I Am Most Definitely Not A Witch Ch 02

This story has graphic depictions of torture and though it is a fantasy, it may be disturbing to some readers.

I am most definitely not a Witch

Ch.02

When I crossed the river at the mill, I could see that there was nothing in the field except for a farmer shoveling loads of shite where a half dozen horses had been lined.

"They're gone, Miss Jenny, but the good Knight gave me a coin for the use of this camp and a few chickens." He showed me a silver coin, then stashed it deep in his trouser pocket. Such wealth was seldom seen by a farmer, ...or a herder of course.

"One of his men asked me to send him a message if you came by," he continued. "He even promised me another coin! Do you think he was speaking God's truth?!"

Two coins in one year was something only shop keepers got to hold. Or Gentlemen, I suppose.

I thought about what might have happened, had I cast aside my Mother's good advice, and followed the Horseman last night.

"Simply tell him that I came," I instructed the farmer. "And don't show that treasure to anyone else, or you won't have a chance to spend it!" I cautioned my countryman.

With that done, I turned and re-crossed the bridge.

I have crossed it hundreds of times, but this was the first time in a long time that I thought about my Sire. It was 18 years ago that he died while working under this very bridge. Mother said that he was a mighty man, and an able spearman on the battlefield.

The sun rose each morning, and set in the eve, but the days grew shorter. Mother found a good man for me. He was a Lead Farmhand, and fully a dozen years my senior, but she saw strength in his mind that matched his tall muscular build.

Now all she had to do was convince father.

"I was thinking Bruno, the Tavern Owner's son," Father bellowed when he discussed it with his wife. "It would keep her out of the pens," he offered, as if that was a good thing.

"Well that's part of the problem dear," my mum fervently, but respectfully responded. "Jenny loves the animals, and she is gifted with them. Our community and our family are blessed with her healing and gentle touch," she implored.

Mother would win this one, she had to. For my part, I would have my goats and lambs and rabbits to tend to. There would be children, or not, as God decided.

The first snow was unusually heavy this year. The roof of our closest neighbor couldn't take the load, so we had to take them in until repairs could be made. My sisters moved in with me in the Town Nursing pens, while Carlson had to sleep on a blanket in the closet sized chamber that my parents shared.

The heavy snow brought the ill winds of Witch sightings, while the howl of wolves was joined by the smaller hounds of the village.

Even Father joined in with other neighbours, to fix the roofs that should have been serviced in the fall. His ability to patch the chimneys was something he took pride in, though he only talked about his fighting prowess, he was in fact an able Mason. A distant uncle may have chosen him for Mother, but he was chosen for reasons more important than his pike swinging skills.

Ellen was a good cook, so Mother was happy for her presence. She brought with her a meat allowance that she shared too. Her husband was serving a year in the Western Fortress, which didn't give her leave to take a lover, and Father swore that he had more than he could handle with one bed mate, so we all worked hard to get their roof back on it's perch. Even her two children helped, though they were barely beyond suckling age. Her two sons were best mates of Carlson with one being a year older. Jasper played the part of leader for their merry band.

They fought with wooden swords and tried to make long bows, with Adler boughs, but they never managed to propel a stick more than 20 feet.

My sisters helped me feed some of the orphaned or healing lambs and goats with a bladder, but I shoveled out the old straw from the pens myself. A farm hand would take the cart when I filled it, to be spread on the town's common field. The bails of fresh hay were stacked on the outside of the pens, to help keep the warmth on the inside. With Sarah's help I could bring one of the bales inside where it was easy to spread through the six stalls.

One windy night, while the girls were still with me, we were awakened by the sound of horses in the yard.

Mother burst into the office in front of the stock pens. She had an older Altar boy with her, but he stayed on horse.

"Jenny, I need you to come with me, quick. Make haste I say!" Her disregard of the young ones spoke volumes to me about the need for speed. She was in a big hurry, and I didn't need to know why. I threw my coat over my shoulders, and helped her a-horse, then Sarah helped me to mount the beast behind mum and I held tight for safety and warmth.

The wind was too savage for talk, but we were obviously heading for the Church or the Mews.

We didn't gallop, but the lead horse was headed home now, so they moved quickly through the streets and around to the stables behind the Mews.

An old man took the reins of both horses, while I leapt to the ground then helped mother with her canvas medical bag. The Altar boy rushed ahead, but held the door to the Priest's House.

Inside we found the Mayor, the Magistrate and four Priests hovering over a naked man. The man was tied to a table, face down. He had his feet on the floor but his ankles were tied to two of the chair legs. His wrists were chained, with the links wrapping around the other two table legs.

The sight between his legs brought mother to an abrupt stop. I bounced off of her, almost sending us to the floor.

Sticking from the prisoner's arse, was the handle of the Witches Measure. The ornate stick was 2 digits wide and a forearm long. It was used to gauge the anal cavity, too deep and you may be a Witch! The stick was far too deep for the good of any man.

Mother took my hand, and pulled me past the demonic sight. The door to the kitchen was guarded by one of the Church grounds keepers, but he opened the door for us and stood to one side.

As soon as the door opened, the screaming sounds escaped, and with the assault on our ears, we found another naked person strapped to a table. This one was on her back, with her ankles tied to the legs of the table.

The old Head Priest stood behind the woman, holding a second Witches Measure!

"Thanks to God that we won't have to put up with this wailing any longer!" the Priest sang out. "Do you have questions for this woman before we silence her," he asked mother.

"Not until I test her," mom shouted back.

The Priest rolled his eyes, but mom continued.

"Go ahead and gag her. It won't affect my test," she instructed her elder.

The two other Priests took the bull's ring from the hook on the chimney, pushed it into her mouth and tied the straps behind her head, then they pushed a clean rag into her mouth, with the ring making it impossible to eject the blockage.

The Witches Measure has a clear mark at the 9 digit point, then another at the 11 digit level. The normal birthing channel of a woman ranges from 5 to 7 digits, and the depth of a woman's rectum should be 7 to 10 digits. Witches are known to be much deeper in both cases.

The Priests were free to measure all of the males that they might find an interest in, but for females, the initial charge must be confirmed by a woman.

Mother asked for water, but first she pulled the rag out and offered some to the defendant. She drank, like she'd never had water before.

"Now we will have to start again," one of the secondary Priests reasoned.

"Only if she goes deep," mum continued. "She could be a simple traveler." she extolled.

The man outside had 14 digits in his behind! The limit was 12, on a man, so this strange woman that traveled with him could easily be a Witch!

The Church Men did not have the authority to push the Witches Measure into a woman, so Mother had to be summoned.

"My daughter and I will handle the rest, good sirs," she demanded, but she knew that they would have to observe.

I knew from my lessons that the Witches Measure was introduced over a century ago in an effort to save lives.

When there was a Witch scare back then, dozens of women and a few men would be suspected of being the Devil's disciples. Townspeople would gather with their pitchforks and axes, ready to hang the vermin. Then, if they had any respect for the law, they would use the age old method of discovery...

The adage rang:

She may look and smell sweet, her speech be fine

But she'll be a witch, if her nest sees nine.

Fast with a blade or firm with a blow

His liege be the devil, if he takes ten below.

Then they would thrust a stick into either orifice as far as they could, resulting in severe penetration. Often, when they were hung or burned at the stake, they were dead well before the rope or the flames touched their flesh.

Through the years they refined the test and the tools. Now rules are written, and the process is handled by the Church.

The Church determined that an average woman has a birthing channel that may be 5 to 6 royal digits in depth, so the death mark is painted at 9 to afford them God's Grace. The rectum is 5 to 10 digits on a woman and 6 to 11 for a man, so the second death mark is a black stripe at 11 for women and a double stripe at 12 for men.

The tool is also designed with safety in mind, as it is not thrust in hard, but eased in carefully. With a width of 2 digits it would be a tight fit for some, but at least it would not spear into a person's innards like a broom handle.

The Priests had the right to examine the woman fully, as they do with any woman at any time, but instead of looking for sexual deviancy, they would have checked for other marks, such as piercings of the woman's vagina lips, nipples, tongue or other concealed areas, tattoos on the ass cheeks or around the anus, or purple birth marks that might be interpreted as evil symbols.

They were obliged to perform the tests on a man, but the woman was always tested by a Midwife, a Livestock Healer, or a Senior Nurse.

Mother had me there so that I could learn from her this sacred trust.

She didn't say a word to me, which was her way.

Mother took the stick to the water pail, and rinsed it with the cold water, then brought it to the woman's struggling body.

"Where is the cream," she demanded.

"She is most certainly a Witch, so we shouldn't waste it on the demon," the same Priest replied, but a glance at the senior man shut him up.

Another Priest produced a pot of mating cream, usually reserved for the Nobles and lesser Elites and for the best stallions and bulls.

Mother took a clean rag from her bag and applied a liberal amount to the cloth before turning to the doomed woman.

Her actions now were very theatrical. The rag was swept through the air and wrapped around the business end of the tool. The cream was transferred to the rod with long slow strokes, then she set the rag back in her bag.

She held the Witches Measure with both hands on the handle as she approached her thrashing patient. Only deep guttural sounds could be heard from the muffled mouth, but she shook her head and screamed no with her eyes.

I didn't know the woman, but she might have been 40 and had enough sag to her breasts to suggest that she had borne her fair share of babies.

There should be no problem with the stretching of her nest. Of course that said nothing about her anus.

First she would do the nest.

Mother took her left hand off of the handle and pushed her fingers into the woman's nest, to prepare it for the intrusion. Even cows jump when you do this, so it was no surprise when the heavily bound woman jerked enough to make the table bounce.

Next, she spread the lips to allow the blunt, safe end, to pass into the vagina and down the birth canal to the womb's entrance. The tool stopped it's descent right at the 8 mark!

Mother turned to the Cleric holding a staff.

"She is not with child," the Chief Livestock Birthing Maid sang out. The Priest promptly brought his staff down on the woman's belly, striking her firmly.

The bound women screamed in shock and the Witches Measure popped three inches deeper!

Everyone gasped, except mother... and the Witch!

The witch screamed, in spite of her gag!

Mother had to complete her duty and the anus was next.

The Priests understood, and simply stood to one side. I wondered why any further tests were needed, but I kept my council to myself.

This time the Demon fought for control, and mother motioned for me to help, but the Priests had to help too, as we forced her legs up and her arse cheeks apart.

Mother put more precious cream on the tool and still had to twist it to get it to enter the nether hole. It didn't stop till the handle, just like her companion.

Our work was done, though we both had to sign the Warrant for the arrest of the woman, mother as the Officiating Authority and me as a witness.

When the doors were opened to the main room, the Mayor and the Magistrate came in to see the results, but they certainly knew from the clamor. The Magistrate kicked the handle that protruded from her arse, but it couldn't go any deeper. The woman roared in pain, but the muffler worked better now that her strength was waning.

The man was already in an iron neck collar, with his legs in shackles. His thick and long mane of hair was now as smooth as an egg, with the dirty locks thrown in the fire. They bound the woman while we signed. We all knew that she would be the more powerful of the two. I watched as they cut her hair. They would use a razor at both ends to make her head and womanhood shine in the daylight.

The Head Priest offered his carriage for our return, but the horse we arrived on was all we needed.

The wind had calmed, but mother was still quiet as we rode. Though we were heading home, mum put the horse into a lazy walk and soon I drifted into a nap.

I didn't wake until mum shook me. I had to jump off first, being on the back. This barn was close to our home, and mother had permission to use any horse without notice.

I quickly opened the stable door and mum stayed saddled as I walked the old mare into her stall. The other horses murmured their hellos, or perhaps they were cursing us for waking them.

I checked the water of all the horses, as livestock people always do. Mum put two handfuls of oats into a feedbag and offered it to our mare and she shook her head with gratitude for the extra.

"The Witching time has returned," she quietly mused, perhaps for her own ears.

Over the next weeks we found more Witches. The Head Priest and Mother were constantly in contact.

Mother explained to me that the Witches Measure is not perfect. Some people are deeper now, she instructed me.

"Every year our babies are bigger and bigger at birth," she explained. "Then they achieve greater height and girth as they age."

"The measure should be adjusted, but those traditions are so old that a change is impossible," she continued. "So we have to be extra careful to push only when we don't know the accused. God will find them if he wants them to be found, but we don't want to accuse any village woman, without some special event occurring, that demands it."

By weeks end we had 4 women and one man chained to the Witches Wall. They were all strangers to me.

The stalls opened early as the entire county wanted to see the accused Witches.

The rings buried in the wall didn't allow very much movement for the poor wretches. They could shuffle a bit, and they could catch a few winks by sagging in their collars, but the lack of circulation would wake them after only 10 or 15 minutes. Of course the harassment of villagers and their children made it impossible to sleep during most of the day, while the rapists and the rats made it hard to sleep at night.

During the night they had a rough cowhide draped over them, we were not barbarians after all! During the day the only modesty they had was the dirt and bug bites that covered their bodies.

The trial and subsequent execution or atonement as it was called, was always the fourth full market day after their arrest, so they had to endure 4 full weeks of punishment before they would even be tried. Of course, if God took them early, it proved that they were Witches or Demons.

Sometimes they would be found with child on the trial day, and if so their execution would be delayed until after the birth. If the child was female, it was immediately drowned. For the males, they lost their cocks and tongues, then they were sent to the furthest monastery, to live out their lives in silence.

I figured the girls got the better option.

Market day was always the best. It was better in the spring, but you can always go swimming or play tag in the trees. During the winter there was nothing to do but work. The stalls sold food and flowers and crafts, while other merchants sold trinkets, knives, pottery, and candied popcorn from wagons and hand carts. The local blacksmiths and silversmiths showed their wares in a tent to keep their treasures safe. Swords, and knives were prominently displayed, but they sold more pitchforks and shovels.

There was nothing new though. These traders were all well known and only traveled within three nights of sleep from the place they were born. Being a stranger could cost you your life in these times. Even those maidens that sold their comforts were either in hiding or trying to masquerade as a serving wench, with never an impure thought.

Any ill will could result in a private confession to the clergy from a wronged woman whose husband had been led astray. A woman of ill repute might suffer the indignity of a public examination or worse. More than once a whore has been publicly Measured, and after the humiliating but happy finding of innocence, she was then charged with Fornication. Without a reputable man to assure the Magistrate that she was a good citizen, she could be tarred and feathered.

I had never seen it done, but Mother assured me that the tar would be hot enough to burn, but not kill the woman. The full extent of this punishment varied from town to town. In a puritan town she would be stripped for the Witches Measure, then she would be shorn and roped to trees or fences for the application of the tar and feather.

"She would scream for quite some time," mum said with a sad look of remembrance.

When the Magistrate had her released after an hour or two of being shamed, she would run into the closest stream or pond or horse drinking trough to find relief. No one would raise a hand to help or comfort the lost soul. Leaving town was hardly an option, so she would then be living off the scraps and droppings of decent folk.

In other towns a Fornicator might only get tar covering the breasts and the pelvis, but the results would still be a horrible experience. Our town fell in the middle, adding only two dabs on the cheeks and a strip across the brow.

Carla, was marked just so. She cleans the toilets of the Ale House that she used to whore at. I talk to her when I see her, after all, she paid her penance and the Lord forgives. She keeps her body to herself these days, knowing that it could be worse.

We had the neighbors house repaired, and this was the first night back home for the girls, and I stayed too since father was in the bottle again. He was down at the Tavern extolling his stone work for once instead of his soldiering. We sang songs and watched the flames of a fine fire.

The sound of horses made us think of Witches and we both jumped up when they stopped at our house. Mother and I grabbed our coats, but it was the farmer and his son, with three chewed up lambs.

"Wolves," the farmer's one-word explanation was enough. Mother and I each took a lamb and headed for the kitchen table, while the boy followed with the third. Sarah opened up Mother's surgery cabinet as we assessed the damage.