ordered the Bishops of London, Ely and Worcester to lay an Interdict upon England. No church services may be held for the laity. The people are denied all the rites of the Church, save for baptism of infants and shriving of the dying, which might save their souls from hell. But these rites too have been snatched from the people of England, for John in his fury has seized the property of the Church, and the bishops and priests have fled the land or are hiding and dare not show themselves even to save the souls of their parishioners from eternal damnation.
So here is a merry England indeed. The populace are terrified of dying in sin; the Church is threatening eternal damnation; the barons are plotting rebellion and King Philip of France, with the blessing of the Pope, is planning invasion; but despite the army of entreaties and threats which daily assault his ears, King John remains obstinately defiant. And you have to admire him for that at least.
But our tale does not concern King John himself, though you might say he is the cause of much that occurs, if indeed you hold that any man may be blamed for the crimes of others. No, our story is about two of John's most humble subjects, Raffaele and Elena, both unknown to the king.
To be fair, if the name Elena means nothing to King John, his name likewise means nothing to her, for as a villein, it doesn't matter so much as a beggar's arse-rag to her who sits on the throne of England. It's the lord of the manor who has the power to make her life heaven or hell and, for all she knows, he will have that power in the next life too.
But the man, Master Raffaele, or Raffe as his few friends call him, knows King John's name only too well. He fought for him in Aquitaine. He knows him by sight and reputation. And just at this moment, Raffe is striding across the courtyard of Gastmere manor and cursing his sovereign lord to the foulest pit of hell. For Raffe blames John, the Pope and every cowardly priest in the land for what he is about to do.
1st Day of the Waning Moon,
August 1210
Deadly Nightshade — which some call Belladonna or Devil's berry. A plant that befuddles the mind and brings death, for its other name is dwale, which means mourning. Since it is poisonous, it is sacred to the goddess Hecate who taught her daughters the knowledge of all plants.
Mortals make wreaths of the plant to cure horses that are witch-ridden and to ward off spells from their own persons. But the Devil jealously guards the plant for it does his bidding. So mortals who wish to gather it must first release a black hen which the Devil will not be able to resist chasing, and the plant must be quickly harvested before the Devil returns.
For a man who desires to accomplish death must first deceive.
The Mandrake's Herbal
The Chosen
Elena didn't notice Master Raffaele at first. Only when she became aware of the other girls jerking their heads in his direction did she glance behind her and see him standing just outside the barn door in a patch of dazzling light. The outline of the man shimmered against the sun, his form bleached to the pallor of a ghost.
The doors were wide open at either end of the long wooden barn to catch the slightest breeze and channel it between the walls. Inside, a circle of women shuffled around a large pile of sheaves. Marion was singing the chant, and the flails whistled through the air in answering chorus. The steps of the women had slowed to the pace of a hobbled donkey in the drowsy afternoon heat, but catching sight of Master Raffaele lurking outside, Marion took up a more lively song to quicken the threshers, knowing full well that the steward's fury would descend upon her if he thought the women were slacking.
. . . I heard a pretty maid making her complain
That all she wanted was the saltiest grain . . .
The women swung the flails in such a rapid, practised motion of the shoulders that a perfect circle hung for an instant above their heads as if drawn on the air, before they brought the shaft down to the ground, bouncing the full length of the swelpe across the ears of grain. After each blow the women took a single step sideways