The Abbot’s men stepped forward to tie Cicely to her stake, but ere they laid hands on her she took off her wool-lined cloak and threw it to the yeoman who had struck down the fellow with his own stick, saying—
“Friend, wrap my boy in this and guard him till I ask him from you again.”
“Aye, Lady,” answered the great man, bending his knee; “I have served the grandsire and the sire, and so I’ll serve the son,” and throwing aside the stick he drew a sword and set himself in front of the oak boll where the infant lay. Nor did any venture to meddle with him, for they saw other men of a like sort ranging themselves about him.
Now slowly enough the smith began to rivet the chain round Cicely.
“Man,” she said to him, “I have seen you shoe many of my father’s nags. Who could have thought that you would live to use your honest skill upon his daughter!”
On hearing these words the fellow burst into tears, cast down his tools and fled away, cursing the Abbot. His apprentice would have followed, but him they caught and forced to complete the task. Then Emlyn was chained up also, so that at length all was ready for the last terrible act of the drama.
Now the head executioner—he was the Abbey cook—placed some pine splinters to light in a brazier that stood near by, and while waiting for the word of command, remarked audibly to his mate that there was a good wind and that the witches would burn briskly.
The spectators were ordered back out of earshot, and went at last, some of them muttering sullenly to each other. For here the company could not be picked as it had been at the trial, and the Abbot noted anxiously that among them the victims had many friends. It was time the deed was done ere their smouldering love and pity flowed out into bloody tumult, he thought to himself. So, advancing quickly, he stood in front of Emlyn and asked her in a low voice if she still refused to give up the secret of the jewels, seeing that there was yet time for him to command that they should die mercifully and not by the fire.
“Let the mistress judge, not the maid,” answered Emlyn in a steady voice.
He turned and repeated the question to Cicely, who replied—