The Gallows Curse

  He was jerked out of his daydream by Osborn. 'Speak, man, what did the king say?'

  Raoul fumbled in his scrip for a roll of parchment bearing a heavy wax seal. 'His Majesty instructs me to give you this, but I know what it says, there are similar messages going out across England. John's called a council of the lords known to be loyal to him. He intends to draw up plans if Philip should attempt to land. You and your brother, and the other commanders who are experienced in the field of battle are instructed to attend. He expects you in three days' time.'

  'God's teeth!' Osborn swore vehemently, his fists clenched.

  He must have seen the startled expression on Raoul's face for he added quickly, 'I am, of course, honoured to wait upon the king in this matter. But I have just this day learned of something I had hoped to attend to personally.'

  Osborn gnawed at his lip for a moment, then his face brightened. 'John has not commanded you to attend?'

  Raoul tried to suppress a shudder. He was in no hurry to return to the king's presence in his present mood. 'I've never seen battle, unlike you. I would be of little use to His Majesty.'

  'Then you may do me a service instead.' Osborn glanced around the darkened courtyard. There were only a few candles still burning in the casements for most of the manor's inhabitants were already asleep. Nevertheless, he drew Raoul away from the steps and into a corner of the courtyard as far as possible from any doors or windows.

  'I received word from the sheriff in Norwich this afternoon. One of his men has heard a rumour that my runaway villein was taken to Norwich by boat when she escaped from here and is still in the city somewhere. I want you to go to Norwich first thing tomorrow and see if you can track her down.'

  Every aching muscle and bone in Raoul's body screamed out in protest at the thought of another day in the saddle. 'My lord, surely the sheriff can order his men to search for her?'

  'The man is a lazy, incompetent numbskull whose only interest is in filling his personal coffers. He says red-headed girls are as common as bird shit in Norwich, and he doesn't have the men to spare to go banging on every door of the city. So you'll have to do it. I'd go myself, but the king . . .'

  'But I've never laid eyes on the girl,' Raoul protested. 'How am I to find her, if the sheriff's men can't?'

  'The man who brought the news says he heard talk of it in an inn. The Adam and Eve, he called it. It's a place frequented by all the knaves, rogues and cutpurses in Norwich, or so he says. Take lodgings there. Drink with them. Flirt with their whores. Buy the customers whatever disgusting muck they throw down their poxy throats to get them drunk, so they'll talk freely. I don't care what you have to do, just find that girl. I'll not have any villein on this manor think they can defy me and live.'

  Raoul's face brightened a little. Drinking and whoring, now that was something he was good at. A week or two in Norwich maybe wouldn't be so bad after all. And if he couldn't find this girl, he could always tell Osborn she'd been seen boarding a cart or a boat out of the city.

  Raoul was still smiling to himself as he mounted the steps to his bed, picturing the slender, lithe body of the king's mistress, so deliciously young and helpless. Yes, he deserved a little treat and if the wenches in Norwich were half as enticing as the king's whore, this was one task he might actually enjoy.

  1st Day after the Full Moon,

  August 1211

  Fox — There are some mortal families which are descended from foxes, and if someone in that family is about to die, many foxes will gather near the house. A mortal who is bitten by a fox will live only seven years more.

  He who would find courage must wear a fox's tongue to make him bold. He who would be cured of a swollen leg must carry a fox's tooth. The liver of a fox washed in wine and dried will sooth a cough. If a mortal has a thorn embedded in him, he should lay a fox's tongue on it through the hours of darkness and when dawn breaks the thorn will be drawn out. The ashes of a fox drunk in wine will cure a mortal of complaints of the liver. Bathing in the water in which a fox has been boiled will ease the pain of gout, and if a bald man rubs his pate with fox fat, his hair will be restored.

  Witches may take the form of foxes and often when the fox is chased it will seem to vanish and the huntsmen will find only an old woman standing there.

  For though its corpse heals men, the living fox is to be feared, for it is the symbol of the Devil, and if a fox should pass a mortal on the track, it is a dark omen that a terrible event shall follow.

  The Mandrake's Herbal

  The Cage

  Osborn's scrawny little clerk looked like a helpless, naked baby bird behind the great wooden table which had been pulled into the centre of the manor courtyard. The sallow- faced man nervously shuffled ledgers and parchments from one side of the table to the other, then began counting the freshly cut quills in his pot, as if the exact number was of vital importance. Osborn, irritated, rapped on the table with the handle of his riding whip to get the little man's attention.

  'I want every rent paid in full today, no excuses. If they cannot pay they leave the crofts or workshops this same day. Likewise their field strips, any man who cannot pay for land he is renting will have it ploughed up.'

  The clerk opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the thunder gathering on Osborn's brows, thought better of it and nodded vigorously enough to show that he wouldn't dream of disagreeing. Raffe too stood silent. A few weeks before he would have tried to argue with Osborn, but he'd learned that only made the man more savage in his dealings. Better to say nothing and simply ignore the instructions. He could manage to hide the odd late payment, that's if the little scrivener could be trusted to keep his mouth shut and not go squealing to his master. But Raffe was confident that he could persuade the clerk, once Osborn was safely out of the way.

  As if he could hear Raffe's thoughts, Osborn turned to him. 'See to it that you send men round the village to remind people it is Lammas.'

  'I doubt there's a newborn babe in the village who doesn't know what day it is today. The crofters have been counting the days down till they can drive their stock to common pasture on the hay meadows, for some of the beasts are skin and bones and the grass is so parched there's nothing left for them to graze.'

  'Then they should learn to make better provision for them,' Osborn said. 'But just you make sure that in their eagerness to get their beasts out to graze they don't forget their first duty is to me. I am leaving this morning with my brother to wait upon the king's pleasure, and in my absence you will ensure that every last penny is collected in. I will hold you accountable for any sum that is missing. So you'd better see to it that every man turns out with what he owes, and if there are any too sick or feeble to come in person, I expect you to go to their crofts and fetch it.'

  He searched Raffe's face, looking for the slightest flicker of rebellion, but Raffe concentrated on keeping his expression impassive.

  'Did you hear what I said, Master Raffaele?'

  Raffe allowed himself a dangerously insolent pause, before saying calmly, 'Yes, m'lord, I heard you.'

  The whip twitched in Osborn's hand. Raffe saw the warning but unlike the clerk, he did not flinch. He was thankful Lady Anne was away visiting a sick cousin, for she would certainly have tried to intervene on the villagers' behalf, and Osborn had still not forgiven her for challenging him over Elena and Athan. She could not afford to make him angry again.

  Osborn, after another furious scowl at Raffe, bellowed to the gateman, 'Stop gawping like a halfwit, man. Stir yourself and open the gates.'

  Walter, who had been standing with his hand ready on the beam for almost an hour waiting for his lord's signal, jerked into action and lifted the great beam off the brackets and flung the gates wide.

  If Osborn had been hoping for a throng of eager villagers waiting to pay their dues, he was sadly disappointed. A couple of old men hobbled up to the table and began counting out their pennies with a painful slowness as their gnarled, swollen hands fumbled in worn purses. Osborn w
aited with growing impatience as his clerk re-counted the old men's pennies with equal slowness, terrified of making an error while his master was watching. Finally, Osborn turned on his heel and strode back to the stairs leading to the Great Hall, flogging each step with his whip as he climbed them.

  Though the villagers were noticeably absent, there was no lack of activity in the courtyard. Osborn's men and servants scurried back and forth loading the small travelling chests and making ready Osborn's favourite hawks and Hugh's hounds for the journey, for who knew how long the king would keep his lords kicking their heels at court? Raffe reluctantly crossed towards the Great Hall. It was one of his many duties to see that nothing was lacking and to chivvy slow or clumsy servants, a duty he was increasingly coming to loathe when the brothers were in residence. He could barely disguise his delight at the news that Osborn and Hugh were leaving. He prayed the king would detain them for weeks, or even months, but that was probably too much to ask.

  Raffe stopped as he caught sight of a young lad he didn't recognize mounting the steps before him. He stood out immediately from the other boys in the manor.

  'You there, come down here,' Raffe ordered.

  The lad turned and obediently retraced the few steps. He was barefooted, dressed in a pair of mildewed leather breeches with a curious smooth eel-skin cap stuck so firmly to his head that it looked as if he had a bald black pate.

  'Marsh-man, aren't you?' Raffe said. 'What's your business here?'

  'Come to see her ladyship.'

  'The Lady Anne? And what makes you think you can just walk in here and expect a noble lady to see you?'

  The boy scowled, thrusting out his lower lip. 'Weren't my idea to come, he said I'd to bring her a message.'

  Raffe caught the boy by his arm and dragged him into the shadows beneath the undercroft.

  'Now, who sent you and what's the message?' Raffe demanded.

  The boy jutted his chin out obstinately. 'He said I wasn't tell no one 'cept her.'

  'Lady Anne is away from the manor visiting her sick cousin. She'll not be back for three or four days.' Raffe's eyes flicked up to the Hall above. 'Listen to me, boy. The man up there, Lord Osborn, is dangerous, and there's no love lost between him and Lady Anne. If he discovers she's hiding something from him, her life will not be worth living. Now, tell me what you were supposed to tell her and I'll see she learns of it the instant she returns.'

  Anxiety creased the boy's forehead. He gazed from Raffe to the stairs and back again, evidently trying to weigh up who to trust.

  'It'll be too late by then. He said he must get word from her tonight.'

  'Who, boy, who told you this?' Raffe urged.

  The boy cocked his head on one side like a raven and looked slyly up at Raffe. 'He said she'd give me a silver penny for the message.'

  Raffe seized the boy's jerkin and shook him impatiently. 'I'll give you a clip round the ear if you don't tell me, which is nothing to what Lord Osborn will do to you if he finds you here. He'll flay your hide to the bone to get the truth out of you.'

  The boy's eyes widened in alarm. He tried to wrest his arm from Raffe's grip, but with little success. 'I'll tell you, master.' His eyes darted round the courtyard, fearful of being overheard. 'There's a man hiding on the marshes. Says he must get a boat to France afore he's discovered. Said he was told the Lady Anne would help him.'

  'Who is this man?'

  'He never said his name.' The boy's expression suddenly changed. 'I nearly forgot, he said I was to give her this.'

  The lad fumbled for something under his shirt and thrust it into Raffe's hand.

  It was a tin emblem in the form of a wheel, the symbol of St Katherine. Raffe's heart suddenly began to thump in his chest. This man on the marsh, could he be a French spy? Had one of them escaped the fire after all? But how had he come to know of Lady Anne and be so convinced she would help him? Her own husband and her son had fought for England. She would never betray her own country to the French, not her, Raffe would have wagered his life on it. So what on earth was she mixed up in?

  The boy held his hand out, anxious, but plainly determined not to leave without his promised penny.

  Raffe fished in the small leather purse that hung on his belt. The boy's eyes gleamed as he saw the silver penny in Raffe's hand.

  'You came by boat.'

  'Coracle,' the lad answered, not taking his eyes from the coin.

  Raffe gnawed at his lip; a boy's coracle would not hold the two of them, especially not when one of them was Raffe's size.

  'There's a place upstream where the river splits in two around an islet. You know it?'

  The lad nodded.

  'This silver penny is yours if you meet me there next to the water meadow at sundown. Wait at the back of the islet, the shrubs on it will hide you from the track. There'll be another silver penny for you if you guide me safely to this man and home again.'

  The boy nodded reluctantly, gazing longingly at the silver as Raffe dropped it back in his leather purse. Raffe saw his disappointment and hesitated. Would he wait? It was much to ask of a young lad to be so patient for so many hours, and despite the promise of coins, he might easily get bored and leave. On the other hand, if he gave him the penny now, he might simply vanish anyway.

  'Stay here,' Raffe instructed.

  Raffe swiftly crossed to the kitchens, thankful that those inside were too preoccupied stirring and sweating over the fires to take any notice of him. He grabbed some bread, onions and a couple of fat mutton chops and, wrapping them hastily in a bit of sacking, returned to the boy.

  Raffe thrust the parcel into his hands. 'To keep you from hunger while you wait. I'll bring more when I come tonight.'

  The lad peered inside the sack and his mouth widened in a huge frog grin. 'Thanks, master!'

  He was still grinning when he ran out through the gates.

  The morning was half gone and still Elena didn't move from the turf seat in the garden. She crushed the leaves of the thyme and marjoram over and over, trying to fill her head with the scent, but almost as soon as she smelt it, it seemed to vanish again. It was like trying to hold a fistful of mist. She knew she should go back and finish tidying the women's chamber, but she couldn't.

  The stench of sweat, the thick, sticky stains and the images of what they did in those stalls rose up in her throat until they choked her and she had to run outside to vomit over and over in the corner of the yard. She could not lie down in those stalls. She couldn't lie there and let a man climb on top of her, his wet lips on hers, his fingers probing and touching. Every morning as light crept too soon through the shutters, her first thought was, would it be today? Not today, Holy Virgin, I beg you, don't let them make me do it today.

  She'd barely slept these last few nights since Raffe's visit and when she had closed her eyes, images whirled in her head: Athan in the arms of another woman; men pawing at her own body; Osborn walking towards her holding out a noose in his hands. And over and over a drumbeat of words pounded in her head: a year and a day, a year and a day!

  She gave a convulsive sob and tore again at the herbs where she sat.

  'Did a man hurt you?' a voice whispered. She jumped. Finch was crouching close beside her. She hadn't even noticed him.

  She shook her head, her throat too tight to speak.

  Finch pulled at some grass blades. 'They hurt boys sometimes.'

  'You, have they hurt you?' Elena's own self-absorbed misery vanished instantly in her concern for him.

  Finch didn't answer, but continued tearing at the grass. Then he looked up. 'I could show you that secret now.'

  She tried to smile. 'Not now, maybe another time.'

  He touched the back of her hand lightly with his grubby finger. 'Please,' he begged. You'll not be sad then.'

  She was about to refuse again, when she saw the pleading in his bright blue eyes. She was too tired even to think up a reason to refuse. Besides, it would delay the moment when she had to return to that chamber. She
allowed herself to be pulled by the small boy, as a carthorse allows a puny human to guide it.

  Finch led the way across the garden to the chamber where the little boys entertained their customers. Elena shuddered as she entered, and averted her eyes from the stalls, but the room was deserted, for it was too early for customers to come knocking. Finch stopped at one of the stalls, pushing his hand under the straw pallet and pulling out a small stick. At first Elena thought that was his secret treasure, and though she could see nothing special about it, was about to play along with whatever he was pretending it to be, when the boy set off again.

  'Come on,' he urged. 'It's this way.'

  Meekly she followed the tousled blond head until they reached the back of the room, where a great wooden pillar was set against one side of the wall. Finch tugged her into the alcove behind it. Even though she had cleaned this room before, Elena had never noticed that there was a low doorway behind the pillar, set at an angle which made it impossible to see from the rest of the room.