melancholy. Its shoots make a tasty herb for the pot; the young branches make pipes for merry music; its buds are pickled for capers; its flowers give flavour to the pies and its berries make a fine wine.
But mortals beware if you try to take her wood without asking leave of the Elder Mother whose spirit dwells in the tree. For if you do any chair or table made from the wood will surely crack and break. This you should say to the elder tree, Ould girl, gi' me of thy wood, and I will gi' thee some of mine, when I grow into a tree.
But know this: a witch may often assume the form of an elder tree. If there is witchery in the village, then upon Midsummer's Day you must hold a feast and cut a branch from the elder tree. If blood runs from the tree when it is cut, then it is a witch tree, and if then you spy a woman with a cut on her limbs, you will know her for the witch.
A child must never be laid in the elderwood cradle for faeries will pinch them black and blue. An elderwood log must not be turned on the fire or the Devil will be drawn into the house. The wood is never used for building ships for a witch may ride upon an elder bough as if it was a horse and would ride a ship into a storm that would crack it in two. But planted near a grave the elder is said to protect the body from those who would seek to dig it up for harm.
For an elder tree may bring forth the fruit of healing and death on the same bough, but few mortals can tell the fruits apart.
The Mandrake's Herbal
The Trial
'Bring her closer.' Lord Osborn gestured impatiently with his gloved fingers.
He reached to caress the breast of a peregrine falcon that perched on his left arm. The bird turned its yellow-ringed eyes towards Elena, glaring at her as she was dragged towards the dais at the far end of the Great Hall. She shivered, staring wildly around her like a cornered doe in the hunt.
It seemed nearly every woman in Gastmere had crowded into the hall and now they stood pressed together, murmuring darkly and casting black looks at Elena. How they had all gathered so quickly was a mystery, but as is often said, 'a trouble shared is . . . all around the village in an hour'.
Osborn's dining table had been removed and he sat in the centre of the dais in a large, ornately carved chair. A clerk sat on a stool beside him, a slanted writing table pulled, up in front of him. A shaft of bright afternoon sunshine slanted down across the polished wood of the dais; tiny fragments of dust swirled and danced in it. At any other time, Elena would have thought how beautiful it was. Now she could see nothing but the cold, sea-grey eyes of the man who glared down at her.
'This had better be important enough to keep me from hunting or backs will smart,' Osborn said sourly.
Turning back to the falcon, he slipped a leather hood over its head and gestured for a servant to remove the bird.
'Don't feed her, I want her keen for the hunt. And keep my horse saddled, we'll ride out as soon as this business is done. So?' he demanded, turning to Raffaele without drawing breath. 'You are incapable of dealing with a village squabble, are you?'
Raffaele stepped forward, his face flushed with anger. 'The girl stands accused of murdering her own infant. As you are her lord —'
'Murder? Interesting. Who brings such a charge?'
'The girl's mother-in-law, Joan. She came to me at first light and said that Elena had killed her grandson.'
'Is this woman present?' Osborn stared at the crowd of women at the far end of the hall, trying to guess which might be the mother-in-law.
Raffaele beckoned and Joan came hurrying up to the dais, throwing a look of loathing at Elena as she passed.
'I came home from the fields last night, my lord . . .' She faltered, realizing she had neglected to curtsy in her haste to blurt out her story. She made an awkward half-curtsy, half- bow which nearly pitched her head-first on to the dais.
'Are you drunk?' Osborn demanded. 'Then do stop jiggling about, woman. You came home from the fields and what? You found your