He took her hand.

“This is not the only spell she has used,” Philemon continued in a more normal voice. “Mattie Wise also made love potions.” He looked accusingly around the crowd. “There may even be wicked girls in this church now who have made use of Mattie’s powers to bewitch a man.”

Including your own sister, Caris thought. Did Philemon know about that?

He said: “This novice nun will testify.”

Elizabeth Clerk stood up. She spoke in a quiet voice, eyes lowered, the picture of nun-like modesty. “I say this on my oath as I hope to be saved,” she began. “I was betrothed to Merthin Builder.”

Merthin called out: “Liar!”

“We were in love and very happy,” Elizabeth went on. “Suddenly he changed. He seemed like a stranger to me. He became cold.”

Philemon asked her: “Did you notice anything else unusual, sister?”

“Yes, brother. I saw him hold his knife in his left hand.”

The crowd gasped. This was an acknowledged sign of bewitchment – although, as Caris knew, Merthin was ambidextrous.

Elizabeth said: “Then he announced he was going to marry Caris.”

It was amazing, Caris thought, how the truth could be just a little skewed so that it sounded sinister. She knew what had really happened. Merthin and Elizabeth had been friends until Elizabeth made it clear she wanted to be more than a friend, at which point he had told her that he did not share her feelings, and they had parted. But a satanic spell made a much better story.

Elizabeth might have convinced herself that she was telling the truth. But Philemon knew this was a lie. And Philemon was Godwyn’s tool. How could Godwyn reconcile his conscience with this level of wickedness? Was he telling himself that anything was justified in the service of the priory?

Elizabeth finished: “I can never love another man. That is why I have decided to give my life to God.” She sat down.

It was powerful evidence, Caris realized, and her dismay darkened like a winter sky. The fact that Elizabeth had become a nun lent conviction to her testimony. She was operating a kind of sentimental blackmail: How can you disbelieve me when I have made such a sacrifice?

The townspeople were quieter now. This was not the hilarious spectacle of a mad old woman being condemned. They were watching a battle for the life of a fellow citizen.

Philemon said: “Most damning of all, my lord bishop, is the final witness, a close member of the accused woman’s own family: her brother-in-law, Elfric Builder.”

Caris gasped. She had been accused by her cousin, Godwyn; by her best friend’s brother, Philemon; and by Elizabeth – but this was worse. For her sister’s husband to speak against her was astonishing treachery. Surely no one would ever respect Elfric again?

Elfric stood up. The expression of defiance on his face told Caris he was ashamed of himself. “I say this on my oath as I hope to be saved,” he began.

Caris looked around for her sister, Alice, but did not see her. If she had been here, she would surely have stopped Elfric. No doubt Elfric had ordered her to stay at home on some pretext. She probably knew nothing of this.

Elfric said: “Caris speaks to unseen presences in empty rooms.”

“Spirits?” Philemon prompted.

“I fear so.”

A murmur of horror came from the crowd.

Caris was aware that she often talked aloud to herself. She had always thought of it as a harmless, if mildly embarrassing, habit. Her father said all imaginative people did it. Now it was being used to condemn her. She bit back a protest. It was better to let the prosecution run its course, then refute the accusations one by one.

“When does she do this?” Philemon asked Elfric.

“When she thinks she is alone.”

“And what does she say?”

“The words are difficult to make out. She might be speaking a foreign tongue.”

The crowded reacted to that, too: witches and their familiars were said to have their own language that no one else could understand.

“What does she seem to be saying?”

“To judge by her tone of voice, she is asking for help, pleading for good luck, cursing those who cause her misfortune, that sort of thing.”

Merthin shouted: “This is not evidence!” Everyone looked at him, and he added: “He has admitted he did not understand the words – he’s just making this up!”

There was a rumble of support from the more level-headed citizens, but it was not as loud nor as indignant as Caris would have liked.

Bishop Richard spoke for the first time. “Be quiet,” he said. “Men who disrupt the proceedings will be put outside by the constable. Carry on, please, Brother Philemon, but do not invite witnesses to fabricate evidence when they have admitted they do not know the truth.”

That was at least even-handed, Caris thought. Richard and his family had no love for Godwyn after the quarrel over Margery’s wedding. On the other hand, as a cleric Richard might not want the town to pass out of the priory’s control. Perhaps he would at least be neutral in this. Her hopes rose a little.

Philemon said to Elfric: “Do you think the familiars she speaks to help her in any way?”

“Most certainly,” Elfric replied. “Caris’s friends, those she favours, are lucky. Merthin has become a successful builder although he never even completed his apprenticeship as a carpenter. Mark Webber was a poor man, but now he is rich. Caris’s friend Gwenda is married to Wulfric, even though Wulfric was betrothed to someone else. How are these things achieved, if not with unnatural help?”

“Thank you.”

Elfric sat down.

As Philemon summarized his evidence, Caris fought down a rising feeling of terror. She tried to put out of her mind the vision of Crazy Nell being flogged behind a cart. She struggled to concentrate on what she should say to defend herself. She could ridicule every statement made about her, but that might not be enough. She needed to explain why people had lied about her, and show what their motives were.

When Philemon was finished, Godwyn asked her if she had anything to say. In a loud voice that sounded more confident than she felt, she replied: “Of course I do.” She made her way to the front of the crowd: she would not let her accusers monopolize the position of authority. She took her time, making them all wait for her. She walked up to the throne and looked Richard in the eye. “My lord bishop, I say this on my oath as I hope to be saved -” she turned to the crowd and added – “which I notice Philemon did not say.”

Godwyn interrupted: “As a monk, he does not need to swear.”

Caris raised her voice. “And a good thing for him, otherwise he would burn in hell for the lies he has told today!”

Score a point to me, she thought, and her hopes rose another notch.

She spoke to the crowd. Although the decision would be made by the bishop, he would be heavily influenced by the reaction of the townspeople. He was not a man of high principle.

“Mattie Wise healed many people in this town,” she began. “On this day two years ago, when the old bridge collapsed, she was one of the foremost in tending to the injured, working alongside Mother Cecilia and the nuns. Looking around the church today I see many people who benefited from her care at that terrible time. Did anyone hear her invoke the devil on that day? If so, let him speak now.”

She paused to let the silence impress itself on her audience.

She pointed at Madge Webber. “Mattie gave you a potion that brought down your child’s fever. What did she say to you?”

Madge looked scared. No one was comfortable being called as a witness in the defence of a witch. But Madge owed a lot to Caris. She straightened her shoulders, looked defiant, and said: “Mattie said to me: ‘Pray to God, for only He can heal.’ ”

Caris pointed at the constable. “John, she eased your pain while Matthew Barber set your broken bones. What did she say to you?”