But she didn't even know where this Adam and Eve was, and even if she'd found it by following him, how could she have got there and back without remembering anything? And yet she could vividly remember standing behind him, feeling the panic as he yelled out, his hands groping for hers as she twisted tighter and tighter. She could remember feeling his dead weight sagging from her arms as he swung forward. All of that she could picture with painful clarity, as if his body was lying right here beside her in Ma's chamber.
The image had been as clear as when she saw herself murdering her own child. But she hadn't done that, had she? She pressed her hands to her eyes. She wasn't sure of anything any more. One thing was certain, Raoul was dead. The man who had raped her was dead. If she could kill him and not remember how she got there, then maybe Joan had been right all along and she really had murdered her baby. Perhaps she had only imagined she'd given him to Gytha. She didn't know what was real and what was the dream any more.
Footsteps echoed again on the floor above, and she shrank into the corner of the bed, but the trapdoor didn't open. Then she heard voices as if they were next to her. She slid over the furs and tiptoed to the opposite wall.
One of the carvings in the corner was set lower than the others, placed just above Elena's head. It was like a mask. But it was turned around, facing into the wall, so the hollow back was open to the room. A dim, pale light was streaming into the chamber through the pupils of its eyes and open mouth. There was a wooden shutter to one side of the mask, and a set of steps in front of it, like the ones Ma used to get into her chair. Elena stood on the bottom of the steps and pushed her face inside the stone mask. She could see right through the eyes into the room beyond and realized she was looking into the guest hall where Talbot had taken her that first night.
Three men were swigging the last gulp from beakers of ale, and one by one handing them to Talbot, wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands in appreciation.
'You'll keep your ear to the ground and let us know if you hear any gossip that might give us a lead.'
'Aye, you'll be the first to know, if I hear aught,' Talbot answered. 'What do you reckon this Raoul was doing at the Adam and Eve? Not the place for a gentleman.'
The leader shrugged. 'Maybe your girls were just a dish of dainties to him and it whetted his appetite for stronger meats. He fancied sinking his teeth into the juicy fat haunch of a street whore.'
One of the other men clapped his leader on the back. 'If you think these girls are dainty, you ain't had fat Alice here sit on your face. I warrant her haunches are meat enough for any man.'
All four men laughed.
'Besides,' the man continued, 'a noble like that would take a whore to his lodgings. He was no pimple-faced apprentice who had to have a girl against a wall for fear of his master.'
The leader nodded. 'There's something in that, but it's my guessing we'll not know till we find his killer. God's blood, I wish it had been anyone but a man in Lord Osborn's retinue. Any other man and we could have simply hanged the first knave we came across and called it justice. That would have been the end of the matter. But Osborn's already blaming us for not finding that runaway serf and felon. Any murderer we catch he'll want to put to the hot irons himself to be sure. Osborn will see me put out of my post for this, unless I bring him someone's head on a pike.'
Talbot eased the men towards the door. 'I'll keep an ear open, never you fear, though if I were you, I'd be asking around the moneylenders or the dog-pits. From what I hear, this Raoul liked a wager on the fighting dogs and the cocks too, but some men don't take kindly to a man who can't or won't settle what he owes.' He tapped the side of his nose.
The men nodded seriously to one another, as if Talbot had just given them the information they were looking for, and hurried away.
'Thank the star your mother birthed you under that Talbot's a good liar,' a voice said quietly behind Elena. She wheeled round to see Ma at her side.
Ma drew her away from the mask and pushed her down to sit on the bed. She stood squarely in front of Elena, her arms folded across her pendulous breasts.
'I hope you're grateful, my darling. Talbot's just saved your neck. If they start asking questions among the cock-fighting men they'll be sent round in such circles that by the time they're finished, their heads'll be stuck so far up their own arses, they'll be eating their dinner twice over. But it's far from over for you, my darling. They know Raoul came here. If they don't find someone to pay for his murder, sooner or later one of them'll want to talk to the girl who pleasured him and you'd better pray it isn't Osborn asking the questions.'
'But I didn't kill him, Ma,' Elena repeated woodenly, though she didn't really believe it herself any more.
The tiny woman looked at her and shrugged. 'You think that's going to make a flea's shit of difference?'
She grasped Elena by the shoulders. Elena cringed as Ma's fingers dug as hard as iron fetters into her flesh.
'Now, you listen to me, my darling. If you want us to go on protecting you, you'd better see to it that you do exactly what I say. Next time you entertain, put your back into it and look like you are enjoying it. Give your customer all he asks for and more. Men don't have any imagination, but we do. We show them what they can't even dream of, and for that they're willing to sell their own mothers. In the meantime, if you still believe in such things, you'd best get to your knees and pray that no one comes forward who saw you near the Adam and Eve last night.'
7th Day after the Full Moon,
August 1211
Cuckoo pint — which some call Devil's prick, Bloody fingers, Angels and devils, Wake robin, Wild arum and Jack in the green. This is the plant we most loathe for its presumption. Unlike the mandrake that grows at the foot of the gallows, this weed claims to have sprung up at the foot of the Holy Cross, no less. Its dark leaves, so mortals claim, were spotted with red by the very Blood of Christ, whilst we may claim only the honest semen of dishonest men.
Further more, mortals declare it a certain remedy for poison. They say also that it brings down a woman's menses so that she might conceive even when she is past her child- bearing years and is a powerful love potion. And there is many a foolish mortal youth who before a feast or merry dance sings out, I place you in my shoe, let all fair maids be drawn to you.
Be not deceived, this Devil's prick is but a feeble shadow of what a mandrake can do.
The Mandrake's Herbal
The Corpse
Raffe pulled Talbot into the shelter of some willows on the bank of the river.
'I don't have much time, I must get back before I'm missed.' Raffe glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the manor. 'Hugh was supposed to be at court with his brother, but he left him on the road and returned here, some excuse about a fever, though I've never seen a man more fit and hale in my life.'
'Devil take him!' Talbot spat into the water. 'That queers things, 'cause I've come to tell you there's a ship in Yarmouth due to sail day after tomorrow, so you need to move your package downriver tonight. Can you do it with Hugh on the prowl?'
'I'll do it,' Raffe said grimly. 'Sooner the man's gone, the safer for all of us.'
Raffe was thinking of Lady Anne, but he had not mentioned her part in this to Talbot. Talbot loathed and despised every nobleman and woman simply by virtue of their birth and there was no point handing him information he might delight in selling.
A little way downstream, a boatman sat hunched in his craft, chewing a strip of dried eel and whittling away at a small piece of wood. From time to time he glanced over at the two men, but he knew it was safest not to be seen showing any interest in any business in which Talbot had a hand.
Talbot grunted. 'The boatmen'll be waiting near the jetty by the Fisher's Inn around the midnight hour. They'll take him down river to Yarmouth. Give the men this token. Otherwise they're liable to cut his throat. No one trusts any man, these days. See you get him to the inn tonight otherwise the ship'll sail without him. And with Jo
hn's men keeping watch on every port, it could be weeks or months afore we find another captain willing to risk his neck.'
'He'll be there,' Raffe said. He turned to go, but Talbot grabbed his sleeve.
'Hold hard, there's something else. You know a man name of Raoul?'
'He's one of Osborn's men.' Raffe frowned. 'But now I think of it, I don't recall seeing him in the manor these past few days. I'm sure he didn't ride off with Osborn to court though. Why do you ask? What do you know of him?'
'I know he's dead, that's what, murdered. His body was found in the yard of the Adam and Eve Inn.'
'In Norwich? But what was he doing there?'
'Asking questions about that lass of yours. He seemed to think she was in the city.'
Raffe felt the blood drain from his face. He grasped Talbot's shoulder urgently. 'Did he find out where she was?'
'Now, that's hard to tell, but one thing's for certain, she found out where he was. It was your lass who murdered him.'
'No!' The word burst out of Raffe so loudly that the boatman's head jerked up and he stared at them, before he remembered he wasn't supposed to be listening.
Your lass as good as admitted it. And there's proof of it too.'
'This is madness.' Raffe felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. 'She couldn't. How . . . why would she?'
'This Raoul came to Ma's the night he died. And your lass entertained him. She must have followed him after he left, for he stayed a while drinking in the guest hall after he'd finished with her and no one saw him leave.'
Raffe couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What possessed you to let him see her, never mind entertain him, when you knew he was looking for her?' He seized the front of Talbot's shirt, blazing with fury. You swore to me you'd keep her safe, you miserable little maggot.'
Talbot was unmoved. Even though Raffe was much taller,
Talbot had no doubts about who would come off best in any fight.
'I wasn't there. I was trying to find a ship for your friend,' he said pointedly. 'Luce was on the gate and she let Raoul in. But she'd no idea who he was for he didn't use his real name, who does? Even if he had, it would have meant nowt to her. Thing is, your lass was missing from the house that night and she knew exactly how this Raoul died afore she was told.'
'She could have heard someone talking about it or guessed . . .' Raffe protested feebly. 'But she couldn't murder anyone; she's just a young girl. She's so gentle she couldn't even kill a bird.'
'Murdered her own bairn, didn't she?' Talbot said gruffly. 'You and I, we've both seen plenty of women fighting to the death under the Cross in the Holy Land. There was that lass who took down a two-score of men with her long bow, afore the Saracens killed her, remember? Even Saladin admired her, though she was a Christian. When a woman's blood is up she's more ruthless than any man.'
'Not Elena.' Raffe felt as if the earth beneath his feet had suddenly turned to liquid. From the day she'd been accused, he'd tried to convince himself she hadn't murdered her child, yet hadn't there always been a tiny seed of doubt? Mothers did harm their children . . . But not Elena. He pictured those wide, innocent eyes staring up at him. Those were not the eyes of a murderer.
Then a thought struck him. 'What about you, Talbot? Where were you when Raoul died? You're always in the Adam and Eve, and if you discovered he was one of Osborn's men, you wouldn't think twice about killing him if you saw the opportunity.'
'I could ask the same of you. A man who's smitten with a woman would do just about anything to protect her, and if you found out this Raoul had tracked her down . . .' Talbot gave him a shrewd glance.
Raffe didn't answer. An even more alarming thought had occurred to him. 'Do the sheriffs men think it was Elena? Are they looking for her?'
Talbot eyed him for a moment or two. 'They say this Raoul was in debt, owed the dog fighters a deal of money.'
'And did he?'
Talbot grinned. 'Who's to know? A whisper planted in the right ear, and afore you count the claws on a cat the whole town is certain it's true though no man can remember who told him of it. It'll take them a while to untangle those whispers. Thing is, if this Raoul was one of Osborn's men, I reckon that means Osborn knows his runaway is in Norwich. He doesn't know where yet, else his man would not have been asking questions. But when Osborn returns and learns his man's been murdered, he's not going to take that kindly. And he won't be so easy to cod as those frog-wits the sheriff has working for him.'
Gytha was pulling her bucket up from the spring when she heard a furious grunting and crashing in the bushes behind her. She whirled round. A great boar was standing not a man's length in front of her, his flanks heaving as he panted for breath. The beast's red mouth hung open, and his long yellow tusks curled up over his cheeks, dagger-sharp. He lifted his hairy black head and snouted the air.
Gytha stayed quite still. She knew those tusks could rip the guts out from her belly in one swift jerk of his great head. They said that when it was hunted, a boar's tusks grew so hot they would burn the fur from a hound. She had a healthy respect for the beast, but she was not afraid. She lifted her hand slowly, palm open, reciting a charm under her breath calling on the ancient ones, on Freyr and Freyja, whose sacred boar with the golden glowing mane illuminated the darkest storm. The beast blinked his tiny red eyes.
'Whist now, whist,' Gytha said softly.
The boar turned a little and as he did, she saw the blood dripping from a gash on his hind leg on to the green blades of grass. Gytha had heard the distant calls of a hunting horn earlier that morning and the excited baying of the hounds. This beast had doubtless been their quarry. He had been wounded, probably by a spear. Gytha knew by now he would be tormented by thirst. That was all the poor creature wanted, water. He could smell it.
Moving as slowly as she could, she tipped her bucket, letting the water trickle out towards the boar. Most of the water soaked away before it could reach him, but it was enough to make him lower his massive head towards the muddy trickle. Gytha used that moment's distraction to edge away to the side of the spring, leaving a clear path for the boar. Pulled by his raging desire to drink, the beast lumbered forward, pushing his snout deep into the clear, cold pool.
A boar's eyesight is poor, but Gytha knew that he could sense any movement and if he did, he would charge. So she stood quite still, trusting that once he had sated his thirst he would move off.
Both woman and beast lifted their heads as one as they heard the sound of snapping twigs and blundering footsteps. Someone was crashing through the bushes towards them. The boar swung round with an agility that belied his great bulk and squared himself to the direction of the sound, snorting and lowering his head for the charge. Whoever was coming would have their legs ripped open by those tusks before they even realized what was thundering towards them.
As she bellowed a warning, Gytha snatched up a stone and flung it at the rocks behind the spring; it hit them with a resounding echo, then splashed into the water. The boar whipped round in the direction of the sound. Whoever was in the bushes had the sense to stand still. The boar charged towards the pool, then stopped, turning his head this way and that, snuffling the air.
Again, Gytha held up her hand and recited the charm. Then, in the distance, she heard the blast of the hunting horn and the far-off baying of the hounds. With a grunt, the boar turned, crashing off through the undergrowth away from the barking dogs. And Gytha finally let her hand drop.
The bushes parted and a man stepped out. Gytha could see at once this was no charcoal burner. His fine red leather gloves and boots were not fashioned by any cordwainer in these parts. Nor was he a man who needed to hunt to fill his family's hungry bellies, for the flash from the gold thread on the trim of his tunic was enough to alert any quarry for miles around. He was limping. Gytha guessed he'd been thrown from his horse, for a man like that would hardly enter the forest on foot, and there was a long, deep scratch across his cheek, which still oozed beads of blood.
 
; He inclined his head, but there was nothing respectful in those iron-grey eyes. 'I believe I should thank you for your timely warning, mistress.'
'You were hunting that boar?'
'My men were trying to put it up, but the fools lost it.'
'And your horse?' Gytha asked him.
A look of anger born of humiliation flashed across his face. No man, especially a nobleman like him, cares to admit they cannot master a dumb animal.
'A barn owl flew right in my face, in broad daylight. I'd almost swear it had been trained to go for my eyes.' His gloved fingers briefly touched the gash on his face.
A thrill shuddered through Gytha's frame, but she tried to conceal her excitement. Instead her tone was grave.
'An owl at noon. 'Tis a bad omen. An omen of death.'
His chin lifted in a challenge. 'If you think to frighten me, woman, you've chosen the wrong mark. I've fought in battles that would turn men's guts to water. I'm not going to start trembling like an old village crone over some bird.'