By Pen and Penitence — An Account of Witchcraft in the Fens
A thick veil of fog had settled over the moor, and the sun had not yet risen. As far as the eye could see—which wasn’t far—mist seeped from the land like a bubbling brew. The cold was a damp, bone-deep chill—the kind that lingers at the end of winter, when the sun’s warmth has yet to return. Five men found themselves this day punting through this dense fog, drifting along the dark waters of the Great River Ouse.
“Couldn’t this have waited until daybreak?” grumbled Cornelius Vermuyden.
The Earl of Bedford, Francis Russell, gave a slight smirk. “You’re lucky I found anyone willing to take us at all. Isn’t that right, Mr. Scudamore?” His voice took on a drawl as he dragged out the name.
He stood at the back of the boat, alongside a young lad no older than seventeen. Both wielded long wooden poles that dipped into the inky water before disappearing beneath the surface, slowly and steadily pushing the boat along with the current.
“Aye, you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone else interested in this plan of yours, my lord,” said the man earnestly.
“Yes, yes, but couldn’t we have gone later?” Cornelius huffed.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Scudamore here has other engagements later today.”
“You can call me James, if you please. Not even my missus calls me by my last name.”
The Earl scrunched up his face as if the name tasted sour. “James. Awfully common name, isn’t it?”
“Aye, that it is, but it’s mine,” James replied with a hint of pride.
Silence fell over the men as the boat rocked gently, accompanied by the gurgling of dark waters below. Somewhere in the distance, shorebirds called out, announcing in anticipation the coming dawn.
Hendrick, the fifth and final member of this motley crew, had thus far ignored the conversation. Gazing out over the moor, the young man busied himself by sketching the landscape as it unfolded before him. It was beautifully flat, yet deceptive in its simplicity—land and water blending into each other with barely a line to separate them. One shifted into the other, only to part again as if by some silent rhythm. Even this far from the sea, he could taste salt on the air, a faint reminder of home.
“Hendrick? Are you listening, boy?” Cornelius snapped.
Breaking free of his trance, Hendrick spun back around. “Yes, master, sorry, I’m here. It’s just so… prachtig. The way the land meets the water… it feels so… alive.”
The Earl raised a disdainful eyebrow.
Cornelius gave an apologetic smile. “He means beautiful.”
Hendrick’s eyes widened. “Yes, that’s the word. Beautiful.”
“Yes, yes, it’s all rather lovely and natural, isn’t it? But that’s not why we’re here. We’re here to rid this godforsaken place of its mess and actually make use of it,” the Earl grumbled, causing the boat to rock with his indignation.
The young lad who had thus far stayed silent piped up with a frown. “Begging your pardon my lord, but why do you want to get rid of such a place like this?”
James immediately shot the boy a look. “It’s not our place to question the Earl Tommy.”
The Earl gave a crooked smile. “No, it’s alright. It’s a question we all here will have to get used to answering soon enough. The fens are charming enough, I’ll give you that, boy. But we’re falling behind. The rest of the country is moving on, and it’s high time we followed suit! Think about what reclaiming the land could mean for us. Imagine never having to work along the river again!”
Tommy’s expression grew sombre. “Sounds a real shame to never see this beauty again.”
Hendrick let out a wistful sigh. “I concur.” Before catching the ire of his master too. “That is to say, we shall build something better. Won’t we, master?”
Cornelius puffed out his chest. “This land is untamed and unruly, but we shall help you achieve what was once thought impossible. We will reclaim the land, and when we do, you shall have what you desire, my lord—so long as we are sufficiently paid, of course.”
Chuckling to himself, the Earl gave a sadistic grin. “You’ll have your gold and more, regardless of this bickering between parliament and the Crown. A good gambler always hedges his bets.”
Hendrick watched as Tommy pressed his lips into a thin line, gripping the pole more tightly. His gaze drifted toward the Earl with a flicker of doubt. Hendrick wasn’t sure what was running through Tommy’s head, but he thought it best stayed unspoken.
The boat lurched abruptly as Tommy’s pole lodged itself in the riverbed. Panic surged through him as he began to fall backwards, his momentum split between the boat and the pole. At the last second, a hand caught him roughly by the collar as James, abandoning his own pole, sprang to action.
“Damn it boy, you must be more careful! Now look what you’ve done.” He sighed, looking back at the two abandoned poles slowly drifting away.
Hendrick lept up in an attempt to provide aid, however his efforts only led to the boat rocking harder as the men steadied themselves once again.
“This really the best you could find?” Cornelius sneered.
“I tried, but few were willing to take the job. There were a lot of objections to our proposal—God knows why. They should be thanking us for the new opportunities we’re offering. Did the Dutch face similar objections?”
Cornelius snickered. “Plenty—and for ridiculous reasons. Some even claimed witches lived in the Biesbosch. Superstitious nonsense. Once they see what the land can provide them, they’ll quiet down, I promise.”
“Do you need a hand?” Asked Hendrick, as he watched James and Tommy struggle to reach the drifting poles.
“Appreciated lad, grab the paddle that's by the bow—The front of the boat.” He clarified.
Between the three of them, they managed to fight the current, drifting back to the point of the mishap. The Earl, looking bored, prodded the murky water with a stick, while Cornelius let out a loud yawn that spread quickly through the group.
“And there we go, crisis averted!” James cheered, giving the younger boy a hearty pat on the back that nearly sent him tumbling in again.
“Yes, indeed. Now, shall we get moving? Somewhere out there, there’s a plate of breakfast with my name on it,” the Earl said with a grumble.
For once, all five men were in agreement: breakfast did indeed sound like a good idea. Tommy, now a bit more focused, pushed ahead, though he couldn’t help but notice Hendrick watching him intently, sketchbook in hand.
With a smirk, James flicked the pole up single-handedly, flexing as he did. "Is this better, or shall I pose for you too?" he teased.
Hendrick stammered, feeling his face flush. "No—I, I was just… it’s very impressive… that’s all," he said quickly, sinking into his seat and desperately hoping the attention would shift away from him.
Cornelius rolled his eyes, muttering in Dutch, “Wees minder voor de hand liggend, jongen,” which made Hendrick blush even harder.
James swooped in to the boy's aid, attempting to shift the conversation. “You know, it’s not only the Dutch who believe witches live out here in the bog. I’ve heard a tale or two about the wicked hags. Dangerous things, witches.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” scoffed the Earl. “These so-called ‘witch hunters’ are nothing more than scammers. If witchcraft were real, they’d be the ones in power. What use would men and castles be against real magic, hmm? No, it’s all fake, the whole bloody lot. That charlatan, the Witchfinder General—what was his name? Matthew Hopkins. Total con artist, if you ask me.”
“Forgive me, my lord, for saying so, but didn’t you hire his services only a few seasons ago?” James asked hesitantly.
“Fat lot of good it did me too,” grumbled the Earl.
Cornelius smirked at the Earl's displeasure. “If witchcraft did indeed exist, then it has long faded from this land by now. I see no evidence of magic, nor any womenfolk. Do you, my lord?”
This brought a slight smile back to the Earl’s face. “If only we were so lucky as to be graced by a woman about now.”
James grinned. “Careful what you wish for, my lord. My wife is the greatest beauty I’ve ever known, but she would half-hang me for sneaking out this early.”
“Yes, I suspect mine would too,” the Earl concurred.
The songbirds had grown louder now as the first light of dawn crept through the fog. Somewhere among the mist, a large dark mass swooped silently—perhaps a heron or a barn owl. It followed the boat, never close enough to see but watching the travellers cautiously. Hendrick attempted to sketch the shadow as it trailed behind. His simple charcoals blended it seamlessly into the landscape so that there was no distinction between land, bird, and water. Just like the moor, all was one, and one was all.
“What will happen to the animals?” Tommy asked.
“What about them?” asked the Earl dully.
“Well, what will happen to them if we drain the fens?” Tommy pressed.
“Why should I care? We’ll have all the sheep, pigs, cattle, and fowl we need—more than enough. The land will provide for everyone.”
“No, I mean what will happen to the birds, the fish, and the creatures too?”
“Oh, well, I suppose they’ll just have to adapt. Not much use anyway, except maybe the ducks. I do love roasted duck,” the Earl chuckled.
“Seems an awful shame. Places like this hold more than just beauty, you know. There’s a life here that most people can’t see—but I feel it every time I’m out on the water.”
“Look around you boy, what do you see? Mud, muck, and grime. This kingdom of ours holds little value. Not economically, not strategically, not even aesthetically. Trust me, boy, we’ll make it better. You’ll see.”
Yielding, Tommy returned to contemplation, much to Hendrick's relief.
Hendrick, who had again fallen into quiet observation, was watching the ‘shadow’ intensely. Its form had shifted somewhat; initially, he could have sworn it had wings, swooping low over the brush. But now, it ran alongside them through the reeds, darting in and out of sight.
Cornelius, the Earl, and James seemed oblivious to their silent stalker. Tommy, however, had followed Hendrick’s gaze and spotted the creature too. Never approaching too close or straying too far, the shadow was persistent.
Mist shrouded the creature again, and out of the fog emerged a swan—proud and elegant, its pearlescent white feathers gleaming against the smoky grey moor. It held Tommy’s gaze, its deep eyes reflecting a silent wisdom.
This time, the Earl noticed. “Ah, I see breakfast has revealed itself.”
Shocked, Hendrick turned to the Earl. “You can’t be serious.”
The Earl licked his lips. “Duck, heron, swan—it’s all the same to me.”
James coughed politely. “Might I remind you, my lord, that swans are protected under the Crown?”
“Times are changing,” the Earl barked bitterly. “The Crown won’t hold power for much longer, and these lands are mine. I shall do with them as I please.”
“No,” Tommy uttered.
“What?” the Earl sneered.
“I said no.”
“I AM YOUR EARL, BOY!”
“You may be our Earl, but this is our home, and a line must be drawn somewhere.”
James looked horrified—Tommy might as well have signed his own death warrant.
Tommy nodded to the swan with a knowing look. “I’ve seen enough.”
He smiled at Hendrick, who watched in awe… “Fly well my friend.” Tommy then stepped back and plunged into the water.
All three men rushed to the edge of the boat, shouting and screaming in outrage and confusion. But he and the swan were gone. Just like that, he had sunk beneath the glassy surface.
“Where… where did he go?” the Earl bleated.
“It’s not even that deep!” James stammered in shock.
But Hendrick, glancing at the shore, could now see two shadows standing, watching. He gave a silent nod and watched as they faded back into the mist. The moor fell silent again.
One was all, and all was one.
THE END.
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