Simon woke with a start as the sky began to lighten. He lay, quietly listening for any sound but the building was completely still except for snoring from neighbouring cells. Ravenously hungry. Getting up walked across the tiny room and looked dubiously at the stale hunk of bread he had rejected the night before. Sinking his teeth into it desperately. Dipping it cautiously into the dirty looking bowl of water to soften the rock-hard crust and chewing down the unappetising cold dough. Hunger undiminished.

He inspected the room again, hoping it would somehow be different from the day before. Standing on the pallet he could see through the bars out onto the courtyard which he had come through on the way in. Tugging at the bars but they were firmly embedded. He tried forcing his head through the narrow gap. Sitting down on the sparse mattress he took out his penknife and started to scrape the dirt from under his fingernails.

He stood up, walked to the door and tested it for the umpteenth time. He had nothing better to do. It was locked shut and immovable. He wondered how long it would take to carve a hole in it with his little knife. Idly he put his arm through the bars and felt the outside surface. His fingers strayed to the keyhole.

Simon suddenly woke up. He remembered seeing the jailer with the key and had noticed that it had only a single tooth. The hole was almost large enough to accommodate his finger. Grabbing the penknife excitedly he pulled out the corkscrew. Pushing his arm through the bars again he manoeuvred his way round until the tip was inside the keyhole.

He managed to get a grip on the primitive mechanism but as he tried to lift the mechanism it provided too much resistance and slid off the metal, clicking back into place. Time after time he tried until he wearily pulled his arm back in. He examined each of the blades. The bottle opener seemed pretty useless and the flat blade would not give any grip though he did consider boring through the wood from his side to reach the mechanism. He was more attracted by the blade for getting stones out of horses' hooves. He had always wondered why that was included on every penknife he had ever owned. Stretching through the bars he inserted it into the lock. It gripped tightly and the bolt moved. He levered it a bit harder and the knife slipped out of his hand and clattered onto the floor of the passageway.

Now I've done it, he thought, and tested the door which was firm as ever. He could see his penknife on the stone floor quite out of reach. Taking off his belt he found that he could reach it but there was not enough gap under the door to flick it through. He turned the belt round and tried fishing the penknife by catching it in the buckle.

Several unsuccessful attempts later he realised he was being watched. In the growing light he could see a shape on the floor, two pale eyes peering up at him. It crooned to itself and moaned as it shuffled along on hands and knees.

"Psst." Simon tried to attract the man's attention. He crouched looking up at Simon, making to spring away at the slightest provocation.

"Come here, mate. Help me."

The man stared suspiciously. "You witch?"

"Er, well, not exactly."

"I witch," said the man.

"You? Can you give me back my knife please?"

"I witch. No, not witch, wish. I come from far country and they bring me here." He noticed Simon's penknife for the first time and picked it up inquisitively. Simon held out his hand.

The man inspected the various blades of the knife. "What is your name?" asked Simon.

"My name is Dim. I here seventeen year." He looked at Simon with a savage gaze. "I come from Italy. I live in two one three and four. Is short for Diminuendo."

"Er, Dim, can I have my knife please. I have to get out of here."

"Tomorrow they take you. I see it before. You burn for witch, yes?"

"No. Help me get out of here. I'll take you back to Italy."

"Nobody take me back. I not like Italy. I be here seventeen year." The man dropped to the floor and made a moaning noise. He played with the blades of Simon's knife.

"You name Simon Wyche yes?"

"How do you know that?"

"I see it before." He held up the knife on which Simon's name was engraved.

"I get you out of here." Dim produced an elaborate knife from the remains of his pocket. He selected a blade.

"Here. I use the one for getting stone out of horse hoof. I never know why they put it in."

He stuck the knife into the lock and flicked the bolt free in a practised motion. Simon opened the door.

"Er, well, thanks bud. I, er ... " Simon reached out and recovered his knife from his fellow prisoner. "Thanks. This might come in useful some time."

"I come see you. When you burn I come watch. I see it before."

"Yeah, thanks." Simon turned away down the corridor.

"No. You go that way to get out." He indicated the turn in the corridor going the other direction. "When they bring you back you come that way." He pointed in the direction Simon was heading. He started crooning to himself. Simon stepped past the madman and headed for the exit.

Simon made his way back to the village, a distance of about two miles. As he passed up to the first of the low houses a voice called out to him from the garden.

"Ho there. You're the young man was here day before yesterday."

He looked over the hedge to see a thick-set man with a black beard, bald on top and shoulder length hair at the sides.

"Er, no, well, yes, I guess so. They let me out."

"What, aren't they going to burn you?"

"Um, no. They said I could go. They made a mistake."

"What, they said that? Those would never admit to make a mistake. They'd rather do you anyway."

"Well, they didn't actually say they'd made a mistake. They said the case wasn't serious so they wouldn't take it to court. But what they meant was they'd made a mistake, only they didn't like to say it. I think they were afraid of my father."

The man straightened up. "You're father? Who's he then?"

"Oh, didn't you know? He's the Bishop of Gloucester."

"Bishop, by God. Oh, pardon me, using His name in vain. No wonder they let you go so quick. Come in, we got cabbage tea on the boil."

Simon entered the house, ducking to avoid the door beams. The interior smelt earthy but fresh and was kept clean and swept. The man's wife met them as they went into the kitchen.

"Ruth, this is er, Simon?" He looked at Simon to obtain confirmation. "He was here yesterday. Turns out he's son of the Bishop of Gloucester."

"Well I never. And they arrested you?"

"Oh well, it was just a mistake really."

"Well sit down and have some tea. Don't say us poor folks don't treat you right, though we don't have much, Lord knows."

"It's very kind of you. Tell me, er, sorry sir, I don't know your name."

"Bill, honestly," said Ruth. "You just assume everyone knows who you are. Sorry, Simon, my husband's name is Bill. Bill Williams. Everyone in the village knows him so we just assume."

"I've heard of you," said Simon. "At Kylie's, I mean Osbert's. That is, he said, well it doesn't matter but it seemed you were quite somebody round here. It's nice to be able to put a face to a name. I mean, ... I'm going on a bit aren't I."

"Do you have business in Bristow?" asked Ruth.

Simon sipped his tea, which tasted only slightly better than he had expected. "Um, well, I'm meant to be seeing someone but it's not that important. A few days doesn't matter much."

"Where would you be staying."

"Oh, any inn or whatever. It doesn't matter. As long as it's more comfortable than last night."

"You can stop here for the morning if you like," said Ruth. Bill's got work to do so he'll be off out in a while, so you'll have the house to yourself."

Simon wondered for a moment whether he might have Ruth to himself, but then he thought of Kylie. Then he remembered Diana and felt guilty. Then he remembered that it was going to be hard to find Diana again and stopped, confused. He was wondering whether to accept the offer when two children came bounding into the room. They stopped suddenly when they saw Simon."

"Now, what are you doing in here when we've got visitors?"

"Oh sorry Ma didn't know."

"Well away out the back and find something to do. Or I'll have Old Nick after you."

They ran out whirling their arms and making hissing noises. Seconds later there was a scream and Ruth rushed out to tend to the injuries.

"I guess I'd better be going," said Simon. "You seem to have your hands full."

"Oh aye. Well nice meeting you. Best regards to your father. Which way you going?"

"Well I thought I'd go and see, er, Osbert and his wife. I want to thank them for helping me yesterday."

"Oh aye. Good idea. They get a lot of folk in their house. Plenty get taken for witches. That's probably why they made that mistake. Say, you play football?"

"Yes, definitely. I play on the wing."

"Wing? Oh aye, I reckon you have proper rules and all that, but anyway it don't matter. Just that we're playing Bournebrook two days time and if you was still around it'd be devilish for you to take part."

"Well, yes, but I'd hate to take someone else's place in the team."

"No, it ain't like that. It's just anyone who wants to play. The more the better. We got fifty-five so far."

Simon looked at him in astonishment.

"What do you have, Simon? Fifteen in each team?"

"Eleven actually."

"French rules you mean? Never heard that in this country."

"Er, well, I guess it's different in different places. How long does the game last?"

"Depends really. Usually we go home when one side decides to give in. One year we played into the night and right throughout next day, with reinforcements coming in when people started getting tired. But midday to evening's more normal. Can't be a goal at night so just a lot of running around when it goes to dark. Sunset's late, though, being as it's so close to Midsummer."

"Yeah, I'd love to take part. I don't know, I'll see what I can arrange."

"Aye. Let us know. I'll see you off to the road then you're on your own. God be wi ye."

"God be wi ye," said Simon self-consiously. They walked the few steps to the road and he headed off towards Kylie's.

It took longer than he had expected to walk the half mile across the village, stopping at houses to explain to the curious villagers how he had been released from jail. He did not tell them the bit about the Bishop of Gloucester, thinking that it would be better to let the rumour spread of its own accord. It was heading for midday by the time he passed the rusty Bedford van that lay between Kylie and Osbert's house and the rest of the village.

Kylie rushed out to meet him and ushered him into the house.

"Simon. I never thought I'd see you again. How on earth did you persuade them to let you out?"

"Persuade? I let myself out. With a bit of help. Where's Osbert?"

"Oh he's out in the field. Don't worry. What do you mean, let yourself out? Surely you're in great danger. They'll come back to look for you."

"That's okay. I only came to tell you. I thought I'd go back up to Maud and Joe and tell them to send me back."

"Simon. Get it. They won't be able to send you back."

"Oh, I'm sure they can. If I just find something suitable to bribe them with."

"They can't. They can't send you back. Believe me. They can't. You're here for real now."

Simon scratched his ear. "Well, if they really can't I guess I'll just have to go someplace where I won't be recognised. I'll be all right if I can get away from Bristol."

"You think so?"

"Sure. I can just lie low, get myself a job, perhaps get married, you know. Soon blend in."

"What about your accent? Your clothes? What happens if you let slip something about cars or factories or plastic or anything? No. You'll have to stay here. We'll hide you and make sure no one in the village says anything. With any luck it'll all blow over."

"How long do you reckon?"

"Until they find something else to distract them. Could be a few days, maybe months. Or maybe they won't look at all. If they leave it up to the Witchfinder it'll all be pretty easy for us."

"Bill Williams asked me to play in the football match next week."

"What?"

"The football match. Apparently they have one every ..."

"Yes, I know what a football match is. More like an excuse for a mass brawl if you ask me. Don't you think it must just be a little reckless? Like a teeny chance of being recaptured?"

"Well, I guess it's possible. But if you think about it surely that's the last place they'd expect to catch witches. And if I dress right and disguise myself a bit they wouldn't notice me even if they did happen to be there. Yeah, I reckon I'd be okay. I could always make a run for it anyway. That old fool'd have a heart attack if he tried to chase me. Maybe I could find a monastery or something where I could lie low."

"Well there is the priory at Wick Wick Wick, but ..."

"Wick Wick? I know where that is. Buried under the Ring Road. It's only eight miles. Cool."

"But ..."

"I suppose there'd be vows and everything. But I could put up with that. For a while anyway."

"But the vows aren't ..."

"I know. It's okay. It's only a last resort isn't it? To avoid capture or whatever."

Kylie sighed and turned her atttention to lunch, which consisted of sliced pumpkin and parsnips. Simon wasn't too keen but ate it anyway. He was still starving after they finished.

"Come on, Simon. I'll show you upstairs. You'll have to spend most of your time there while you're in hiding."

They went up to the bedroom, where the bed consisted of little more than a pile of boards with a heap of woollen covers on top. He was relieved that everything smelt relatively clean.There were a couple of reasonable looking chairs in the room, and on the window sill he saw a tattered copy of a magazine entitled Men! Kylie sat him down on the bed.

"You must be feeling tired after a night in the cells."

"I'm knackered. And starving. Tell the truth I'm feeling a bit dizzy right now."

"Why don't you sleep for the afternoon. When you're feeling better you can help with the housework."

Simon lay on the bed and to his surprise Kylie started undressing him.

"Oh, it's okay. I'll just sleep like this."

"No, keep your clothes clean. There's no washing machines here."

Simon let here take his T-shirt off, then she removed his shoes and socks. He blushed when she started to undo his trousers. She stared at his shorts.

"I thought these didn't come into fashion until the mid 21's. Have to rewrite the textbooks on the Late Industrial Age. Well." He quickly hid under the bedclothes.

"Not so fast, young man. Don't forget to say thankyou for your welcome." She lay on the bed, only the thin blankets between them.

"Uh, what form of contraception are you using?" asked Simon.

"Contraception? You're joking. This is my big chance to have a baby by someone decent. Don't worry, Simon. There's no Child Support Agency out here. You won't be held to account."

"But what about Osbert?"

"Osbert? You don't think I do this with Osbert do you?"

"Well he is your husband."

"Simon, you are such a moron. He's not a man for women. Just because it's the Middle Ages doesn't mean ... It's like, a marriage of convenience. Yes. I make sure he's not discovered and he makes sure I'm not discovered. Though he knows a lot less about me than I know about him."

"So that magazine?"

Kylie looked slightly embarrassed. "We both read it, secretly from each other. It's one of the few really useful things I happened to have with me when the accident happened. Now shut up and get on with it."

Simon allowed the covers to be removed praying that Diana would forgive him. Just then they heard banging in the kitchen below.

"My God it's Osbert. He'll kill us."

"But I thought you said ..."

"Forget it. The world's not like that. Here, arrange yourself."

Simon adjusted his clothes and hugged the blankets over himself.

"Osbert, is that you?"

"Aye. Broke me hoe so I come back for that new blade I got."

He heard them rummaging around downstairs for a few minutes but he did not know whether she came up again because by that time he was soundly asleep.