsympathetic mob. Isabella wanted to hear this man’s final words as only she could.

“My name is John Lowes and I am the Vicar of Brandeston. I am innocent of these crimes of which I have been accused. I know my words will not save me but I demand a Christian burial. I commit my body to the ground in sure and certain hope of the resurrection of eternal life.” As these last words left his lips he was pushed off the scaffold and struggled until his neck broke.

Isabella could not stop this, for there were too many people around, but she could not stomach it either. She turned and walked away from the jeering crowd.

“You don’t want to watch this display of modern justice?” An unfamiliar voice was addressing Isabella.

“Is this justice?” Isabella responded.

“It seems to be and that is the real tragedy of this civilised world.”

“Do something about it then,” Isabella responded, challenging the young man.

“Oh no, I value my neck. I do not want it stretched at the hands of Mathew Hopkins.”

“Mathew Hopkins?” Isabella enquired.

“The Witch Finder General. His quest is finding these revolting witches out. He’s hanged three score of them in one shire, some only for not being drowned.”

“Really,” Isabella said nonchalantly, not wanting to let this man know she was in fact very interested in what he was saying.

“He is a man who deserves to suffer like those he has accused.”

“He may some day,” Isabella answered. “What is your name?”

“Samuel Butler,” Samuel answered.

“Have the courage of your convictions, Samuel. Mr Hopkins is not long for this world.” Isabella left. Samuel Butler never saw her again.

Isabella went home and told Nicolae about what she had seen that day and her plan for Mathew Hopkins.

“Can I help you?” Nicolae asked.

“Help me what?”

“Help you kill him.”

Isabella was pleased that he wanted to help; in the years they had been together he had stayed by her side but had not let her touch him. He talked to her on occasion but that was the only interaction the pair had.

“Of course,” she replied. She stood and full of hope rested her hand on his arm, but Nicolae batted it away. Isabella left to go to her room; she could not stand this much longer. She turned back towards him and said.

“If I disgust you so much, you should leave.” Isabella banged the door behind her.

Mathew Hopkins had made a fortune, but he knew it was coming to an end. The last few times his service had been called for there had not been the complete compliance that there once had been. In these ever-changing times a resistance had now developed within the communities he frequented. Theologians like John Gaule and Bishop Hutchinson were now starting to condemn the witch trials publicly. More people were standing up for themselves; it used to be that they could extract a confession out of a suspected witch just by looking at her, but now there was defiance in people’s faces. They were not confessing so readily and witnesses were not as easily manipulated.

Mathew, who had earned enough money through the trials to last him the rest of his days, was quite happy to give it up. He knew things were changing; it was inevitable that this would not last, but there was another reason that he was now compelled to stop. During the last few witch trials, Hopkins had sensed a presence that he did not like. He had seen a woman in the crowds, the same face several times, and she scared him. The first time he saw her he was determined to accuse her of witchery, but just before he did, she looked over at him, smiled and shook her head. From that instant Mathew knew that to accuse this woman would cause him great harm. He was now starting to see this woman everywhere. Yet when he tried to approach her, he would always be distracted by a noise or something that would interrupt his line of vision and when he looked back she would be gone before he could speak to her. This made up Mathew’s mind for him; he would not do this work anymore.

“I don’t understand it,” said John Stearne, his fellow witch finder. “We are making a fortune.”

“I think if we carry on we will have a price to pay,” Mathew replied.

“Nonsense.”

“We have killed hundreds. Enough is enough. The Devil’s list has no more names on it.”

“You should be careful what you say,” John said. “You are talking of sensing danger and the Devil’s list—that is witch talk.”

“Watch what you say, John,” Mathew replied.

“Watch what you do, Mathew,” John answered not backing down from a potential confrontation.

“I am going home. I have had enough. That is the last I have to say.”

Hopkins left after this. Isabella, who was listening, went over to sit opposite John.

“Is he a witch?” Isabella asked.

“As much as anyone else we have accused,” John stated. “He has noticed you.”

“He was meant to,” Isabella affirmed.

“What do you want me to do?” John asked.

“I want you to accuse him publicly of witchcraft.”

“Why does he deserve your hatred?” John Stearne asked.

“Why does he deserve yours?”

“He is stopping what has been a very lucrative business. I don’t want to let it go just yet. By accusing him I could start up for myself.”

“You really are a despicable man,” Isabella stated.

“Be careful; I may also accuse you.”

Isabella stood and quickly flipped over the table that separated them. She kicked the chair John was sitting on and it flew back up against the wooden ballast behind him.

“Try it!” Isabella said letting John Stearne feel her strength. The next day Isabella went to see Peter Clarke, a relative of one of Mathew Hopkin’s first victims.

“Everything is in place,” Isabella began.

“Good, thank you for helping us.”

“Don’t thank me yet; wait until it is over.”

Hopkins returned to Mistley, set to live a quiet life from then on. He had been troubled slightly by consumption, but it had not developed so much that it was life- threatening. And with the money he had earned he could live in comfort, and he suspected that this slight illness would fade away.

Hopkins had dabbled with potions and astrology but he had kept this a secret from every one except John Stearne. Stearne had caught him several times with various herbal remedies that they both would have considered enough to accuse a woman of being a witch, if she had them in her possession. John had kept this information to himself until a time when he could use it, and that time had now come.

Hopkins was sitting in his new home when they came for him. John broke the lock, breaking the door open. Hopkins jumped to his feet and looked over at Stearne.

“We have come for you, Mathew,” John began.

“I half expected it,” Mathew stated, but when he went outside he did not expect to see what he saw. He saw the families of his victims. He saw Peter Clarke, the nephew of Elizabeth Clarke, the first woman he had killed. He saw Martin Cocke and Henry Moone, husbands of women he had condemned to death. He recognised them all and he was afraid.

The crowd marched him down to the river and stripped him. Each one of them took a knife and slashed his skin as Hopkins had done to their relatives. If the wounds bled he was innocent and if they remained dry he was a witch. Every person here wanted him to be a witch. The wounds bled but they chose not to see it. They tied a rope round his waist and just before they threw him into the river Isabella whispered into his ear.

“Remember, Mathew, you have to sink; if you float, it will prove you are a witch.” As the icy water hit, Mathew made no effort to swim; he knew it was pointless. He had to sink like a stone or else he would be hanged. He looked up through the murky water and saw the faces of the crowd, so like the faces of the people he had condemned to death. There was no sympathy on any of these faces, and as he lay there motionless trying to hold his breath he felt that he deserved this. He was pulled up out of the water just before the point of drowning.

“We are not going to just let you drown,” Isabella stated. “You are to suffer every indignity that you put each one of these people’s families through.” Isabella left them and walked back towards Nicolae, who had been watching the sinister events. He continued to watch as each one of Hopkins’ indirect victims dipped him into the river. Nicolae did not have Isabella‘s insatiable appetite for retribution.

“What good is this?” Nicolae asked.

“It is their moment of retribution; they have a right to it.” Isabella answered.

“I don’t see the point in this. Is this what you do? Is this how you justify your life? You are still killing without remorse.”

“I have remorse over the people I killed,” Isabella answered, her voice loud.

“How can you look at this and not be ashamed of what you are? A man is being tortured. It is irrelevant what he did or how he led his life, this is wrong.”

Isabella turned to face Nicolae. “It is completely relevant. How can you have the audacity to talk this way to me? Let me show you how I can watch this.” Isabella dragged Nicolae down to the lake where the crowd was “swimming” Mathew Hopkins. Nicolae still could not read people as Isabella could, but Isabella could help him see. She placed her hand on the first person she came to, Margaret Landish. She had confessed to witchcraft but her confession had been tortured out of her. Nicolae felt her pain as her hands were placed in the thumb screws. She had endured two days of this before she confessed.