The Gallows Curse

  'It will be guarded,' Raffe said grimly.

  'If I have not returned before the next Quarter Day, you will see to the collecting of the rents and dues and you will bring them to me in Norwich as soon as you have them. There will be people to pay. Some men require a good deal of persuasion to loosen their tongues and unfortunately sometimes that must take the form of gold. Besides, I know that sheriff of theirs. Even with my boot up his arse, he'll not bother to do his duty thoroughly unless his palm is well greased.'

  Thinking of the messenger's comments the night before, Raffe couldn't help thinking it would take a barrel load of grease to cover the sheriff's greedy palm.

  'How long will you be away, m'lord?' Raffe asked the question with uncustomary deference for he knew the whole manor would ask him just as soon as Osborn had gone. They would all be praying it would be weeks or even months, though miracles like that were seldom granted.

  'I'll be away just as long as it takes me to find my brother's killer, so stay alert, Master Raffaele, because I shall be riding back here when you least expect it.'

  He grasped Raffe's shoulder, his cold grey eyes boring deep into Raffe's own. 'If I discover even the flimsiest shred of proof that someone close to this manor had a hand in Hugh's death, that man will find himself begging and screaming for death long, long before it is granted to him.'

  Raffe met his gaze calmly. 'Your brother had a talent for making enemies. You'll not lack for suspects in Norwich. Any man who ever had the misfortune to exchange a word with Hugh will have had good reason to have killed him.'

  Raffe heard the horrified gasp from Osborn's manservant, but he did not brace himself for a blow. Hugh would have lashed out instantly and viciously, but Osborn's revenge was always planned and something he liked to savour.

  His eyes as he stared into Raffe's own were as hard as granite pebbles.

  'My brother was watching you, that much he confided in me. There was something about you he didn't trust, something he was on the point of proving, and when I find out what it was, I give you my oath, Master Raffaele, you will wish your head was even now rotting on a Saracen's spike, rather than that you had lived to fall foul of me.'

  'Perhaps,' Raffe said levelly, 'you should have been watching your brother.'

  'What do you mean by that?' Osborn demanded.

  Raffe hesitated. 'I simply meant, m'lord, that had your brother been better guarded, he might not have been murdered.'

  Raffe was certain in his own mind that Hugh was a traitor. But it would be impossible to prove without revealing what Elena had overheard, and even if he tried, Osborn would never listen to him, not in the mood he was in now. His brother's treachery was something Osborn would have to discover for himself.

  The two men continued to stare at each other, neither willing to break his gaze first, but the manservant was unable to bear the tension. He hurried forward to assure his lord the travelling chests were now prepared. And Osborn at once snapped into action, bellowing for his retinue to prepare to leave at once, whether or not they were ready.

  Raffe stood at the gate, watching the horses thunder out of sight around the bend, their hocks already splattered with mud.

  Walter, the old gatekeeper, watched the last hoof disappear, then spat copiously on the track.

  'They ride like that in this mud and one of them beasts is going to break its leg and its rider's neck.'

  'Let's hope it's Lord Osborn's neck,' a boy's voice muttered behind Raffe, but he did not turn round to admonish the lad. He was certain every servant in the manor was making the same wish, as he certainly was.

  He clapped Walter on the back. 'What say you to some mulled ale? I think we can all breathe easy now, at least for a week, but you'd best tether one of the hounds near Hugh's coffin, just to stop anyone going near it. It's not that I think anyone might come in here to steal the lead, but I'm not so certain they wouldn't take the body. A corpse with a heart as poisonous as that would be a fair prize to those who dabble in the black arts.'

  'Aye, if I knew the man who'd killed the bastard, I'd embrace him and name him my own son, that I would. But God have mercy on the man who did drive that dagger in, whoever he was, for if Osborn finds the poor devil, it's certain he'll show him none.'

  Walter shivered and, with a last look down the track just to reassure himself Osborn was really gone, stomped off towards the kitchens in search of his ale.

  Raffe was about to follow him when he heard a long, low whistle. He spun round and saw the unmistakable outline of Talbot's bowed legs next to a clump of birch on the far side of the track.

  He hurried across and, without pausing in his stride, drew Talbot behind the trees and towards the edge of the deep ditch. Only a few dead leaves still clung to the branches, which hardly afforded them cover, but at least they were out of earshot.

  'What are you doing here?' Raffe demanded. Why didn't you send a message to meet you after dark?'

  'No time to wait,' Talbot muttered. 'So he's left for Norwich?'

  'Osborn? Yes, he means to find his brother's killer.' Raffe's eyes narrowed. 'Do you know something about it?'

  'More than something. It was Holly, your girl . . . Elena. She did it... she killed Hugh,' he added, seeing Raffe's look of incomprehension.

  'Elena? No! Why are you saying this?' Raffe yelled. 'It was madness even to think she might have killed Raoul, but Hugh, never!'

  'Keep your voice down.' Talbot cast an anxious look towards the manor gate, but the servants were too busy celebrating Osborn's departure to be hanging round it.

  You know fine rightly she did kill Raoul. She'll tell you herself she remembers throttling him. And if she could murder him, why not Hugh 'n' all? Hugh recognized her. That's why she did it. Ma's got her hidden in her own chambers. The other women think she's run off. Thing is,' Talbot continued, 'Hugh came to Ma's Michaelmas feast. Everyone saw him there and saw him go to one of the chambers with Holly. Our girls'll say nothing, they know better than that, but there were dozens of men and lads from the town there that night. It'll not be long before one of 'em comes forward and tells Osborn where his brother was a few hours afore he died.'

  Raffe was so stunned he could hardly breathe. There was no question that Hugh deserved to die. He would have willingly killed Hugh himself if he could, but to think of Elena committing cold-blooded murder, not once but twice, maybe even three times ... In his mind he could still see her standing there on the manor steps looking up at him, her eyes wide with innocence. He felt himself torn between the horror of what she had become and the desperate need to protect her even now.

  He grasped Talbot's sleeve, panic rising in his voice. 'We need to get her away, now, before Osborn starts searching.'

  'Like I say, Ma's got her well hidden and all the girls will be able to put their hands on the Holy Cross and swear that she's gone for good, for that's what they believe. Safest thing is for you to leave her where she is. You try moving her while Osborn's turning the town arse over tit and you'll both be caught. Anyway, it's not the girl I've come about. No sense fretting over a fox among the lambs, when there's a wolf on the prowl. And this wolf is a savage one.'

  Talbot fiddled inside his clothes and pulled out a leather pouch. He clumsily tried to get his great hand inside and after much scrabbling and grunting, he finally pulled out an object on a broken leather thong and held it up. It gleamed in the watery sunshine. He thrust it towards Raffe. 'Recognize this?'

  Raffe, distracted by thoughts of Elena, barely glanced at it.

  'Look at it, Bullock!'

  Raffe stared down. There was no mistaking it. There were not two like it in the world. It was the gold ring set with the pearl. The same ring he'd given the sailor who had delivered the French spy.

  Talbot was watching his face. 'I'm right, aren't I, that it's yours?'

  Raffe nodded. He'd have known every twist of that gold knot even in the dark.

  'How did you come by it?'

  'The alewife you spent the night
with in Yarmouth. She recognized it.'

  'The sailor came back?' Raffe asked.

  That was not surprising. Probably he tried to trade the ring in her alehouse. It was the kind of place where such clandestine deals were done, but the alewife didn't seem wealthy enough to buy it, and even if she had, why would she return it to Raffe?

  Talbot dropped the ring into Raffe's palm. 'The night after the storm they found a corpse.'

  'I was there,' Raffe told him. 'The poor woman was sure it was her dead husband, but it was too far decayed for anyone to be certain who it was.'

  He shuddered. That voice pleading and begging outside the door to be let in still rang in his head. Was it really the ghost of her husband or his revenant corpse?

  Talbot grunted. 'That corpse wasn't her husband. When they laid him out they found he'd a silver amulet on a chain still hanging about the bones of his neck. There was a sliver of bone in it. Someone recognized the signs on the amulet. St Jude or St Julian, or some such. But the thing is, it was far too costly for the likes of her husband. There was another corpse washed up that same night though. Only this one wasn't decayed, it was fresh as an oyster. When the alewife heard of it she insisted on seeing it, in case she recognized it, though everyone said he wasn't a Yarmouth man. It was on that corpse they found your ring.'

  Raffe looked down at the band of gold in his hand. 'It must have been the sailor. He must have tried to row back to his ship in that storm and drowned.'

  Talbot shook his head. 'This man was no sailor and he wasn't drowned neither. He'd been knifed. The alewife spotted that ring clutched in his hand as if he'd grabbed it in a struggle and the thong had snapped.'

  'Maybe the sailor went off to another inn after he delivered the Frenchman to me and got into a brawl.'

  'Could be.' Talbot chewed on the words. 'But there was something else they found on the man, a token, the emblem of St Katherine.'

  Raffe suddenly felt a cold chill run through him.

  Talbot squinted up at Raffe. 'This man they delivered to you, what did he look like?'

  'Small, scrawny ... I might have taken him for a monk if he'd had a tonsure. Strong though. He'd been taught to fight,' Raffe added ruefully, remembering the well-aimed punch. 'And he had a withered hand. Not useless, a good grip, but I'd say the bones had been broken years ago and not healed straight.'

  Talbot gravely shook his head. 'I found a lad who'd served on the Dragon's Breath. Cut loose at Yarmouth. Didn't want to go back, leastways not on that ship. He said there was only one passenger on board. But he'd no withered hand; the boy would have mentioned that. And this man was plump, gut-stuffed. Sailors made jokes about his whale-belly, said if the ship sank they'd all climb aboard and float ashore. The man they found stabbed in Yarmouth was exactly as the boy described.'

  Raffe's face had blanched. 'Then the man I delivered to Norwich?'

  'Is one of John's men, I reckon. Either someone else was expecting the Frenchman or maybe your sailor realized what was happening and saw a way to make money from both sides and the middle at the same time. Reported his suspicions when the ship laid anchor. We knew John would be keeping watch on Yarmouth now it's a free port. Whoever he told more than likely paid your sailor to kill the Frenchman on the evening of the storm, once he was safely off the ship, and then John's man took his place.'

  'God's teeth!' Raffe pressed his fists against his head. 'I'm a fucking, bloody fool. That's why the sailor came back alone without his companions. Why wasn't I more careful? I should have checked more, asked more questions. If Martin is John's man all he has to do now is to follow the trail until he discovers every person involved, then try to catch us all in the net.'

  'Unless he's silenced,' Talbot said. You know him. You'll have to find him. And you'd best do it quick, afore he gets word to the king. If he discovers you come from the manor, he'll more than likely warn Osborn, first chance he gets. You'd best see to it that he doesn't get that chance.'

  Hilda stood squarely in the door of the Lady Anne's chamber, blocking the way.

  'She's resting, poor soul. Scarcely closed her eyes all night, with that man shouting and raving about his brother's murder till the early hours. She was that exhausted after returning from her cousin. I've never seen her look so wan. I know her cousin is in poor health, but she shouldn't keep expecting Lady Anne to make that journey to sit with her. She must have tiring maids enough of her own could keep her company. It'll kill my poor mistress, you see if it doesn't.'

  Lady Anne had returned from visiting her sick cousin only an hour or so before the messenger from Norwich had arrived and had straight away retired to her chamber, but when Osborn had returned with the body, he had been in such a rage that he was unable to rest or sleep and had made quite certain that no one else in the manor could either. He had not kept silent vigil over his brother's body, as might have been expected, but instead had raged and bellowed his curses against God, the Devil and Hugh's murderer long into the night, as he furiously gulped down goblet after goblet of wine, until finally the effects of the drink overcame even his fury and he staggered to bed.

  For once, Raffe almost felt sorry for Hilda, for her eyes were as red-rimmed as the rest of the servants' and she looked as if she was about to fall asleep on her feet. He resisted the urge to thrust her bodily aside, and tried to reason with her.

  'I know the Lady Anne is tired. But I must speak with her. I wouldn't disturb her if it were not so urgent. Trust me, Hilda, this is something she must know now and she will not thank you for keeping me from her.' Seeing Hilda's mouth draw tighter than a miser's purse string, he added, 'Lady Anne could be in danger.'

  Hilda's hand flew to her mouth in alarm. Raffe knew that this was the one argument he could use that would win the sour old woman over. Whatever her faults, she would have offered her body to a shipload of bloodthirsty Saracens if she thought it would save her mistress.

  Hilda nodded and hastened into the chamber. Raffe heard her murmuring to Lady Anne, then she returned and beckoned Raffe in. Lady Anne was sitting in a high-backed chair wrapped in a rabbit-fur robe, her head resting wearily in her hand.

  'Hilda, can you wait outside the chamber and make sure none loiter where they can overhear us?' Raffe asked.

  Hilda looked to Lady Anne for an answer. She nodded and Hilda reluctantly shuffled outside. Anne was utterly exhausted. The dark carved wooden chair only made her appear even more pale and fragile. Raffe wanted to scoop her up, put her back in her bed and bid her sleep, but he knew he couldn't. He glanced at the door. Hilda would keep away the servants better than any guard dog, but she would be straining to hear herself. While he knew she'd cut out her own tongue rather than willingly betray her mistress, nevertheless she was a gossip and as nervous as a newly trapped songbird. Raffe could not trust her not to let something slip in a fit of panic.

  'Please, m'lady, if we could take the casement seat. . . .' It was the furthest from the doorway. He offered his arm and she took it, leaning on it heavily enough to suggest that for once she really needed support. The drawn yellow skin, the dark dry hollows under her eyes, suggested she had spent many a sleepless night watching over her cousin. Raffe could see why Hilda was so concerned.

  As soon as Anne was seated, she motioned impatiently that Raffe should sit with her. She gazed down into the courtyard below, where a few of the servants stood in twos and threes talking earnestly about the night's events, making little pretence at working. Rumour of Hugh's murder must have already reached the villagers, for Raffe could see a few of them sidling in through the gates to find out if it was true.

  'What is it, Raffaele?' Anne said wearily, without turning her head. 'Another priest in trouble?'

  Raffe cleared his throat. 'Worse, I'm afraid. The priest who asked for your help, the one I helped to escape to France, sent a message demanding that I assist a French envoy to reach Norwich. He threatened to betray us both if I didn't.'

  Anne turned sharply. 'But he wouldn't have done so, I'm sure,
not a man of God. He must only have meant to frighten you to secure your help.'

  'Perhaps, but I could take no chances. I couldn't risk your safety.' Raffe knew only too well the priest had meant every word, but he didn't want to hurt her by explaining exactly what had happened that night in the prisoner hole.

  Anne's lips trembled and she reached out her hand, briefly clasping it over Raffe's. 'My son chose his friends well.'

  'Not so well, it seems. I did as I was asked and conveyed what I thought was the envoy to Norwich, but I've just learned that I was deceived. The real envoy was murdered and the man I took to Norwich was an impostor, one of John's men. I believe he means to discover all the envoy's contacts and when he does he will surely report them to John. If he learns that I am steward at this manor, he may discover that you have given aid to the priests. Indeed, he may have already known about both of us, before I even met him. If he does, you can be sure he will tell Osborn, for he knows he's the king's man.'