Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 100, Nos. 4 & 5. Whole Nos. 603 & 604, October 1992

Eugene was astounded. “You’d never do that,” he said. “They anoint themselves with magical potions so they can become invisible at will. Or they could change themselves into a cat or an owl. Anyway, you’ll never get me or any of the other citizens of Liege to go with you to a coven on a Friday night. Satan himself might be there!”

Alain looked at the women. The duenna had stopped sewing and was staring at him as if he had suggested going to hell and fighting with the demons. Denise continued sewing, her eyes intent on her work, but her usually cheerful face was ashen. The young child had left its father’s knee and gone to clutch its mother’s skirts.

Alain turned back to Eugene, but at that moment a servant entered. Supper was ready. Plans for putting an end to the witch scare would have to be postponed. And then it would be to Mandeville that he talked.

They settled at table as two servants brought in the first course: Flemish wine and veal pasties, black puddings and sausages.

Once the subject of witchcraft is brought up, it does not die easily. Eugene might shy away from discussing plans for going after witches, but he was willing to elaborate on the danger witches posed to the community.

“We want to protect our son,” he said, “but how do you guard against a force of evil which cannot be kept out by locks or frightened away by dogs?”

Alain temporized. Like most of the rest of the world, he had been brought up with a lively fear of those who practiced the black art. But as a merchant he dealt with men on all levels and he observed that the best educated held witches in contempt. Sir John Mandeville in particular felt pity rather than fear for them.

“What precautions have you taken?” he asked.

“The only one I know,” Eugene replied. “I keep arrows smeared with hog’s blood and hellebore within easy reach. It’s the only thing that can kill a witch. If I see one, she’s dead. But their power to become invisible is what defeats me.”

“You seem to have done all you can do. You have a crucifix above the boy’s bed?”

“Naturally.”

At this point the second course arrived: hares in civey, pea soup, salt meat, and a soringue of eels.

When conversation resumed, it centered on the harm witches do. To Alain’s relief, it moved away from the killing of children at witches’ Sabbat and dealt with their charms and spells.

“The floods which devastated this country in my youth were generally considered the work of witches,” Eugene said. “And once a young woman was accused by the priest of St. Denis of trying to take holy bread away from the Mass to desecrate it. The weavers’ guild rose to her defense since her husband was one of their leading members. The bishop was won over and the woman was not harmed.”

Alain told of stories he had heard in Avignon of women going to witches for spells which would cause their husbands to be faithful. Such spells appeared to have made witches fairly popular in that city.

The third course was served: a roast of partridges and capons; luce, carp, and pottage.

“You could never catch a witch,” Eugene said. “A witch will carry a quarterstaff to beat off pursuers. They use it to help them leap over walls and other obstacles. If you pursue them closely, they put the staff between their legs and fly off to their meeting place.”

Alain didn’t disagree. He had heard such arguments all his life, but he had never met anyone who had seen such things happen.

Eugene brooded. “You’ll never catch them, but if I see one, I’ll put a smeared arrow through its ribs.”

The fourth course brightened him a bit. He looked at the fish à la dondine, the savory rice, and the bourrey in hot sauce and smiled. “I’ll protect my son against Satan himself,” he said.

“Who first reported the witches?” Alain asked.

“Some peasants in one of the count’s villages. Since the lights and such were on cathedral land, they brought the word with them into town instead of telling Count de Broux.”

“And, of course, the count wouldn’t lead his knights onto the bishop’s land even if he was willing to go after the witches.”

“That’s it. The church or the town must deal with the coven. And you won’t find anyone willing to take on the task.”

With the fifth course — lark pasties, rissoles, larded milk, and sugared flawns — Eugene broke off talking about witches and began to recount events connected with the rat in the flour box. Here for the first time the women joined in the talk. Denise told of its first appearance and her futile attempts to get the dogs after it. Eugene marveled at its ability to gnaw its way into the pantry. He told of blocking the rat hole, of nailing boards over it, and of hurling a pitchfork at it. “I feared we’d never be rid of it, but rat killer here got it the first time.”

Denise took up the narrative, telling it in detail for the benefit of the duenna and boy, neither of whom had witnessed any part of the affair. Eugene’s son demanded to see the rat and was promised that after dinner he might.