by Simon Wright

Created on: June 12, 2009

In deep water

Heather watched horrified as the crazed mob dragged the old lady roughly down to the lakeside. There was a jetty that was used to moor the village's boats and the ringleaders hauled the woman along the jetty and then thrust her to her knees. Ropes were wound tightly around her wrists and ankles, a gag placed in her mouth, and then without further ado, two of the men hauled their victim up off the ground. With one on each side, they ran her to the end of the jetty and then heaved her into the night air, like a sack full of protesting unwanted puppies. A scream caught in Heather's throat as she watched. There was a loud splash as gravity took hold and the old woman hit the murky water surface.

Fanatical exclamations of "Kill the witch!" and "Die hag!" filled the air, only to be silenced at a gesture by a distinguished tall gentleman who wore dark robes denoting the priesthood. "Silence, my children" the priest called. "We come to try a witch but let us not descend into the very ways of the Devil that we seek to drive out!" This prompted muffled apologies but they ceased when the priest raised his hand again. He indicated towards the lake and every set of eyes, including Heather's, turned to the scene that was unfolding in front of them. The old woman was struggling gamely, despite her bindings, but it seemed she was fighting a losing battle, slowly sinking further down towards a watery grave.

The priest walked out onto the jetty and his baritone voice carried effortlessly to the assembled crowd. "We call upon the right of trial to ascertain this woman's guilt. May God judge her".

"A witch will float, she don't need a boat!" intoned a young girl in a pretty floral dress, reciting what was seemingly a well known rhyme as several of her peers chimed in with it as well.

"Look, see how she floats!" marvelled a large lady of middling years whom Heather recognised as the fishmonger's wife. This caused a minor commotion as both men and women crossed themselves and hauled their children to the sanctuary of their side.

"She's not floating! She's sinking! Can't you see?!" cried Heather despairingly. This, though, only provoked a wicked back-handed smack to the side of her head by the young man who was acting as her jailor.

"Hush, witch's consort!" chided the fishmonger's wife. "You're up next!"

The woman cackled at this, prompting "Who's the witch here?" to pop into Heather's head.

Another blow silenced her and tears slid uncontrollably down her

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