Novel Excerpt: Testament Part 1 of 4
From
the time I was a teenager, I was fascinated with the history of witchcraft in England
and its emergence in the early colonies of the future United States. Like many people,
my interest in this topic began with learning about the Salem Witch Trials in
the early 1690s. Around the same time, I took an interest in learning about the
practice of witchcraft itself. I taught myself about traditional witchcraft,
Gardnerian wicca, and Italian hereditary witchcraft. I was especially fascinated
with the lore of Aradia, known to Italians as the Queen of the Witches. I read
books from such well-known authors as Raymond Buckland, Raven Silverwolf, Raven
Grimassi, Charles Leland, and many others.
Eventually,
I began to wonder if other British colonies in North America suffered a similar
witchcraft hysteria. I found that New York, previously known as New Amsterdam,
also had a brief witch problem. Similar to Salem, this witch hysteria was motivated
by politics and land grabs. There’s very little information regarding the
specific details of New York witchcraft cases. I used what details I could find
to help me write this book as close to reality as possible. For the rest, I
used my imagination.
The
following excerpt from Testament is one of four that I’ll be sharing here on my blog. In this
excerpt, Singent Straubb shares the experience of his first day on the job as
an apprentice magistrate. In my opinion, this is the most important section of
the entire book since it shares Singent’s first impressions of his employer, Magistrate
Jacob de Heart, and his fellow co-workers, Blackburn and Sterling.
Journal of Singent Straubb
It is late in the evening, very late to
judge by the fact that mine is the only illuminated window on the street, and I
have only just returned home. I would very much like to retire and put this day
to an end, but I must record the events of the day now whilst the details are
still fresh in my mind. Where ever shall I begin? I suppose it's best to relate
the day in its entirety and, once that has all been recorded, I shall better be
able to express my feelings, those emotions swimming around in my head that
would keep me from unconsciousness even if I were to retire right at this very
moment. Speaking of sleep, I slumbered very little last night and I suppose
that's just the way of it for anyone about to realize their dream with the next
sunrise; I was awake and out of bed long before my father. Hoping to make an
exceptionally good first impression, I bathed thoroughly with a sponge and some
lye before dressing in my best Sunday suit. I remember thinking to myself as I
prepared for the day that my first week's pay must be spent on new clothes and
better toiletries. An officer of the courts should certainly be far more
presentable than the average citizen. He should be a physical manifestation of
the highest principles of law, or so I'd imagined in my dreamy mind.
By the time father was up and preparing
for his own day, I was ready and anxious to head out the door to begin my very
first day of apprenticeship. It was all he could do to get me to sit down at
the breakfast table for a mere five minutes, but I did concede, not wishing to
disrespect him so soon after he'd agreed to allow me to pursue this dream of
mine. As soon as he placed the fresh milk, steaming eggs, and toasted bread in
front of me, my empty belly reminded me that I'd neglected one of the most
important morning duties in my excitement. As I ate the prepared meal with
enthusiasm, he spoke softly, kindly to me.
“Son, you are about to go out into the
world to make your mark as a man and nothing could fill me with more pride.”
I glanced up at him briefly before I
gulped down half of the glass of milk. He must have read my thoughts in my
expression because he continued:
“Perhaps this isn't the profession I would
have chosen for you, but I am proud of you, nonetheless.”
“Thank you, father.”
His benevolent smile, which has very
rarely made an appearance in our household since mother's passing, graced his
moustache-shrouded lips. “I have every confidence that you will become the fine
hard-working and upstanding gentleman that your mother and I have dreamt you
would be.”
“I will strive to never disappoint you or
to tarnish mother's memory.”
He smiled once more. As that smile faded,
he produced his pocket watch and presented it for me to view as he said in mock
alarm, “Now go! You mustn't be late on your very first day!”
***
I was the first to arrive at the
courthouse, yet it wasn't long before I was greeted by those same men that had
detained my father this past Sunday. They looked mismatched in their fine suits
here as I had a better opportunity to see them than I had had outside of the
church. The more outspoken of the men introduced himself as Mr. Blackburn. He
was easily a foot shorter than his associate, Mr. Sterling, and bigger, bulkier
than both Mr. Sterling and myself put together. He wasn't fat though. Far from it.
He was solid muscle from head to toe and so fit, in fact, that when he walked,
no part of him jiggled with the flabby flesh of obesity. He was bald, which I
think added to the menacing, overbearing appearance of the man.
His pale eyes, more the color of a stormy
sky than that of a clear ocean, pierced through me in such a way that an icy
shiver ran up my spine. His bulbous nose was crooked with crude knots spread
along the ridge; it had clearly been broken more than once throughout his life.
Also worth noting is the condition of his overgrown hands, which I'd had ample
opportunity to observe during our handshake. His hands were harsh. I don't
think there is a gentle bone in the man's entire body and, if not for his brutish
demeanor, I am certain most would think him little more than a clumsy oaf. The
skin was rough as one might expect of a man that had spent a lifetime engaged
in hard labor. The knuckles on each hand were red as though the skin had been
battered with repeated abuse and they were as scarred as they were discolored.
Tiny yet noticeable nicks, scrapes, and abrasions marred his fists in such a
way that he could only have obtained such scars from a lifetime spent in a
boxing ring or in street brawls.
In some ways, Mr. Sterling was as
different from Mr. Blackburn as night from day, yet he seemed just as menacing
and as brutal in his own way. He was more than six feet tall, standing, as I've
already mentioned, a foot taller than Blackburn. It was nearly impossible to
estimate his true height because his lanky body was slouched and, when he was
viewed from either side, it seemed that his prominent spine was permanently
curved. I remember noticing this, disturbed by just how visible that column of
bony ridges appeared beneath a thin layer of skin and clothing. I thought to
myself that such a condition was sure to cause problems as he aged into his
later years. Lacking the muscle mass of Blackburn, he was as slim as he was
tall. His sleek, black hair was trimmed short and I found his emerald eyes to
be most misleading as they lent to the impression of a warm, gentle heart even
though they were set in that unwavering stoical face. His nose had clearly
never been broken, judging by the manner in which the perfectly straight bridge
sloped downward. It seemed as though that sloped nose overhung past his thin
lips, though I'm sure that was just an illusion created by the dwarfed angle at
which I looked up at him. Multiple scars mapped his face from forehead to chin
and the depth and length of each marking suggested that they had been left
there by sharp blades of knives or swords. The wounds had obviously healed
without the benefit of proper medical treatment as the skin had folded over
itself and had left more pronounced scars than what should have been formed.
Another clue that Sterling was no stranger to knives came when he reached
forward to shake my hand. Chance, in the guise of a temperate breeze, blew his
jacket open as he extended his right arm in camaraderie, revealing a sheathed
bowie knife secured to his leather belt. It was only then, when he'd observed
the recognition of the weapon in my own eyes, that those unwaveringly stern
lips formed a smile.
These were not nice men and, to be
perfectly honest, keeping their company stirred within me feelings of
uneasiness, disquietude. I was only too happy to agree when they, at length,
suggested escorting me to the magistrate's office.
I felt, as we entered the courthouse, that
I was finally going to meet a true legal professional and, better still, I was
going to take my rightful place at his side. One can imagine, then, the dismay
I felt upon walking into Magistrate de
Heart's office and finding him in a state of disarray...to be very polite about
it. The office, as one might expect of a newly erected and recently occupied
government building, was sparsely decorated with only a single portrait of His
Majesty, Charles II, adorning the cream colored walls. In the center of the
room sat a massive desk, hand-carved of
oak and heavily varnished. Behind that desk, the magistrate sat in a plush,
leather chair, which looked more like a throne than a chair suited to a
government employee. Papers were scattered across his desk to his left and to
his right, but, directly in front of him, there sat a silver serving tray with
a half-eaten pig sprawled across its breadth.
As we entered the office following a brief
knock, the man behind the desk was passionately devouring one of the sow's
legs, his full lips dribbling with grease and slobbering over the meat just as
he might slobber over a lover's lips. The sounds of him suckling at his feast,
pulling the grease down his greedy gullet, and the noise of his moist lips
smacking together as he chewed echoed throughout the chamber. In between bites,
he waved an arm toward one of the three vacant seats facing him and motioned
for me to join him. As I drew closer, I could see the sweat beading upon his
brow; his hairline was so far receded that he may as well have been bald. Although
he wore a makeshift paper bib, his black robe was stained with pig grease where
the bib could not protect him. Blackburn and Sterling had remained stationed at
the door as though they had been assigned to guard the magistrate. Jacob de
Heart picked up and dropped the serving tray, urging the men forward with a
chubby, grease-soaked hand.
“Get this slop out of here!”
Sterling removed the tray as Blackburn used
a fresh rag to help the magistrate clean himself.
“Forgive me, but I had not had the chance
to breakfast this morning, thanks in no small measure to my bothersome wife.”
“I understand, Magistrate.”
“You are my new apprentice. Are you not?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied with the utmost
zeal. “Singent Straubb, with two B's.”
“Well, Singent Straubb with two B's, how
much do you know of this court and your position herein?”
“My father, upon informing me of the
position, had very little information for me. I do know, through my own
researches, that the Court of Assizes is here established only recently and
that its purpose is as ecclesiastical as it is legal.”
“Come again?”
“Oh...Well, sir, it's my understanding
that this court's function is to investigate and try instances of witchcraft
and heresy. Is that not so?”
Magistrate de Heart nodded. “It is. As
well, English law, under which we must operate, demands that the accused be
tried by two magistrates. The truth of the matter, Straubb, is that His Majesty
couldn't be bothered with the day to day workings of these colonies. He is
aware, as are we all, that, for the most part, a great many of the colonists
are tax evaders, criminals...undesirables. He does, however, expect English law
to be strictly enforced.”
Magistrate de Heart glanced up at
Blackburn and Sterling ever so briefly as he'd uttered those last two words. I
took the exchange to mean there had been disciplinary problems with the men in
recent history.
“It is this contradiction that has led His
Majesty to insist upon these trials without having provided for the necessary
regulations. As it is becoming more troublesome to find established magistrates
willing to come to these abhorrent colonies, I have taken it upon myself to
retain an apprentice magistrate. That is you, boy.”
“I understand. I am most eager to begin.”
"What know you of English law?”
“Everything!”
“Everything?” The magistrate's robust
laughter was so deafening in the small chamber that it was nearly impossible to
hear Blackburn and Sterling chuckling from behind.
“What I mean to say, sir, is that I have
been studying the law since I was a small boy. I am familiar with most
principles and procedures.”
“And the witchcraft laws? Are you equally
familiar with them?”
“No, sir. I must confess that I am not.”
“I would be very much surprised if you
were as there are none.”
“Sir?”
“Don't misunderstand me, boy. There are
regulations for the establishment of this tribunal, but much of what we do will
be governed by the actions of the Dutch in their recent trials.”
“I see.”
“And do you still feel up to this task?”
“I do, sir.”
“Time will tell, boy.” The magistrate
arose from his chair with no small measure of struggle and the chair itself
creaked and groaned with relief upon being unburdened of his massive weight.
Drawing the handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the remaining pig grease
from his lips and jowls. “We have a guest awaiting our attention.”
“A guest, Magistrate?”
I arose as well, turning in time to see
this 50-something year old minister of justice glance at his fellows, both of
whom had maintained their positions at the door. The magistrate's grin at these
two men left me with an uneasy feeling for what reason I could not fathom.
Though I momentarily felt foolish for being so suspicious of my employer, the
ensuing chuckles of Blackburn and Sterling once again set the hairs upon my
neck prickling afresh. I tried reminding myself that I knew nothing of these
men -for good or for ill- and that they all were, as a matter of fact, officers
of a most high court. Yet, I still could not shake the wariness I felt in their
presence. I told myself that it would be quite foolhardy to act or even to
speak upon these suspicions, but, as I am generally a good judge of character,
I had determined to observe these men with a cautious eye until my suspicions
were either confirmed or disproved. My thoughts were interrupted when the
magistrate spoke to me upon leading our party from the office.
“Our guest, Straubb, is a neger slave by
the name of Tiekka, accused of heresy and of the practice of voodoo.”
“May I know the details of this case?”
“Here.” He handed me a stack of neatly
arranged papers, each page filled with the writings of a female hand to be
judged by the bubbly beatific cursive known to be most common amongst women.
“The statement of Tiekka's employer and only friend in all of this great
colony.”
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