Seven Deadly Sons

Insert 4: Melanie and the Prince of Prussia.

The cellar at the bottom of the pub is cold.

And very damp. Very, very damp.

Huge barrels line one whole side of the raw rock wall, and the floorboards above let in minimal light and maximum noise; the seagulls cry every hour so vicariously that Melanie eventually tricks herself into believing they're actually trying to elbow their way in and rescue her. She did love her robin, after all, so maybe he had spoken to the gulls on the dock and they were teaming up?

To be fair, Melanie was not entirely alone. Several other women of varying ages were manacled to the rock in the dark, complaining of blood dripping down from their wrists and onto their clothes.

Some, those who had longer chains, had dragged themselves closer to Melanie when she had first arrived and asked her why she was here.

How should she know? Melanie was just happy to be out of that mouse-trap metal cage.

When the older women left, they did not go willingly; originally Melanie thought this was because they did not want to leave the others, but when they never came back it became abundantly clear that none of these people really cared about her.

So she kept to herself. She did not complain about bloody wrists, because the manacles on her ankles were so loose they did not chafe at all, not really.

Soon, the two people Melanie originally thought were her new parents came down to collect her again. Was this some kind of life lesson for jumping off the roof?

Did they not want to fly too?

These two had come down to collect the other women and girls too, but Melanie could not understand why. Were they orphans?

When they told Melanie to get up, she really did think they were joking - that was why she laughed. How could she get up when she was chained to the floor?

The lady did not like that at all. Her hand whipped across Melanies face so fast it sent her head flying into the brick with a sharp thud, and tears quickly sprung to her eyes. The woman slapped her again when she still did not stand, and grabbed her by the elbow to bring her to her feet while the man unlocked her feet.

Then, together, they each grabbed a shoulder and guided her so fast up the stone stairs that Melanie's feet could not quite keep up.

"To match the other side." The lady said as she slapped her other cheek, hard. "Otherwise they'll think it isn't of your own volition. Now it looks like you're cheeks have some colour, too, instead of been this disgusting pasty white."

The third slap did not hurt as much, and Melanie actually quite liked the warmth it brought to her face as a result.

They stood her in a line of three other girls; one a little older than Melanie and the other two looked just as young, but more rounded. They waited in a line facing a wooden door that kept banging in the wind.

When the first taller girl, with similar features to Melanie, was dragged through the door - she did not fight.

"What are her crimes?" Screamed a man, she could hear his voice even through the door and over the howling wind and rain.

"A witch!" The crowd yelled back.

"What trial should she face?" He recounted, "How severe were her crimes?"

"Adultery! Abortion!" Melanie could hear other words shouted too, but not quite exactly what they were. "Trial by fire!" The towns people cheered.

The older girl turned round to Melanie and the other younger girl.

"Whatever they tell you your crimes are, it is safer if you plead guilty. Do you know what guilt is?" She asked, long dark hair falling into her face.

Her dress was rugged and soiled, mud and bruises covering her legs. A black trickle of something went down the inside of one of her long slender legs. It looked like blood.

"No." The other girl said; long white hair covering her black features.

Melanie nodded in agreement.

"Of course you don't." She whispered something under her breath to herself, eyes looking to the sky, manacled hands pressed together in prayer. "Just remember - no matter what they say, you are guilty." Melanie would remember. "And if they give you a choice, choose Trial by Cold Water. Its the safest and, I'm told, the most calming way to die."

Melanie did not want to die.

The other two girls quickly went through the door after that, and they did not speak again. When the little girl with white hair went through, Melanie watched through a split in the doors wood. They placed a glowing amber bar onto her hands with tongs, and made her hold it as she cried and screamed. But she did not drop the bar, and Melanie was so proud of her, because that seemed to be the challenge that the girl had to overcome.

They removed the bar from her hands and immediately the co-ordinator, a top-hatted man with a mismatched suit on, plunged her hands in a barrel of liquid.

She screamed and thrashed again. The noise was so loud Melanie started to cry again, for her pain, and begged the animals to help. There were no animals here.

"Her hands are blistered; black and red!" He yelled. "She is a witch! See for yourselves!"

The crowd flocked over, quickly, and then the chanting started. "Burn her!"

Melanie watched the girl be skewered onto a board of boat, likely from a boat, and a fire lit below her. She could not watch any more, though she wanted to out of respect, because they had come to get her now.

I am guilty. I am guilty I repeated in my had, a mantra not forgotten. The blonde girl must have forgotten. She still screamed. Melanie could smell meat cooking, and it tasted bitter on her tongue. She felt sick.

"What is her crime!" He yelled again, hand heavy on Melanies shoulder even though her ankles her still manacled.

"She is a witch!" They yelled again. Melanie new the mantra now. She tried to spot anyone in the crowd, but the sea of faces were angry and Melanie did not know many people anyway. Jared would probably enjoy an event like this.

"Burn her! Burn her!" Some started to chant, and out of the corner of her eye - Melanie could see the blonde girl was now completely bald and entirely black; but not from any skin pigment, from the flames.

"What do you plead, girl?" He said, looming down to her.

The man was Jared. The matrons close friend. His breath smelt so vile Melanie hoped he died from it.

"Guilty." She whispered, scared. Very frightened.

"She pleads guilty! Trial by Cold Water!" He yelled, and Melanie was finally grateful he existed. Maybe he was trying to save her, secretly.

But, when Jared and a few others tried Melanie down to a wooden chair, filled her pockets with stones and dragged her out to the middle of the estuary on a fishing boat - Melanie suspected he was very much trying to make her suffer. And that the older girl was very wrong.

Melanie did not like water.

There was no water in Surrey, certainly no large bodies like this, and now that she was right on top of it she didn't suddenly feel akin to a fish. She felt like the stones in her pockets.

"If she floats, she's a witch and we burn her! If she sinks she's innocent."

Then, after tying a few more larger rocks to her chair for good measure - as if she would be able to get out of the ropes and swim away - they threw her chair overboard.