The Gallows Curse

  Raffe had never lied in his life to avoid just punishment, but to let Osborn hang him like a pickpocket, to have Osborn's laughter be the last thing he ever heard — he would not submit to that. And what of Elena? Osborn would surely try to extract her whereabouts from him before he hanged him. Raffe could bear pain better than most men — over the years he'd learned that the mind could force the body to fight almost anything — but Osborn was capable of inflicting hurt far beyond the imagination of most men.

  Raffe, acutely conscious that Osborn was waiting, opened his mouth without the faintest idea what he intended to say, but before he could say anything, a voice behind him interrupted.

  'I released the girl, Lord Osborn.'

  Raffe spun round to see Lady Anne, composed but pale, her hands clasped across her stomach. 'I believed your sentence to be unjust. I know all the families of this manor — for years they were in my care and charge. Elena was my personal maid for a short time and I could not stand by and see her punished for something I am certain she did not do.'

  For a moment Osborn just gaped at her, the colour rising in his face. "Your maid?' Osborn crossed towards her in three swift strides, thrusting his bearded face into hers. Your son is no longer master here, I am, and by God, I will teach you what that means.'

  Anne regarded him calmly. 'Even you cannot have a noblewoman hanged on your whim, Lord Osborn.'

  'No, but I will make you wish I could. You were very close to your son, weren't you, m'lady? How would you like to be even closer? Let's see if a month chained in the pit next to his rotting corpse will tame you. You won't look much like a noblewoman when you get out of there, that I promise you.'

  Anne blanched visibly, swaying backwards. You wouldn't dare,' she blazed, but the quaver in her voice betrayed her fear.

  Osborn's mouth curved in a humourless smile. You think not?' He turned to the servants. 'Take her to the pit.'

  But no one moved. They all stood frozen, staring at him, shock on every face.

  'No.' Raffe stepped hastily between Anne and Osborn. 'She did not release the girl. I —'

  'He's right, m'lord,' a timid voice broke in.

  Hilda was hovering by her mistress's side, her arm thrust out in front of Anne as if she thought she could simply flap away any man who approached.

  'My mistress was sound asleep in bed all night.'

  'No, Hilda!' Anne protested, but for once her faithful maid ignored her.

  'Lady Anne was so upset about the girl, I knew she'd never rest, so I added a few drops of poppy juice to her posset. She wouldn't have been able to stir from her bed, never mind help that wicked girl. I knew that girl was trouble, taking advantage of poor Lady Anne's trusting nature. Evil, that's what she was.'

  Anne gave a shuddering sigh. 'Hilda is confused, I didn't...' she began, but all the words seemed to have drained out of her. She swayed alarmingly and had to clutch Hilda's arm to stop herself falling.

  Osborn spun around to face Raffe, his eyes flashing with rage.

  'So!' he bellowed. 'It seems we come full circle. Who released the girl? As steward you are responsible for the conduct and discipline of my villeins, therefore you will decide. The girl's lover or her mother, which one will hang in her place? You may choose.'

  Cecily, Athan and Joan all let out a shriek of anguish. Their horrified faces turned towards Raffe. For a moment he was too stunned to speak.

  'No! No, you can't ask me to choose. You have no proof that either of them did it.'

  'In that case I have no alternative but to hold Lady Anne responsible. After all, she did confess and her maid is doubtless lying out of a misguided sense of loyalty. Perhaps I should reward that loyalty by allowing her to join her mistress in the pit.'

  Hilda whimpered in protest, but Osborn ignored her.

  'Come now, Master Raffaele, do you really think a woman of Lady Anne's delicate breeding would survive a month in the dark, chained up in the cold and damp, with only bread and water to sustain her? I've seen men driven mad in half that time left alone in the dark. And next to her poor son's corpse too. What a torment that would be for a doting mother.'

  Raffe's gaze flicked to Anne's face. She held her head defiantly high, but he saw the tremble of her mouth and the lines around her tired eyes. She would go into that pit with dignity if she had to, but they both knew she would not come out alive.

  'So I repeat, Master Raffaele, it is your choice. Lover or mother, which shall I hang?'

  In the courtyard none of the servants moved. The wind stirred their clothes, as if they were rags on stone statues. Athan's face was almost green, as if he was about to vomit. His eyes were closed and his lips moved frantically as he mumbled what sounded like a prayer. Cecily was crouching on the ground, her arms cradling her head, rocking backwards and forwards. Joan was twisting the cloth of her skirts, and gabbling frantic pleas for mercy. But she was sobbing so hard, it was impossible to tell if she was begging Raffe, Osborn or the Almighty to spare her precious son.

  All the servants' eyes were fastened upon Raffe, but he couldn't look at anyone. He stared up. A flock of starlings, like a pillar of smoke, spun across the pale blue sky towards the marshes. Raffe knew what Gerard would have done, he'd have confessed in an instant. He'd never let someone else die for him, but then Gerard was of noble blood and would never have had to face the gallows. Raffe could not bear to lose his life to Osborn, to die ridiculed and disgraced. He had lived his whole life in humiliation until Gerard had found him, and he would not die in shame now, not after all he had been through. And who would protect Lady Anne and Elena? He couldn't leave them undefended to Osborn's mercy. He had a duty to stay alive for them.

  If that spineless oaf, Athan, had ever stood up to his mother and defended Elena as he should have done, then none of them would be in this position. Elena would be safe and all would be well. That wretch had seduced her, fathered a child by her, and then hadn't had the guts to try to save the mother of his own son from the gallows. Athan hadn't rescued Elena, but by God's blood, he should have done! Elena adored him, yet Athan would have stood next to his witch of a mother and watched the woman he claimed to love hanged before his eyes. Any bastard who did that deserved to die.

  Raffe whipped around to face Osborn. Athan! Hang him.'

  'Not my son!' Joan screamed. 'You can't. Take her. Take Cecily. It's her daughter who's the murderer. She's to blame. She is Elena's mother, so it's her fault if the girl turned bad. Not my boy! Not my innocent little bairn!' She fell on her son, trying to cradle him as if she could protect him.

  Osborn watched them, a look of triumph on his face. 'A wise choice, Master Raffaele, we'll have you broken to the bridle yet.'

  He spun on his heels, pointing at the men holding Athan. 'String him up at once, and let's be done with this before some fool tries to rescue him.'

  The men dragged Athan over to a thick metal hook that hung from the curved vault of the undercroft beneath the Great Hall. A stout rope already dangled from the hook with a noose at one end. Athan shrank from it, cowering and whimpering.

  With a howl of anguish, Joan threw herself on the ground at Osborn's feet, clinging to his legs, begging and pleading. Osborn gazed down at her for a moment, then, as if she was a stray dog peeing on his leg, he kicked her away.

  Yesterday you were happy enough to see another woman's child hanged, so this is only justice, is it not? Perhaps you and the rest of the villagers will learn it is wiser to settle your petty squabbles among yourselves and not waste the time of great men.'

  A bench had been placed beneath the noose, but Athan had collapsed on the floor, vomiting with fear. They tried to make him clamber up on to the bench, but he couldn't or wouldn't stand. In the end two men were forced to lift him bodily on to it and stand either side of him, holding him upright between them as the third placed the noose around his neck and drew the rope tight.

  Athan's face was contorted in terror. He seemed to be mouthing something but no one knew if it was a plea or a p
rayer. All eyes turned to Osborn.

  'What are you waiting for?' snapped Osborn. 'I said hang him at once.'

  The two men holding Athan jumped down as the third kicked the bench from under him. He kicked and thrashed in agony, his eyes bulging, his face turning purple.

  'Help him,' Joan screamed, 'help my boy.' She tried to reach him, but two servants held her back.

  'Leave him,' Osborn ordered. 'Let him dance. It will be a salutary lesson to others. No one's to touch him till nightfall.'

  Raffe, casting a furious glance at Osborn, ran towards the strangling lad and seized both legs in an iron grip. He pulled violently downwards. instantly the jerking stopped. Athan's head lolled to one side in the noose. The eyes glazed and fixed. It was all over. Only Joan's sobbing broke the silence.

  Raffe walked slowly through the crowd of silent servants without looking at anyone. As he passed, Osborn seized Raffe's arm and yanked him round to face him.

  'You'll pay dearly for that,' Osborn growled. 'And if I ever find a way to prove that you had a hand in that girl's disappearance, by God, I'll make you wish it was you who had hanged this day, not him.'

  Raffe tore himself out of Osborn's grasp, his face expressionless, and continued walking towards the gate.

  Behind him he heard Osborn yelling, You needn't think this death wipes out the girl's punishment. I won't rest until she's dragged back here at a horse's tail. I'll find her, Master Raffaele, sooner or later I'll find her, you can be sure of that.'

  1Oth Day after the New Moon,

  June 1211

  St John's Wort — Mortals use this herb in love charms and to increase fertility. It is most effective when gathered on St John's Eve with the dew still wet upon it. If a maid shall gather it, fasting, it shall bring her a husband within the year, and if she places it under her pillow she shall see the face of the man she will wed. They also claim that if a barren wife desires a child, she should strip herself naked and go out to pick the flower on Midsummer's Eve, then she shall surely bear a child before the next feast of St John.

  But beware lest you step on St John's Wort whilst it is growing, for a horse will rise up from the ground under you and carry you away. And though it rears and bucks, drags you through thorn thickets and stinking ditches until you are bruised and exhausted, you will not be able to slide from its back. You shall be forced to ride the beast until cockcrow, whereupon the faerie horse will vanish and you shall be left to walk home for many a mile.

  The Mandrake's Herbal

  Mother Margot

  The two boatmen gripped Elena's arms on either side, hurrying her up the darkened streets. They had reached Norwich before dark, but the men had moored up on the River Wensum a little way short of the town in the shelter of the marshes. They had offered Elena bread and onions, and strips of dried eel. But though she had not eaten for more than a day, she felt full and nauseous after only a few bites of the coarse bread. Her breasts burned and ached, so swollen with milk that she couldn't even bear the touch of the cloth of her kirtle on them.

  As soon as it was dark the boatmen sculled up the river into the outskirts of the town and tied up near a decaying wooden jetty that tilted precariously into the oozing mud. Now they scuttled through a maze of alleys and snickets, avoiding the main streets where the flames of the torches guttered and danced in their brackets on the walls of the houses. These little alleys huddled in darkness save for the dagger-thin blades of yellow light that struck out between shutters or under doors.

  In Gastmere most villagers lived in tiny one-roomed cottages, separated from their neighbours by wide tofts where vegetables, herbs and fruit grew, and chickens, geese and pigs wandered freely. Elena had not dreamed that any place could have so many streets or houses so squashed together.

  The men finally halted in front of a large wooden house. Elena guessed they must have looped back towards the river again, for she could feel the sharp, damp breeze on her face, though she could not see the water. The dwelling, though large enough to be owned by a merchant of some property, was not in the sort of street any man with money would choose for his wife and children. The ground was ankle-deep in bones, vegetable peelings and worse, thrown out by the inns and alehouses which lined it. The music of the hurdy-gurdy and frestelles tumbled from the windows, and bawdy songs and raucous laughter spilled from the casements.

  One of the boatmen pulled on a rope, and somewhere from deep inside the building a bell tolled. Almost at once, as if he had been waiting behind it, a small panel behind a grill opened and a man peered out, holding up a lantern to illuminate his visitors.

  The boatman moved closer to the grill. 'The Bullock said to bring this package to Mother Margot.'

  'Did he now? Then we'd best take a look at it, hadn't we?'

  After much fumbling, the door swung open and the boatman pushed her inside.

  'Meet me in the Adam and Eve tonight, we'll reckon up then,' the gateman said. The two boatmen nodded tersely and, with a rapid glance up and down the street, retreated back into the shadows.

  Placing a hand on her shoulder, the gateman guided Elena into a long, narrow room. A fire burned brightly in a pit in the middle, the smoke meandering to the blackened roof beams far above. Around the top of the walls were carved grotesques, masks of green men and other leering faces, like those Elena had seen on the church in Gastmere. At the far end of the hall was a long table set on either side with benches. The table was laden with flagons, leather beakers and half- eaten platters of cold meats, roast fowls, pies, bread and slabs of yellow cheese. It appeared that a great company had sat down to dine here, but had been served with more food than they could possibly eat. Another wave of hunger and nausea rose up in Elena at the sight of the meats. She swallowed hard, and tried to focus on something.

  The gateman was looking her up and down with a great deal of curiosity. He was a stocky man, with thick, bowed legs that gave him a rolling gait. His nose had been badly broken and had mended crooked, and the thickened ears which bulged out from under his grizzled hair bore witness to their owner having engaged in numerous fist fights. But he had the cockiness of stance which suggested he usually came out of a fight victorious, whether by fair means or foul.

  'I wonder . . . tell me, lass, did you work at the manor with Master Raffaele?'

  'For a little ... as a maid.'

  An oddly satisfied grin flickered across the gateman's crocked face. 'So you're the girl he was so keen to protect. You certainly have a knack for getting yourself into trouble, lass.'

  He nodded to himself. Then he glanced towards the far end of the hall as if someone had attracted his attention, though Elena could see nothing except the carved grotesques.

  'You wait here,' he ordered.

  The gateman disappeared through a narrow doorway on the opposite side of the room. Elena heard the creak of stairs, then silence. Finally the stairs creaked again and the gateman was standing in the doorway beckoning to her.

  'Best follow me, lass, Mother Margot doesn't like to be kept waiting'

  Elena shuffled towards him, clutching her scrip tightly against her stomach, as if it would afford her some kind of protection. Although she had never seen a nunnery in her life, as soon as they had entered the building she had recognized that this was no convent. But some part of her still tried to cling desperately to the notion that it was, for if it was not a convent, what was it?

  The gateman led the way up the stairs, holding the lantern down by his side so that Elena could see the steps. The stairs ended at a stout door. He knocked before reaching down for Elena's arm and pulling her into the room.

  This upper room was smaller than the one below, with a casement overlooking whatever was behind the house, though the shutters were firmly closed. A large bed with thick hangings around it occupied one corner and much of the remaining space was taken up by a table covered with a pile of ledgers and quills and the remains of a supper — a good one too, judging by the wine dregs and goose bones. A huge carved cha
ir stood behind the table, but it was set too deep in the shadows for Elena to make out more than a shape and something that glittered green. Only a single wax candle illuminated the room, so that at first Elena thought it unoccupied.

  A fresh little bub to see you, Ma.'

  Ah, the Bullock's girl.' The voice seemed to be coming from behind a thick woollen cloth screening off the corner of the chamber. 'So, what brings you here, my darling?'

  Thoroughly disconcerted at being addressed by someone she couldn't see, Elena stammered, 'Master. . . Master Raffaele said you'd take me and I'd be safe here ... I'll work hard, Mother, I'll do anything'

  'I'm glad to hear it. Very glad, but why should you need to be kept safe? Why should you not be safe where you were? Tell me the truth, my darling. I can always tell when someone is lying and I don't like liars, do I, Talbot?'