"Burn her!" Shouted the man.

"What?" Screamed the Crone. "Billy Preston you ungrateful diarrhetic shrew dropping. I walked five miles through the worst storm in ten years to help yer mum deliver you, and you were a breach. Is that any way to repay a body?"

"Mam always said it was uncanny how you turned up unasked," Billy fired back.

"Uncanny? Uncanny! Yer mam was due yer daft eejit. Plus it were bound that a lass as flighty as yer mam would be scared of storm and go into labour. But I say again, how ungrateful can a person be?"

"Burn the witch!" Shouted another in the crowd.

"Is that you, Alice Whetherbody? I saved your Julian after he cracked his head. My poultice is what broke his fever. Why are you shouting this nonsense?"

"Burn her," came another shout from the crowd.

"Roast the hag!"

"Torch the bitch!" The crowd was getting angry now and at risk of turning into a mob. The two brothers who held the old crones' arms looked at each other in panic.

"Hold on, hold on," shouted the crone. "Are you all sure you want me to burn?"

The mob muttered momentarily confused. Then a voice from the middle spoke up, "Yes?"

"Okay if that's what you want we better get to it then," the crone shook her head in dismay. "You three on the right. Go gather some kindling. Make sure it's dry now, I don't want to die choking on smoke."

The three singled out, stared dumbly at the Crone.

"Well get moving. A pyre is not going to magically appear now is it?"

Sheepishly the three turned to their task.

"Good now you eight on the left, yes that does include you Billy. Go gather faggots. Lots of them. Same as the kindling now. Make sure it's dry. I don't want a slow death from singed toes."

Billy and the other nine turned to fetch the wood.

"Now, Garath," the Crone stared hard at the local woodsman. "Take your brother and cut down a green fir tree for a stake. One stout enough to outlast my body in the flames now. Not some weak sapling."

With a dour nod, the two men left to fell a tree.

"So that leaves you, Alice," smiled the Crone. "Now you can't bind me with rope as it'll burn away. You'll need some iron manacles. So go see Agness Drover in the Rusty Axe."

Alice looked confused.

"She's got a pair that'll do just fine. If she gives you any trouble they're in the chest at the foot of her bed. Under those tall riding boots she's over polished, along with the leather harness she likes to strut around in when she's got a fella tied to her bed. You just tell her I sent you, and I'll tell the crowd other details before they light the pyre if she refuses."

A now shocked and open-mouthed Alice, blushing furiously, turned to fetch the fetters.

The Crone now turned her attention to the two men holding her arms.

"Now then, boys. Let go of me if you please. I need to go back inside and change into my best frock. I'm not going to my execution in this. You can stand guard at the door if you like. But if you come in too, you'll have to watch an eighty-six-year-old woman strip naked."

Both let go as if she was already aflame. She smiled up at them and shuffled back into her cottage.

Inside she emptied the contents of several jars into a small cauldron and swung it into the fire. She then gathered up a small case into which she placed two books and a few clothes. Finally, she picked up a large, one-eared, black cat from her cot and a broom from beside the hearth.

Exiting by the backdoor she straddled her broom. Threaded the shaft through the handle of the case and placed the cat upon the bristles. She adjusted her wide-brimmed black pointy hat and took off into the morning sky.

She was about six miles south and skimming the treetops when the boom of the cauldron detonating caught up with her. The crone smiled and muttered to herself, "Bunch of ingrates. Fifty years of patching cuts, setting bones and birthing babies and how did they repay a person? I mean, you turn one selfish, murderous adulterer into a toad and suddenly I'm the bad guy. Huh, they deserve each other."