'A priest?' Anne was all concern now. 'What's happened to him? Who was he?'
'The Bishop of Ely's chaplain. He was hiding out on the marshes in fear of his life. I arranged his passage to France. He'll be safe ashore by now, or nearly. But the question is, m'lady, why did he send word to you? What game of madness are you playing? Don't you realize there are some who would count it treason to aid those fleeing from the king? Osborn is one of John's most loyal men. If he had the slightest suspicion of what you are about, he wouldn't hesitate to hand you over to the king. And I have reason to believe that treason is already suspected here.'
Anne winced. For several minutes she said nothing. Then finally she reached towards him and clasped one of his hands in both of hers.
'I am no traitor, Raffaele, but I must do this, don't you see? There are priests and innocent people being hunted down by John's men. If I can help to save them, help God's faithful servants reach safety, then Christ and the Holy Virgin will surely have mercy on my son's soul. It is my penance for Gerard, do you see? The only one I can make for him. I failed my child in his life. I must not fail him in his death.'
Her expression was that of an earnest little girl pleading for a parent to make everything all right. Had she been of lowly birth, Raffe might have taken her in his arms and hugged her simply to comfort her, so lost and desperate did she sound, but he could not embrace the Lady Anne.
'M'lady,' he said gently, 'before the priest left for France he came here to the manor and anointed the body of your son for death.'
Tears of joy sprang into her eyes and she gripped his fingers hard. 'Tell me it is the truth. Swear it is so. You would not lie to me about that, would you?'
'It is the truth, I swear,' Raffe said solemnly. He tried to meet her gaze steadily, but he couldn't. He could feel her eyes boring into him, trying to read his face. Raffe knew he could more easily withstand the torturer's knife than the pain of her stare. But what in all truth could he tell her?
The priest had begun to anoint her son, but would God bless such a sacrament when it had been forced from his servant by threats? Raffe could not be sure that extreme unction had even been completed, for the priest could hardly have been trusted to continue after Raffe had been forced to slam down the lid of the pit. Even if he hadn't fainted straight away, he was more likely to have cursed Gerard than blessed him.
Raffe silently cursed himself. What had he been thinking of? The priest was right, what good would it do anointing a corpse so much decayed? And yet, the bones of the saints still had power to heal, didn't they? Even though the bones were dry and crumbling to dust, people still kissed them and begged them for a blessing.
But Gerard was no saint. No perfume of sanctity wafted from his tomb. A priest would no doubt tell him that the unnaturally rapid decay was proof that he had died in mortal sin. And the rotting remains that lay in that box, the putrid liquid, the foul stench, that was not Gerard; it was not the man he loved and called friend.
As if she could read his thoughts, Anne whispered, 'My son, how did he look? Did he seem at peace?'
Raffe frowned, trying desperately to frame an answer that would not hurt her more. He nodded without meeting her gaze.
'Thank you,' she whispered, but Raffe wasn't sure if she was thanking him for his reassurance or for offering her the gentle lie.
'That girl, Elena, who carries my son's sin, is she safe . . . have you heard news of her?'
'I believe she is safe . . . for now,' Raffe added. He could hardly tell her that Elena might not remain so once Osborn returned, without revealing where she was.
Anne gave a weary smile. 'I am glad of it. I know that we did what had to be done to save my son's soul from torment, but still I cannot help feeling guilty that we deceived an innocent girl. I would not wish to see her come to any harm.'
Raffe winced. What would Anne think if she knew that Elena, whom they had both risked their liberty to protect from Osborn, might after all be a cold-blooded murderess?
Shouts and bellows rose from the courtyard below, followed at once by the clatter of hooves and barking of dogs. Osborn had returned. Raffe struggled to his feet.
'I should not be found talking to you alone. Osborn might suspect us of plotting against him. But m'lady, promise me this, you must not get involved in giving any more aid to the king's enemies. It's too dangerous, especially with Osborn here. Neither your birth nor your sex would spare you if you were charged with treason. John has not even shown mercy to his own kinsmen, and in truth it seems that the more noble they are born the more cruelty he devises for them. Promise me you will do no more.'
But Raffe never heard her reply, if indeed she made one, for Osborn was yelling his name as he ascended the staircase to the Great Hall. In a couple of strides Raffe had crossed the room and was out of the door. As it closed behind him, Lady Anne pressed a hand to her mouth and began to weep.
Elena had lain awake long into the night. She could not stop thinking about Finch. She had never before worried about what a customer was doing to any of the boys or women. On the contrary, ever since she had arrived, her only prayer had been, Let them do it to the others, but not to me. Holy Virgin, don't let them do it to me. And always there was that great unknotting of her stomach when she knew the last customer had left and no one would send for her that night.
She was growing accustomed to the pattern of night noises now. First came the sound of women coaxing the men across the courtyard to the rooms, the odd giggle and squeal as men already in the mood for fun would pinch a backside or try to snatch a kiss. Then would follow several hours of muffled laughter, shrieks and moans from the chambers, giving way again to voices and footsteps recrossing the yard: the men's words now slurred with drink or fatigue; the girls' giggling now more forced; the final pinches, slaps and kisses. And then, as each of the women bade farewell to the last of her customers for the night, the door of the sleeping chamber would open and close repeatedly as the women and boys drifted in, yawning, falling asleep almost as soon as they lay down on the rustling straw pallets. Finally a great safe blanket of darkness would settle down upon the brothel and the torture of waiting would be ended for another night. Usually Elena would sigh with relief and curl up into sleep, pausing only to pray that God would keep her little son and her beloved Athan safe, and that she would see them again soon. Tomorrow, let Athan come for me tomorrow, she'd whisper fervently.
But tonight Elena lay awake in the suffocating heat listening to the snuffles, snores and groans of the sleepers and the occasional distant barking of a hound somewhere in the town. Finch had not returned. His small, fragile face floated before her eyes. She was haunted by that look of fear and abandonment he had cast at her as she'd walked out of that room, leaving him alone with Hugh and that monstrous cat.
But Finch wasn't the only thing keeping her awake. Luce was absent from the sleeping chamber too. If she was still on watch, that must mean that Hugh was still somewhere here in the brothel. Maybe he too was lying awake at this moment or sipping his wine, trying to remember where he'd last seen the whore in that chamber. It was the sort of thing that people nagged at in their minds. It was the kind of recollection that came suddenly in the middle of the night.
Even with her dyed hair, he might recall her face, an expression, a gesture. What if he'd already left and was even now on his way back here with the sheriff? Elena lay rigid, her stomach aching with fear. Despite the heat, she had not dared to undress. It made her feel less vulnerable to be clothed, and if they came for her, it would be easier to run and hide, or even break away from them at the door.
She found herself planning how she might escape. If they came while it was still dark, she could run down into the cellar where the animals were. She was sure none of the other girls knew the entrance, for if they did then she'd have surely heard them gossiping about the identity of the mutilated man in the cage.
But if they came in daylight, what then? Would Ma be able to hide her before they searche
d? Would Ma even want to hide her? She'd already threatened to hand her over if Elena didn't earn her keep, and she knew she had hardly done that.
Elena became aware of a movement in the darkness. Slowly and silently the door of the sleeping chamber was opening. Elena drew herself up and crouched tensely in the darkness. Please let it be Finch, she prayed.
The figure behind the upraised lantern was short enough to be Finch, but it wasn't. Ma held the lantern aloft, sweeping the soft light over the sleepers, most of whom barely stirred. When the yellow beam caught Elena crouching on her pallet,
Ma beckoned with a long pointed fingernail, the flame glinting in the ruby on her hand.
Panic tightened Elena's throat. Was this it? Was Ma going to hand her over to them? On shaking legs she picked her way through the sleeping women, her mind galloping ahead of her. If she pushed Ma over, she could run, but where to? Ma knew all about the cellar. Her only hope was to make a dash for it once she was outside the brothel.
Elena blundered towards the door. Ma caught her wrist and pulled her outside.
'You're trembling, my darling, I can feel it. Are you getting a fever?' She held the lantern up, peering suspiciously into Elena's face.
Elena shielded her eyes from the light and stared wildly round the courtyard. 'Have they come for me?'
Ma chuckled softly. 'Ah, so that's it. No, they've not come . . . yet. But I need your help with Finch. This way.'
She started off in the direction of the upper chamber, but Elena hung back.
'Come on, my darling. If you're afraid of running into Master Hugh, he's long gone, for now anyway.'
Ma thrust the lantern into Elena's hands as she heaved herself up the staircase, clinging to the rope which ran alongside. Although the steps were shallower than normal to accommodate Ma's shortened stride, still her progress was laborious. There was no sign of Luce. Ma thrust open the door of the chamber. She hung the lantern on a hook inside and with a jerk of her head motioned Elena to enter.
Elena edged cautiously through the door keeping close to the wall, expecting the cat to spring out at any moment, but there was no warning growl.
'The beast's safely back in its cage below,' Ma said.
It was hard to make out anything clearly in the dingy yellow light of the lantern, but Elena saw that the pallet on the bed had partly slipped off and there seemed to be dark stains on it, though what they were, she couldn't tell.
'Right, my darling, I'll send Talbot along with some water and clothes. You get him cleaned up and settled down. He'd best stay here the night and you with him for company. I'll get Talbot to fetch up some herbed wine with poppy juice in it. Get him to drink that if you can, it'll send him to sleep.'
Ma lifted the corner of the pallet. Finch sat under it in the tiny cave formed by the hanging pallet and the side of the bed. His knees were drawn up to his chin and he was rocking backwards and forwards. As the light hit him, he screwed his eyes shut and began to sing in a quavering high-pitched voice — Lavender's green, diddle diddle, Lavender's blue. He kept repeating the one line over and over, as if it was a prayer.
Elena moved closer, bending down. But the child kept his eyes so tightly shut that no chink of light could possibly penetrate them. He was half naked. The long grey rat's-skin cloth was shredded, and beneath, Elena could see great long livid welts, oozing blood, standing swollen and proud from his flesh. His arms and legs were also scored with them, and though she could not see his back she guessed it might be the same. Had he been flogged? She suddenly realized what the dark stains on the pallet were — they were bloodstains, Finch's blood.
Outraged, Elena sprang up and wheeled round to face Ma. 'You promised! You said he'd only hurt him a little. Is that what you call a little? You knew he was going to do this, didn't you? How much did he pay you to let him hurt Finch? How much?'
Without thinking what she was doing, she made to grab Ma and shake her, but the tiny woman was too quick and strong for her and in an instant had seized both Elena's wrists in an unbreakable grip.
'You little fool! Do you really think I wanted this? Apart from anything else, it will be weeks before this boy is fit to work again, and I'll have to feed and physic him all the while.'
Even though Ma's fingers were crushing her bones, the pain did not cool Elena's temper.
'Is that all you can think about — coins, money, jewels? He is just a little boy and he's been badly hurt and scared half to death. He's in pain. Don't you feel anything for him?'
'You think you know about pain or hurt?' Ma retorted savagely. 'I've seen more pain and known more hurt than any soldier on the battlefield. You haven't begun to understand what cruelties men can inflict, my darling, and women too; they're sometimes the worst. But do you really imagine it will help the boy if I sit and cry with him? Will that help him fight it the next time and the next?'
'You're not going to let Hugh near him again? You can't, please, Ma, you can't let him,' Elena begged.
Ma released her hands and stood shaking her head sadly, so that the jewelled pins in her shiny black hair glittered in the candlelight.
'My darling, do you think that if I tell that man I don't like what he's done to the boy, it will stop him doing it to someone else, to another child who has no protector?'
You dare to call this protection?' Although Elena was rubbing her bruised wrists, her tone was still sharp with defiance and fury.
'If this had happened outside the stew, he probably would have gone on until he killed the boy.' She patted Elena's thigh. 'Tend to Finch,' she said wearily. You're the motherly sort. You can soothe him.'
At the door, Ma paused. 'Remember what I told you, my darling. If you survive you can always have your revenge. Trust me when I tell you that the man who did this will pay dearly for it, I can promise you that. He will pay.'
After Ma left, Talbot came lumbering in with a bowl of steaming water steeped with sage and thyme, cloths, and almond oil and honey to rub in the wounds, as well as a flask of wine. At the sight of the brawny gatekeeper, Finch retreated further under the pallet.
'You want me to get him out?' Talbot growled.
Elena spread her arms defensively in front of the boy.
'No, no, leave him to me. He'll come in his own time.' She added this more to reassure Finch that she would not force him than for Talbot's benefit.
The gatekeeper grunted and made for the door, rolling from side to side on his bandy legs. 'If there's aught else the little runt needs, you fetch me, you hear?' he said gruffly. 'Food, ale, anything he fancies. You just ask.'
Elena looked up, startled by this unexpected softness in the surly gatekeeper. You're a kind man, Talbot.'
Talbot looked. 'Aye, well, no lad deserves to be used like that. I tell you straight, you leave me alone in a dark alley with that bastard and I'd soon teach him what fear is. I'd have him squealing for his mother in less time than it takes for a priest to say a paternoster.' As if he already had Hugh standing in front of him, Talbot clenched his great fists. 'By the time I'd finished with him, he'd not be able to find his own prick to play with, much less someone else's. One of these days that bastard'll get what he deserves; I'll make sure of that.'
He closed the door behind him and Elena could hear his heavy footsteps retreating back down the stairs.
'Everyone's gone now, Finch,' she said softly. 'Come out and let me wash those cuts and put something on them to stop them hurting.'
But the child didn't stir. Elena tried again and again, coaxing him with wine and the promise that she would not hurt him, but still there was no movement. She refused to pull him out. Enough force had been used on Finch already. Finally, she retreated to the far side of the room and sat exhausted, propped against one of the walls, at a loss to know what to do next.
What on earth had Hugh done to the child? She'd been long enough in the stew to know what certain men usually wanted from small boys, but those marks, how had he inflicted those and what else had he done?
 
; From under the pallet, she heard that faint, high-pitched singing again.
Lavender's green, diddle diddle, Lavender's blue.
Lavender's green, diddle diddle, Lavender's blue.
It was a thin, strange little voice that didn't sound like Finch or any child she knew, more like the mewing of an animal in distress. Softly Elena joined in.
You must love me, diddle diddle, 'cause I love you,
Call up your maids, diddle diddle, set them to work.
Some to make hay, diddle diddle, some to the rock.
Let the birds sing, diddle diddle, let the lambs play,
We shall be safe, diddle diddle, deep in the hay.
Without warning the child erupted from under the pallet and flew across the room at her, shrieking and pummelling her in the chest with his small fists. The attack was so unexpected that Elena instinctively turned into the wall, covering her face as the boy punched, kicked and tore at her in a frenzy.