The Gallows Curse

  She could smell his hot, sour breath, but tried not to turn her face away. 'I ... I was hiding. I didn't want to ... entertain the men.'

  'Is that so?'

  He held the blazing torch up so close to her head that she was afraid he was going to burn her. She still had her back to the hole and dared not wrench herself away in case she fell again. He peered behind her at the corner of the stairs. 'I reckon Ma's right, you have found a way out of here.'

  It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it, but then she saw it was useless. 'I did find a gate, but I couldn't open it. It's too heavy.'

  He stared at her for several moments and his eyes narrowed. Then he lowered the torch. 'You seen that boy, Finch?'

  Elena swallowed. 'He was heading towards the kitchens last time I saw him.' She knew Luce would have already checked there, but at least it was the opposite direction to the cellar.

  'Aye, well, he's not there now,' Talbot growled. 'That bastard'll not be kept waiting much longer. Ma'll feed us to the beasts if we don't find the brat soon.'

  Elena left Talbot continuing to search the cellar. She knew he would check the gate and she prayed with all her strength that Finch would have had the courage to run before Talbot went down that passage.

  Elena raced back to the sleeping chamber. She only had one thought in mind. She had to buy enough time for Finch to get far enough away. If they discovered he was not here, and Talbot mentioned finding Elena in the cellar, it wouldn't take Ma a fingersnap to realize what had happened and send Talbot to search the river bank for him. Elena had to divert them.

  She stripped off her own muddy kirtle and dashed cold water on her face and arms. She looked wildly around. An angel's gown still lay across one of the pallets. It was old and slightly torn, which was why the other women had rejected it. She pulled it on. It had been made for a woman twice her weight and height. The front hung loose in a low sweep, exposing most of her breasts.

  She dared not delay, but ran out and across the garden. To her alarm she saw Talbot making his way across to Ma from the other side. She had to reach Ma first. She was half-way across when the young lad she'd abandoned stepped out in front of her, eyeing her new costume with a mixture of undisguised drooling and the kind of acute embarrassment that he might feel if his mother caught him with his hand up a woman's skirt.

  'Are you . . . did you get some wine?' he finished lamely, evidently not having given up hope, even after all this time, that she would keep her promise.

  'I'll be back,' she said, pushing past him, feeling desperately sorry for him as she heard the snorts of laughter and jeers from the boy's brother and his friends. But she could do nothing for the lad, except hope that one of the other girls would take pity on him.

  She reached Ma just before Talbot. Hugh was sitting in a carved chair beside her. Ma was evidently trying to keep him occupied by talking, but he had long since given up any pretence of politely listening. His jaw was set hard, and he seemed only a breath away from venting his fury at being kept waiting.

  Ma's yellow-green eyes widened in alarm as Elena, grabbing a flagon from the nearest table, gave a low curtsy.

  'May I refill your goblet, sir?' Without waiting to be asked, she bent forward, deliberately letting the front of her gown fall open inches from his face. She'd no idea if this would please him, but she'd seen the other girls do it often enough to know it seemed to excite most men.

  She straightened up. She could see at once that Hugh was not as easily witched as the village lads, but all the same she had caught his attention. He was eyeing her with the same puzzled curiosity as that night when she dressed Finch. Ma must have seen the look too for as Talbot approached, she quietly signalled to him to stay back.

  'Well, now. If it isn't the feisty little black-haired maid . . . Holly. Isn't that what the lad called you? If I remember rightly you challenged me. Told me I was frightening the boy.'

  Elena swallowed hard. 'He was afraid, sir.'

  'And you? Are you afraid of me? I think you are not, or you wouldn't come marching up to me, flaunting yourself.'

  He ran his fingers lightly over her breasts and Elena gave an involuntary shudder, flinching away. She recovered herself, but she knew Hugh had felt it.

  His mouth curled in a slow smile. 'Or could it be that you enjoy a little fear? You get a thrill out of poking the stick in the lion's cage to rile it, see if it's really as dangerous as they say.'

  He stood up so abruptly that Elena almost spilt the flagon of wine over them both. He inclined his head towards Ma Margot.

  'I've changed my mind, mistress. Forget the boy. What's the pleasure in the hunt, if the quarry cowers in a corner waiting for the spear? A she-bear who turns and fights is far more challenging. There's good sport to be had in bringing her down.'

  You, man,' he called to Talbot, who still hovered in the corner. Hugh tossed a small bag of coins at him. 'Take us to a room and see to it we are not disturbed.'

  Even before Hugh had flung her into the chamber, Elena knew instinctively that all the arts of seduction that Luce and the other women had explained to her would only anger him: the playful words, the slow teasing strip, the slide on to his knee and soft caresses would have no effect on him.

  Elena was terrified, but she knew the one thing she must not do was show it. She had to keep him occupied long enough for Finch to get away. She had to stand up to Hugh, that was what he wanted, and if she was to get out of here alive, she must give him what he wanted. Wasn't that the one thing Ma had taught her, give them what they want and survive? Nothing else matters but to survive.

  Hugh stood on the other side of the chamber watching her, his arms folded. Between them was a bed that almost filled the chamber. It had been carved to look like a boat, with a high dragon prow. Ropes hung from its sides and sacks of raw wool were piled in a heap inside, layered so deep that you could dive in head first and come to no harm. The whole chamber smelled of sheep's fat and damp wool, like Athan always did when he returned from the shearing in Gastmere. Elena tried to swallow the hard lump rising in her throat.

  Hugh prowled around her, looking at her from every angle. 'You know, I'm sure I've seen you before. I was certain the other night, but I just can't place ...'

  'I used to work in the market place in Norwich,' Elena said quickly, falling back on the lie Ma had invented.

  'So that other wench said, but I am not in the habit of buying either fish or women in market places. I have servants to fetch the one and I would not dream of soiling myself on the other.'

  He pulled off his shirt. A band of sleek black fur was fastened around his waist. He stroked it and for a moment his expression became glazed as if he was listening to something in the far distance. The pupils of his eyes dilated so wide they looked like huge black holes in his skull. He slid a long knife from his belt and fingered the blade.

  'Now, suppose you tell me the truth, or shall we make a game of it? A game that I think I shall rather enjoy, although I can't promise that you will.'

  Early Morning after the 2nd Night

  of the Full Moon, September 1211

  Pearl - A pearl denotes a tear. It is for grieving and mourning, and thus a pearl ring must never be given as a wedding gift. Yet, above all, it is an emblem of female beauty, of chastity, of sex, of the moon, and of the sea-born goddesses.

  It grows in beauty like a mortal woman if it is worn against her skin, for it feeds upon her heat, grows lustrous on her passion.

  Mortals believe that at certain times the oyster shell opens itself to the sky and drops of heavenly dew fall into it and impregnate the virgin oyster and from this union 'twixt the earthly and the divine are pearls conceived. In like manner, so they say, the virgin womb of Mary conceived the Holy Child. Thus the pearl brings fertility, for it is conceived of water and the moon, and is wombed within a shell as it grows.

  But if a thunderstorm should rage, the oyster closes its shell and scuttles away in fear, and the pearl is aborted and drowns.

/>   The Mandrake's Tale

  The Bridge of Sleep

  She is standing in a large, empty hall. It is night and the room seems to extend far back into the darkness as if it has no walls. The floor is cold under foot, but smooth, very smooth, almost as if she is walking on glass. There is something in her hand, heavy, but weighted evenly as she balances it in her fingers. She is breathing hard. Her blood pounds in her ears, like a drip echoing in a deep well. She is shaking with anger, a blind fury. She knows not at whom the rage is directed. She only knows she wants to rip, to tear, to smash, and yet she had already done that, but it isn't enough, not nearly enough.

  She senses a movement in the darkness ahead of her. Someone is coming towards her. She raises her arm to defend herself. She hears a cry.

  'Not here, I beg you. Do not desecrate this holy place with my blood. I am not worthy.'

  A shaft of moonlight falls upon the disembodied head of an old man. His pate shines in the light and his beard flows in a silver cascade from his hollow cheeks. She draws back with a gasp, crossing herself as the head floats towards her out of the darkness. Then, as it comes closer, she sees the outline of a body hung in simple black robes.

  The monk holds up his hands, as if in surrender. 'I will come with you outside. You may do what you wish with me there. I will not resist you. But I beg you, do not spill my blood in here, not here. I have cared for this place all my life, I could not bear to think my death had violated what I have always striven to keep holy.'

  A cloud drifts in front of the moon, and the light slowly dims. The old man moves towards her, then passes her as if to lead her outside. He shuffles ahead of her up the smooth marble floor. Then, without warning, he stumbles and falls, sprawling across something lying in his path. Painfully he pushes himself into a kneeling position, rocking backwards on his heels. He moans softly, crossing himself again and again. 'God have mercy. Mea culpa, mea culpa. . .'

  She walks towards him, her footsteps echoing. He glances up, his arm raised to shield his head as if he thinks she is going to strike him. Then, as she stands there staring at the bundle on the ground, he turns on her, his voice raised in anger and grief.

  'What have you done? God have mercy on you, what sacrilege have you committed in this holy place?'

  She kneels beside the old monk. A body lies on the cold, hard floor. She can distinguish little in the dark, except that the body isn't moving. As she bends to peer closer the moon emerges from behind the clouds again and a beam of cold silver light illuminates the figure.

  A man is lying on his back, a pool of blood darkening on the white floor at his side. But she can see no wound on his body. Her gaze travels up over his neck and thence to his face. Two dark holes mark where his eyes should have been. Tears of blood, black in the moonlight, trickle down from the corners of the empty sockets. His face has been slashed across, not once nor twice but almost a dozen times, as a furious child might scribble out a drawing he wants to obliterate.

  Still kneeling beside her, the old monk raises his face to heaven; his arms crossed tightly over his chest, he rocks back and forth in a frenzy of grief and outrage, muttering and wailing to himself in Latin.

  She stretches out her right hand to make the sign of the cross over the corpse. Only then does she see what she had been grasping so tightly in her fingers. It is a knife and the blade is dripping with blood.

  Elena stirred as acrid fumes burned her nostrils. Something wet and cold trickled down her forehead. She lashed out blindly and heard a woman's voice cursing as something clattered to the floor.

  'She's not dead at any rate.'

  Elena forced her eyelids open, wincing in the light of the lantern that hung over her. Ma was kneeling beside her on the boat-bed, dabbing at her head with a vinegar-soaked cloth.

  Elena tried to focus her eyes, but the green emerald flashes in Ma's dark hair seemed to be darting back and forth like angry bees. Her tongue felt bruised and swollen. Her jaws ached.

  'Hugh!'

  She fought to sit up, but Ma pushed her back. 'He's gone, girl. Let me look at you. Are you hurt?'

  Elena felt the throbbing bruise on her temple and another on her jaw. One had been from Hugh's fist, the second where her head bounced off the wooden frame of the boat-bed.

  Ma slid her hands under the sheepskin that covered Elena's belly and ran her fingers down the length of her body, probing at the bones. Elena suddenly realized that she was naked.

  'Few cuts and bruises, girl, but nothing that won't heal. You're lucky he hit you.'

  'Lucky?' Elena whimpered.

  'He fancied he'd killed you. Not that he was too worried about that. "Who cares if there's one less whore in the world?" he said. "There's always plenty more." But there was no point carrying on after you were dead. No pleasure for him in that.'

  Elena remembered very little. Terror and pain had driven much of it from her head.

  'Thing is, girl, did he remember who you were?' Talbot's voice broke in, and Elena was suddenly aware of him standing behind the lantern light. She struggled to cover her breasts, wincing as she moved.

  'I don't... I can't...'

  She saw a sudden image of Hugh coming at her with the knife, pinning her against the wall by her throat. She'd fought like a rat, convinced he was going to stab her. She'd squeezed her eyes shut as the deadly point came slowly nearer and nearer to her face, then the knife plunged down on to the neck of her gown, slicing through the fabric like a fishmonger cutting through the belly of a fish. The blade caught her skin beneath the gown, leaving a thin red seam running down between her breasts and over her belly to her groin, as the dress fell away from her. Beads of scarlet blood oozed from the vertical cut.

  Hugh looked down at her naked body and grinned.

  'What have we here, little Holly? It seems you're not a raven-haired maid after all. The bush never lies.' He roared with laughter. 'Oh, I see it now — Hollybush! I like it. But why would you try to disguise the fire, I wonder? Unless . . .'

  'Well?' Ma demanded. 'Talbot asked you a question, my darling. Did Hugh remember who you were? Did you tell him?'

  They were both watching her, waiting for an answer.

  'I think, he may ... he didn't say, but ... he saw my . . . hair ... below.' She passed a vague hand over her groin.

  Ma whipped up the corner of the sheepskin and peered closer. 'Devil's arse,' she cursed. 'I told Luce to make sure she dyed everything. How could she have been so stupid? I'll swing for that girl.'

  Elena tried to struggle up on to one elbow. 'No, no, it wasn't her fault. She wanted to, but I wouldn't let her. I was embarrassed and I didn't think anyone would see.'

  'Embarrassed is better than hanged, my darling,' Ma said. 'And what possessed you to throw yourself in his path tonight? Him of all people! Why didn't you stay out of his way?'

  'To give Finch time to escape,' Talbot growled. 'I've searched high and low and there's no sign of the lad. And I found this one in the cellar just before she came over to Hugh. She must have opened the gate for the lad and then she tried to cover for him.'

  'I didn't,' Elena cried. 'I don't know where Finch is. He's probably just hiding in one of the rooms. You know how small he can make himself when he wants to.'

  Ma's hand shot out and slapped Elena so hard across her face that she almost passed out again. Her cheek burned like fire where Ma's long fingernails had raked her skin.

  'You're nothing but trouble. Have been since the day the Bullock brought you here. I suppose you think you've done the boy a kindness. Don't you realize Finch has no more idea how to fend for himself out there than a blind kitten? He grew up on the Isle of Ely. His mam died in childbirth, so his father had him reared by one of those wet nurses, takes in half a dozen children at a time and none of them get enough milk. Most of them die before they're a year old. God alone knows how this brat survived. Where do you think he's going to find work, a scrap like him? Without apprentice fees or even good strong muscle, who's going to take him in
? I tell you, if any do, it won't be to put him to an honest job. If that boy doesn't die starving in a ditch, he'll die on the gallows for thieving, for that's the only occupation any master will be able to put him to.'

  Tears slid down Elena's cheeks. Not just for Finch, but for her own aching body, the throbbing bruises, the smarting cuts. She couldn't bear any more tonight. She hastily rubbed the tears away, but not before Ma had seen them.

  'It's too late you wailing now, my darling. You may as well have strangled the boy yourself with your own two hands, and spared him the misery of waiting'

  'I didn't help him escape,' Elena protested miserably, but she knew that neither of them believed her.