She was filthy, defiled, broken. She could not even cover her nakedness. She felt a revulsion of men, of their traffic with women, and she was once more smeared with the horrid filth that obscured the innocence she had once felt beside a summer stream. She sobbed.

“Can she not be covered?” the Reverend Palley’s strong, indignant voice demanded.

Cloth was found, a piece of sacking that was stuffed under the door in winter to keep out drafts. Her shame galled her. She was defiled.

Faithful Unto Death Hervey stared at her. Her head was bowed, her upper body draped with the sacking. He slowly raised a finger that pointed at her, “A witch revealed!”

They were reluctant now to let her go. Caleb Higbed peered hopefully at Faithful Unto Death. “Are there other tests?”

“There are, sir.” Hervey began his pacing again. “A woman suspected of witchcraft can be thrown, bound hand and foot, into a pool. If she sinks, gentlemen, then she is innocent. If she floats, then the devil is holding her up.”

Higbed chuckled. “Then every dead dog in the Tower moat must be an angel of hell.” He seemed to consider for a moment taking Campion to the moat or river, but evidently decided it was impractical. “Another test?”

Hervey nodded. “There is one, sir.”

“Pray proceed, Brother Hervey.”

Faithful Unto Death reached into a pocket and brought out a black-bound Bible. “The Lord’s Prayer, gentlemen, the Lord’s Prayer.” He turned the pages. “It is a fact that no witch can repeat the words of the Lord’s Prayer. They are words of such power, of such holiness, that the devil will not allow his own to utter them! Oh! She might say the words, but at some point she will choke, or cry out, for the filthiness inside her will revolt against the purity of the words.”

It was not the kind of test that the lawyers had in mind, preferring some other examination of her body, but they were tempted. The simplicity of the test worried one man who muttered that where would they be if she succeeded, but Caleb Higbed waved the Reverend Faithful Unto Death closer to Campion. “We must be sure, Brother Hervey, we must be sure! This is a tribunal of law and we must be fair to the prisoner!”

The Bible, open at the sixth chapter of Matthew, was put on her lap. The pages, tightly bound, immediately fanned upward, obscuring the text, but Campion had no need to read the words. She knew them. She sobbed still, but quietly now, as the Reverend Faithful Unto Death went behind her. “You see, gentlemen? She cannot even begin! She is dumb!”

“‘Our Father!’” Campion silenced him with a sudden, strong voice, a voice that came from an inner strength and a determination to fight back against this persecution. She had prayed, quickly and silently, for this strength, and now her voice rang hard and clear in the stone room. “‘Which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.’” She poured her soul into the words, giving them the breath of meaning, intelligence and love. Her eyes were closed, but her head was up, and she spoke the words, not to this tribunal, but to the Christ of love who had also faced enemies who were priests and lawyers. “‘Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.’” None of the lawyers moved, even the clerks stared, wondering if she could finish. Her voice was strong. “‘And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.’” And Faithful Unto Death Hervey, close behind her, jabbed the knife through the bars of the chair, digging the point into the skin over her ribs, twisting, and she cried out with the sudden pain, her eyes opening.