A moment later I observed, half hidden by one of the large upright beams, the devil’s face of my enemy. I caught but a passing glance, but even in that I saw him smile in triumph at me. His hand sought his sword hilt caressingly, and I thought of the day when my weapon was at his throat cursing the impulse that had halted me from driving it home.
While I watched Sir George I saw a man come up behind him and whisper something. I marked the fellow and noted that he was the sailor who had been in the Governor’s ante-chamber, the same one who had been the first to cry out that we must give up Pemaquid. Now, when he came before me in my hour of trial, I began to believe him my evil genius. I was sure he was in the service of Sir George, and had followed me to the war merely to keep track of me for his master.
Sir George turned so that I could see his face as Simon, the sailor, spoke to him. And the eyes of my lord grew small, like the half closed orbs of a tiger about to spring, and he started, as if surprised, at the news his henchman brought him. Then the two hurried from the court room, leaving me to wonder what game was afoot now. Something that boded no good, I wagered, and I longed to be free that I might have a hand.
But I must needs look to myself now, for the judges were ready to proceed, and the clerk was reading the charges against me. These were wordy with legal terms, whereby I was accused of witchcraft by Deliverance Hobbs, John Bly and Benjamin Proctor. When the reading was finished Judge Hathorne inquired of me whether I was ready to confess.
“What, your honor?” I asked. “Confess to this most foul lie? Not so. Set me before my accusers and I will answer them.”
Now, had I been wise, I would have admitted that I was a witch, when, perchance, I would have gotten off with no more than some stripes, and being driven from the town. But I stood on my honor, as you shall see with what results.
“Have your way, then,” replied the judge, shrugging his shoulders, as though, like Pilate, he washed his hands of all guilt of my blood.
Then came John Bly to the stand. He was a farmer, whose son had gone with me to the war.
“Swear the witness,” said the judge, and Clerk Sewall did so.
“May it please your worships,” began John, “I did buy a pig of Master Edward Bishop some two months ago. As I was leading it to sell yesterday I passed Captain Amherst in the road nigh to the tavern of Samuel Willis.”