Jezebel

The witch Jezebel had promised Lady Darleen that she would be pregnant within the year. After seven years of fruitless love-making Lady Darleen and her husband, Lord Barnaby, were sick of being patient. They had tried everything the well-meaning villagers had suggested. They had sacrificed an ox, given up ale for a year, invested in certain oils from travelling merchants, recited incantations over special amulets, took brisk walks as part of rigorous aerobic exercises – nothing worked.

The villagers were not cruel or uncaring towards the wealthy couple and Lord Barnaby and Lady Darleen were fond of the small country village they governed. They shared a partnership; Lord Barnaby and Lady Darleen were kind and fair and in return the villagers were happy and pleasant to one another. All the people who lived there were sympathetic when the couple's misery of childlessness grew into depression.

If they hadn't been so desperate they would not have even considered going to the witch Jezebel for help. She lived on the outskirts of the village and everyone knew she was evil – though you couldn't tell from looking at her. She dressed in clothes that while not expensive, were fine in their plainness and suggested a hint of false modesty about the woman. Jezebel didn't have the appearance of a typically evil witch: there were no warts on her face, her nose wasn't long and hooked. Jezebel's face was lovely to look at. From a distance.

Lord Barnaby noticed it at the same time his wife did. They were sitting together in the meeting hall listening to the problems of the villagers who had appointments. They had just resolved an issue between a farmer and the boyfriend of his youngest daughter and called for the next person to come in. Jezebel walked up to the Lord and Lady, a lazy smirk fixed on her face.

From afar, she did look beautiful but as she got closer several things became apparent. Her eyes were too blue, the arched eyebrows too perfectly symmetrical, her skin unbelievably free of blemishes, her lips too juicy and pink. Her beauty was impeccable, and that was what made her ugly. No woman could be so unnaturally beautiful. The witch's perfection was unnerving.

Jezebel gave a mocking curtsey when she reached the foot of the three steps leading up to the high chairs upon which Lord Barnaby and Lady Darleen sat. They were apprehensive and poised, ready to call in the guards to remove the witch from their home but Jezebel spoke quickly and earnestly. She could make them a potion which, if they both drank it, would enable them to create a child. This child would be unmarked and, indeed, remarkably normal despite being conceived through magic. He or she would be born just as they would be through the natural process.

There was a catch. There always was. The witch Jezebel was delighted when she outlined her terms for the deal: every year the child would spend an entire week living undisturbed with Jezebel, and this week must contain the child's birthday.

Both Lady Darleen and Lord Barnaby were tempted to decline straight away, but they were both logical people and took a moment to discuss the deal in private. Jezebel warned that her offer would only stand until dusk, so their conversation was frantic.

Should they do it? They wanted to have a baby so badly – but were they this desperate? Yes, yes they were. If they went through with it, would they be able to bear giving away their child for a week every year to that monstrous witch? Though she seemed to be doing this as a favour to them, Lord Barnaby and Lady Darleen suspected foul intentions behind Jezebel's plastic smile.

Neither would have guessed that Jezebel wanted a baby just as much as they did. Had she been greedy, she would have asked for six months of the child's life every year but she wasn't so heartless as to deprive a couple of their child for so long. Living outside the village and avoided by everyone, Jezebel was desperately lonely. What woman would invite her over for tea, knowing Jezebel practised dark magic? What man would risk getting involved with her, when he could never be sure his feelings were true or the result of one of her spells? The villagers feared and despised Jezebel because they knew no better; she couldn't blame them for being ignorantly cautious.

Lord Barnaby and Lady Darleen agreed to the witch's terms. She gave them the potion, advising them to be intimate soon after drinking it. They blushed at her frank tone but did as she said and were delighted when they noticed Lady Darleen's bloated stomach a few weeks later. The potion worked.

Three seasons passed and it was during the winter that Lady Darleen finally gave birth. Lord Barnaby was at her side throughout the entire labour; they both heard the first cries of their darling daughter. They wept tears of joy as the midwife cleaned her and checked her health. She was strong and beautiful with soft pudgy cheeks and large brown eyes. They named her Mara.

Mara was the light of Lord Barnaby and Lady Darleen's life. They didn't leave her side if they could help it. Their lives revolved around their beloved baby and the villagers noted the improved mood of their Baron and his wife. The first year of Mara's life was filled with overflowing joy and happiness – and then it was the week of her birthday.

The witch Jezebel took Mara just as they had all agreed and neither Lord nor Lady heard any news about their sweet daughter in those seven days. They worried frantically. The terrifying possibilities of what Jezebel could be doing to Mara were truly troublesome. The privileged couple were restless and miserable for the entire week and Lady Darleen was so relieved on Sunday evening when Jezebel returned with Mara completely unscathed that she fainted.

Lord Barnaby checked over Mara for any signs of injury or trauma while a servant attended to Lady Darleen. Lord Barnaby saw that there was nothing wrong with Mara: she had been fed adequately, cleaned and she seemed happy enough. Jezebel didn't let her offense show at Lord Barnaby's inspection – why wouldn't he worry about his daughter being under the care of a well-known witch? She left them in a bad mood, for being wrongly judged and unable to change the way she was viewed.

The same thing happened the next year, and the year after that. Mara had started walking and talking, and even looked forward to her fourth week with Jezebel. Her eagerness to spend time with the witch worried her parents dreadfully. No ordinary child would willingly be in the company of Jezebel. They managed to convince themselves that Jezebel had cast some sort of sick spell on three year old Mara. No-one knew what Jezebel did with Mara during that week, after all. Everyone was under the impression that if they disturbed Jezebel while Mara was visiting, she would turn them into an earth worm. Jezebel herself wasn't sure how that particular rumour began.

Lady Darleen was also tired of missing her only child's birthday. They tried to make up for it by celebrating the event the day after Mara came back from her stay with Jezebel but it wasn't the same. Lady Darleen felt as if she was missing out on a crucial part of her daughter's childhood and would continue to do so for the rest of her life. She and Lord Barnaby had been discussing their situation and they both agreed it was bleak. What would they tell Mara when she was old enough to start questioning her birthday arrangement: that she was the result of a witch's potion? Did that make Jezebel her unofficial godmother? Would she want to learn magic? Lady Darleen and Lord Barnaby did not want the procedure to continue because they feared the future.

When Jezebel arrived at the palace to collect Mara she was faced instead with the stern faces of guards who refused to let her inside. They informed her that Lord Barnaby had decided to terminate their agreement concerning Mara.

Enraged and distraught, Jezebel cursed the names of the Baron and Baroness although they were empty words. She fled home to her isolated cottage and wept tears of sorrow – not for herself, but for Mara. Jezebel loved her as if she was her own daughter and she was certain that Mara loved her too. She really was sorry for what was about to happen and had no control over it. Lord Barnaby and Lady Darleen had broken the conditions of Jezebel's magic and there would be consequences.

The next day Mara caught a cold. By the end of the week she was bedridden. The village medic came to see her and he thought she had a bug. He ordered her to move as little as possible to save her strength, prescribed a cold bath for her fever and for her to chew on bay leaves to soothe everything else. In three days Mara couldn't speak and didn't recognise her own parents even as they sat tearfully at her bedside. At the end of the fortnight, four year old Mara was dead.

Lord Barnaby cried ceaselessly. Lady Darleen ceased speaking. They each held corners of Mara’s blanket as if it would hurt them to let go. The whole village wore black for a month in mourning although they continued on with their daily work. Life did not stop spinning because another little girl had died.

The same could not be said for Lord Barnaby and Lady Darleen.

Their grief was so great and their despair inconsolable that they died of misery not long after Mara. A young cousin of Lord Barnaby came to take over the ruling of the small village and though the villagers were sad for losing Lord Barnaby and Lady Darleen, they soon grew used to Lord Gideon’s leadership.

Jezebel died a year after Mara did. Nobody mourned her.