The Gallows Curse

  Raffe had expected Anne to display some sign of alarm at the news, but her face was expressionless. He had to make her understand the danger.

  'Even as we speak, Osborn is already on the road to Norwich. I intend to leave within the hour to try to find this spy of John's before he learns that Osborn is in Norwich and has a chance to reach him. But I had to warn you before I left. I think it would be wise for you to return to your cousin at once. I will send word if all is well and it's safe for you to return to the manor; if not, we may need to try to get you out of England.'

  Anne was gazing out of the window again, as though Raffe was discussing the price of wheat. If she'd understood what he had said, her face showed nothing of it.

  'He doesn't care, does he?' she said, without taking her gaze from the courtyard below. 'I thought that if there was one person in the world Osborn would grieve for, it would be his brother. I thought he would at least feel something resembling pain at his passing, but all he cares about is the insult and affront to his house and name.'

  'I... I believe that grief sometimes shows itself in anger,' Raffe said, completely bemused by Anne's lack of reaction to what he'd thought would be alarming news. 'Osborn is a knight. He's fought many battles in the Holy Land and in France, seen many men die. A man like that doesn't display his feelings in tears, but in action.'

  'And ordered the death of many men too,' Anne said, her hands clenching tight.

  'That also. But m'lady, do you understand what I said, your freedom, your life could be in danger, you must —'

  'I know what I must do!' She turned her face to him. Her eyes, though still tired, were bright with anger. Two spots of red appeared on her thin cheeks. 'Do you think Osborn feels anything? Do you think he cares that his brother was struck down without being granted one moment in which he could utter a prayer, or say a word of contrition or confession? He was sent straight from this life with every one of his sins hanging from his neck, dragging him straight down to hell where he belongs.'

  Raffe was stunned by the bitterness in her voice, the fury he could see blazing on her face. He knew she disliked Osborn and Hugh, what woman wouldn't, having barbarians like them occupying her home and threatening her, but he had never heard her speak with such hatred for any man. He hadn't known her capable of it.

  Anne searched his eyes. 'I know what Osborn did, Raffe.'

  'M'lady?'

  'He told me that day after he threatened to imprison me in the hole. The day Elena ran away. I confronted him that night over the hanging of poor Athan. I told him that he could threaten to do what he liked to me, but that I would not stand for innocent people being murdered. I said that I knew John had granted him the manor, but that I would appeal to the king myself, tell him what Osborn was doing and ask for justice. Osborn laughed.'

  Raffe grimaced. He knew only too well how Osborn would react to such a challenge. He was amazed that the man had merely laughed at her. He would have expected Osborn to punish her cruelly for daring to threaten him. He would have been vengeful enough if a man had done so, never mind a woman.

  Anne pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging them. Raffe could see she was in pain, but he had to be sure she would leave the manor before he could set off for Norwich, and every moment that passed only increased the danger.

  'M'lady, you must make ready to leave. I'll call Hilda to pack for you.' He rose and was walking away when Anne's voice halted him.

  'Osborn laughed and then he said, "Do you think your precious son was so noble and pure? Do you think he didn't murder the innocent? Your son was drenched in blood, innocent blood, holy blood, and you think the death of one villein equates to that? You could do penance for a thousand years, mistress, and you would not wipe one day off your son's punishment. He is screaming in hell now and nothing you can do will release him. Look to your own house, mistress, before you dare to criticize mine."'

  Raffe was staring at her in horror. But Anne gazed fixedly in front of her as if she could still see Osborn talking to her.

  'He told me then, Raffe. He told me what you and my son had done four years ago in Gascony. Was that the evil my son spoke of on his deathbed? Was that the sin you feared he would carry to the next world?'

  She turned her head to look at Raffe, searching his eyes.

  'Tell me,' she ordered.

  Raffe's face was frozen with misery. 'No, no, please don't ask that of me. I can't. I don't. . . Gerard never wanted you to know. I don't want you to remember him like that. He was a good man, a great man.'

  'I have heard it already from Osborn. I must hear the truth of it from you. I need to know. He was my son.'

  Raffe found himself sinking to the floor, his back pressed against the wall, his eyes tightly closed. He had to tell her now. Whatever version she had heard from Osborn would be vile distortion. He couldn't let her believe that. All the same, it was several minutes before Raffe could bring himself to speak.

  'We served under Osborn twice. The first was at the siege of Acre where Gerard's father was slain.'

  'I know that both my husband and my son killed many infidels,' Anne said, 'but the Pope himself declared that whatever was done by those who fought under the Holy Cross was forgiven even before the act was committed. But tell of the second time with Osborn, tell me of Montauban.'

  'Please, m'lady,' Raffe begged miserably.

  Anne's eyes flashed in her pale face. 'Tell me!'

  'The second time . . . was when King John tried to retake Aquitaine. We landed at La Rochelle and John led the march to the castle of Montauban, close to the rivers of the Garonne and Dordogne. John vowed he would take the castle back from the rebels, but he could not afford a long siege. He brought up every siege engine he had to batter the castle, and finally he succeeded in taking it. But some of the rebels managed to slip away as the castle was stormed. John sent out the order they were to be found at all costs. The nobles were to be held for ransom and those who had little value were to be mutilated and hanged. Osborn was determined to seek favour with John by capturing his rebels. He discovered that some had claimed sanctuary in a nearby Cluniac monastery.

  'Osborn ordered Gerard to lead the men in and search for them. Gerard protested that the law of sanctuary could not be violated. It was against all the rules of warfare and of the Holy Church, but Osborn told him that if he didn't persuade the rebels to give themselves up, then he would burn the place down and all the monks in it.

  'You have to know that Gerard reasoned with the monks for hours, trying to persuade them to hand over the rebels, but they swore there were no traitors amongst them. He reported this to Osborn but he refused to believe it. He told

  Gerard to take his men and search the place, holy or not, or he would destroy it stone by stone and burn the monks alive.

  'Gerard knew the monks wouldn't simply open the doors and let him walk in, so he waited until it was dark. There was only one man on watch. The monks, I believe, thought no one would dare to violate their sanctuary. After all, such a thing was strictly forbidden. Gerard tried to disable the watchman and take him prisoner. But the fear that what he was doing was evil in the sight of God made him clumsy and the man began to yell. Gerard had to kill him. He had no choice.

  'Once inside, all of us scattered to search for the rebels, but there were so many chambers, staircases and passages in that maze of a building we could have searched for days while they simply moved the rebels from one part to the next, behind our backs. Some of Osborn's men, fearing we'd never find them, began looting the monastery's treasures, no doubt thinking that if they returned with gold and silver, Osborn would be mollified. Gerard attempted to call them to order, but they wouldn't listen. The monks tried to stop them taking the holy objects, fighting broke out, and Gerard ... we lost control of the men.

  'We discovered some of the rebels hiding in a crypt beneath the chapel, disguised as monks, but they refused to surrender, knowing full well what John would do to them. We were all fighting then, in the chape
l and cloisters. It was dark ... chaos. What few candles, remained burning in the stone passages showed nothing clearly except shapes lunging this way and that. It was impossible to tell rebel from monk amid all the yelling and clashing of swords. Then finally the screaming stopped.

  'All the rebels were dead and many of the monks. Osborn's men retreated with all the treasure they could carry to compensate for the loss of ransom for the prisoners. I couldn't find Gerard. I was searching frantically for him among the dead and wounded. I began to fear the worst, but then at last I found him. He was sitting on the floor of the monastery church cradling an elderly monk in his arms. There was a dead man lying at their feet. Gerard's hands were wet with blood. He was begging over and over again for the old monk to forgive him, but the monk ... I don't know . . . maybe he was too close to death to hear him. But he said nothing.

  'Then we saw a red glow through the open door and smelt the stench of smoke. Osborn had set fire to the monastery, maybe to cover up the slaughter and the looting or perhaps just for his own amusement. I don't know. I tried to drag Gerard out of the church, but he refused to leave the old monk. He just kept on begging him to forgive him,, as if he couldn't move until the old man had given him a sign.

  'The roof was already alight. It was only a matter of time before it came crashing down. In the end, I picked the old monk up and carried him across my arms. We battled down the aisle of the church through smoke and falling wood, stumbling over the overturned altars and broken statues to reach the door. It was open, but there was a line of Osborn's men standing there, swords in hand ready to slay any who tried to escape. When they recognized us, they lowered their swords, all except one man, Hugh.

  'He ordered me to toss the monk back inside the burning building. I tried to push past him, I tried ... but my arms were full. Hugh raised his sword. As if he sensed what was coming, the old monk opened his eyes and stared up at him. He cursed us, he cursed every one of us who had violated the House of God, then he tried to pray. But Hugh wouldn't let him finish. Gerard yelled out, but it was too late. Hugh brought his sword down across the man's neck as his head lolled back over my arm and struck the monk's head from his body. The blood spurted up into my face like scalding metal, I was half blinded and stumbled to my knees, still clutching the body of the corpse. I could hear the severed head bouncing down the stone steps, then, as Osborn's men saw it rolling towards them, they began to laugh. Behind us, there was a thunderous rumble and the roof of the monastery collapsed into the crackling flames.'

  Raffe was shaking. He found himself with his hands over his ears trying to block out the sounds of the screaming men, of sword severing bone, the violent laughter and the roar of the flames. He forced his hands down, pressing them between his drawn-up knees to stop them trembling.

  Anne had covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders were heaving, but she made no sound. For a long time neither of them spoke. Then Anne said Softly, And my son never made confession of it.'

  'He couldn't bring himself even to speak of it. It tormented his sleep, that I know. Many a night I heard him cry out and saw him wake drenched in sweat. Sometimes he was too afraid to sleep, and then he would drink, drink far more than any man should, but that only sent him to sleep and back into his nightmares again. Who could he make confession to? Who would hear any of us? What priest in England would have understood and absolved us from the murder of holy monks in the very House of God? Even King Henry could not make penance enough for the murder of Thomas a Becket at Canterbury, and he was but one man slain, and the king's hand did not wield the sword.'

  'No,' Anne said fiercely. 'But it was the king who gave the order and God will hold him more guilty than ever the knights who struck the blows.'

  She swung herself around on the casement seat and her face was flushed and her jaw set hard. 'I am glad you told me of Hugh's part in this. I had thought to make Osborn suffer by taking away those he cared for, by sending them to hell before they had a chance to confess their sins, but now I see the murder of Hugh had its own justice.'

  Raffe was still too troubled by his own memories to respond, but finally he managed to pull himself together and clamber to his feet.

  'You must leave here this afternoon, m'lady. I have to go to Norwich, I must find John's spy before it's too late and more innocent men are slain. Promise me you will leave here before this day is out.'

  Anne nodded. 'I've heard what you said and I will go. I have friends who will take me in. You're a good man, Raffaele, a loyal friend to my son and now to me. If you would do me one last service, buy me a little time to get away and I shall always be in your debt.'

  'I will do all in my power, m'lady, and if it please God I find the man in time before he reaches Osborn or the king, you will be able to return here soon. I'll get word to you wherever you are.'

  He bowed with a formality he had not used for a long time, and was half-way across the chamber before some thought in the back of his mind made him freeze in mid- stride. He turned back to Anne. She was still sitting where he'd left her.

  'You said you had thought to make Osborn suffer?'

  She stared up at him. The anger which had animated her face had drained away and she looked now as lifeless as a wooden mask.

  'Yes, yes . . .' She drew a deep breath. 'You have confessed to me, so it is only fair that I should confess to you. Besides, I may not live long enough to find a priest to absolve me.

  'You see, my cousin . . . she is not sick, at least, please God she is not, for the truth is I haven't seen her these many months. I have instead been to Norwich and there I sent first Raoul and then Hugh to God's judgment. Raoul, because I knew he was spying for John and it was only a matter of time before he discovered I was helping the priests. But you may ask why I next chose Hugh and not Osborn.

  'Death would have spared Osborn the punishment he deserved. I want him to suffer in this life before he suffers in the next. I don't want him to escape that. I need him to know how it feels to go on living when the person you love with all your soul is suffering the torments of the fires for eternity, and you can do nothing to help them, not even place so much as a single drop of cooling water upon their burning tongues. I wanted him to live with that. I wanted him to know that before he dies, for surely that is the only torment that hell itself cannot inflict upon the damned.'

  Her eyes were bright with tears now, but she would not let them fall.

  'I confess I had thought it would be harder to murder a man. Men always say how tough and brave you must be. But then I thought about what Osborn had done to my beloved son, how he had corrupted and damned Gerard's soul. And how Osborn even now. . . even now has no remorse and laughs as if it were one of his greatest victories. Believe me, Raffaele, when you hate that much, it is not hard to kill a man at all.'

  7th Day after the Full Moon,

  October 1211

  Ash — Its wood is so tough that mortals fashion spear shafts from it. They plant it about their dwellings to protect them from the evil eye. If a man's cattle are diseased he should wall mice or shrews up in the holes of living ash trees, which mortals call the Shrew-Ash, and as the mice weaken and die, so shall the disease die out among the cattle.

  If a mortal should suffer sores in his ear, he must boil ash keys in his own urine and therein soak black wool, and press the wool into his ear. A child passed through a split in an ash tree will be cured of bow legs or swellings of the groin. Many ash trees are adorned with the locks of children's hair, which if offered to the tree will cure that child of their cough. Honey made from ash blossom is smeared on the lips of newborn babes, or else they are given the sap which oozes from a burning ash twig, to protect them.

  Mothers cradle their infants in ash wood to guard them from foul spirits. Witches use it for their brooms, so that they shall never fall into water and be drowned. Ash wood in a boat will keep it from sinking.

  The female ash tree, sheder, will counter the curses of warlocks, and the male ash, heder, will w
ork against the hexes of witches. For the ash is a sacred tree and the three weird sisters of fate — past, present and future — water the ash so that it will never die.

  And, at the roots of the ash tree lie three wells — remembrance, rebirth and destruction. And the deepest well of them all is destruction.

  The Mandrake's Herbal

  Osborn, Son of Warren

  'I have the clothes ready for you,' Ma said. 'Hurry now, it'll soon be time, and Osborn's not the kind of man to idly pick his nose and wait.'

  She tugged impatiently at Elena's shift and indicated the kirtle and hooded cloak which lay on the table.

  'I can't, Ma. I can't,' Elena wailed. 'Please don't make me.'

  She'd had nothing else to think about these past three days except Osborn. Even when sheer exhaustion drove her to sleep, his face floated in front of her, with its cold, indifferent expression as if she was nothing more than a hog or a sheep he was inspecting at market, and worth even less. She could still hear the impatience in his voice as he pronounced her sentence, itching to have the business done with and ride out with his hawks. He'd dropped the words carelessly into the air, as a rich man might toss a coin to a beggar to stop him whining, although Osborn would sooner kick a beggar out of his path than give him charity.