The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,188

when heads might have turned to see this person at whom “the witch” stared so fixedly, Deborah did look away, and again her eyes took in the scene before her, lingering with equal care upon the stalls of the wine sellers and the peddlers, and the groups of random persons who backed away from her as she looked at them, and finally up at the viewing stand which loomed down upon her, and at the old Comtesse, who steeled herself to this silent accusation, and then to the Comtesse de Chamillart, who at once squirmed in her seat, her face reddening, as she looked in panic to the old Comtesse, who remained as unmoved as before.

Meantime Father Louvier, the great and triumphant inquisitor, was shouting hoarsely to the mayor that he should read the proclamation in his hands, and that “these proceedings must commence!”

A hubbub rose from all assembled, and the mayor cleared his throat to begin reading, and I then satisfied myself of what I had already seen but failed to note, that Deborah’s hands and feet were unbound.

It was now my intention to come down from the window and to push my way, by the roughest means if need be, to the very front of the crowd so that I might stand near her, regardless of what danger this might mean to me.

And I was in the act of turning from the window when the mayor began to read the Latin with torturous slowness, and Deborah’s voice rang out, silencing him and commanding that the crowd be still.

“I never did you harm, not the poorest of you!” she declared, speaking slowly and loudly, her voice echoing off the stone walls, and as Father Louvier stood and shouted for silence, she raised her voice even louder and declared that she would speak.

“Silence her!” declared the old Comtesse, now in a fury, and again Louvier bellowed for the mayor to read the proclamation and the frightened pastor looked to his armed guards, but they had drawn away on either side and seemed fearful as they stared at Deborah and at the frightened crowd.

“I will be heard!” my Deborah called out again, as loudly as before. And as she took but one step forward, to stand more fully in the sunlight, the crowd drew back in a great swarming mass.

“I am unjustly condemned of witchcraft,” cried Deborah, “for I am no heretic and I do not worship Satan, and I have done no malice against any being here!”

And before the old Comtesse could roar again, Deborah continued:

“You, my sons, you testified against me and I disown you! And you, my beloved mother-in-law, have damned yourself to hell with your lies!”

“Witch!” screamed the Comtesse de Chamillart, now in panic. “Burn her. Throw her on the pyre.”

And at this it seemed a number did press forward, as much out of fear as a desire for heroism and to draw favor upon themselves perhaps, or maybe it was mere confusion. But the armed guards did not move.

“Witch, you call me!” Deborah answered at once. And with a great gesture, she threw down the candle on the stones and threw up her hands before the men who would have taken hold of her but did not. “Hearken to me!” she declared. “I shall show you witchcraft I have never shown you before!”

The crowd was now in complete fright and some were leaving the square and others pressing to reach the narrow streets leading away from it, and even those in the viewing stand had risen to their feet, and the young Chrétien buried his face against the old Comtesse and again shook with sobs.

Yet the eyes of hundreds in this narrow place remained fixed upon Deborah, who had raised her thin and bruised arms. Her lips moved, but I could hear no words from her, and shrieks now rang out from some below the window, and then a rumbling was heard over the rooftops, far fainter than thunder and therefore more terrible, and a great wind was gathering suddenly, and with it came another noise, a low creaking and ripping sound, which at first I did not know and then I remembered from many another storm—the old roofs of the place were giving up to the wind their loose and broken tiles.

At once the tiles began to fall from the parapets, raining down singly and here and there by the half dozen, and the wind was howling and gathering itself over the square. The wooden