The Gallows Curse

  'What d'you want?' growled the youth holding the iron bar.

  Raffe, still keeping his hands where they could see them, nodded to the wrecked courtyard. 'I came looking for a friend, but the cottage is empty.'

  'Friend, is it? Which friend?'

  Raffe took a gamble. 'The tanner's wife. She is kin to my. .

  He fumbled in his mind for a non-blood relation, but the young man didn't wait for him to finish.

  'She's got a lot of kin all of a sudden.'

  'What happened here?' Raffe asked. 'Was there an accident?'

  The youth took another menacing step towards him. 'Weren't no accident. Soldiers from the castle came just afore dawn. First we knew of it was the hound barking and the sounds of them smashing their way through the door. Giles was roaring and Margery screaming fit to cut through stone.'

  Raffe's heart was hammering in his chest so loudly he thought the two men must surely hear it. 'Did they arrest them?'

  'Course they bloody did. What else would they have come for?'

  'Old Giles, he didn't go quietly though,' his brother added. 'Those shits killed his dog just to stop it howling. When old Giles saw that, he went mad. Gave out a few bloody noses and black eyes afore one of the bastards cracked him over the head and dragged him off. Then Margery went for the soldier with her iron skillet like the old warrior queen herself, but it didn't do no good. In the end they managed to get her on the ground and tied her hands good and tight, but she was still trying to kick them as they led her off.'

  The lad's eyes had lost their suspicious glare and were alight with the excitement of a good fight which would lose nothing in the telling around the fire for years to come.

  'Course all the tanners came running, trying to help, but we couldn't get anywhere near, for there was a ring of those arse-lickers round the yard holding us off with their pikes. We could have taken them easily enough just with our bare hands, but they said any man that tried to interfere would be arrested too . . . for treason'. His voice dropped to an awed whisper as he pronounced the word.

  There was a question Raffe badly needed to ask, but he had no idea how to do so without arousing their suspicion even further. The tanners would sooner die than denounce one of their own, but they wouldn't think twice about reporting Raffe to the sheriff, especially if they thought it might help Giles and his wife. Raffe was still trying to decide how to phrase the question when it was answered for him.

  The brother holding the iron bar had still not lowered it, and now he lifted it a little higher.

  'Soldiers weren't alone. I saw that little runt standing off at the far end of the lane. I reckon it was him who brought the king's men here and pointed out Giles's cottage, 'cause they went straight to it. No one from the castle would know which was Giles's yard unless it were shown to them. And what's more, he didn't run off when he saw what was happening. He stood there bold as a stag in rut, watching like he was enjoying it. He knew fine rightly he was in no danger of being taken himself.'

  The lad's eyes narrowed. 'This man, he only came here to stay with Giles a few days ago. None of us had ever clapped eyes on him afore, but Margery said he was her kin. And now there's another of you claiming kinship. Anyone would think she'd come into a fortune.'

  'This man,' Raffe asked cautiously, 'had he a withered hand?'

  The two brothers nodded slowly and, glancing at each other, took another step towards Raffe.

  'I came here to warn Margery that they were in danger. This man ... he was only pretending to be kin . . . Margery had not seen her real relative before, so she'd only his word.'

  'Pity you didn't get here sooner,' the younger of the two said sympathetically.

  But his older brother lifted his chin. 'Aye, but that doesn't explain why he should want to pass himself off as family. They'd not got a spare penny to bless themselves with. And why would this man want to have poor old Giles arrested? He's no traitor, just trying to earn an honest living same as the rest of us. Why him? You tell me that!'

  He jabbed at Raffe with the iron bar, not hard enough to hurt him, just to leave him in no doubt he was prepared to inflict some serious injuries if Raffe didn't furnish him with satisfactory answers.

  Raffe rapidly considered his options. If he drew his knife he could probably take one or both of them, for he guessed for all their muscle they would be clumsy and slow in a fight. But he couldn't afford to get into a fight. He needed to get away fast. He swallowed, gambling that something near the truth would sound more convincing.

  'This relative of Margery's, the real one, he's a priest. He's disappeared. The man with the withered hand poses as a runaway priest, so he can denounce any who give shelter to them.'

  The two brothers again exchanged glances, as if they were a single man divided in two and could not think or act without the other.

  The older brother's brows furrowed so deeply they met in the middle.

  'I've lived aside Margery all my life and I've never heard her mention a priest in the family. Anyway, how do you know so much about this man? What's your business with him?'

  'I haven't got time to stand here answering your questions,' Raffe snapped, hoping that a display of anger might deflect the youths. 'There may be others in danger. I have to warn them, before there are more arrests.'

  He didn't wait for the brothers' reaction, but turned and strode rapidly away, praying that they would not follow him. As soon as he had turned the corner, he broke into a run and then, slipping into a darkened courtyard, he ducked down behind a stinking vat and listened.

  He heard footsteps running up the track towards him. More than just the two brothers, they'd obviously roused others to give chase. Raffe crouched in darkness, his heart thumping, but not just because of the tanners. Martin was moving far more quickly than he'd anticipated. The arrest of Giles and his wife meant that the sheriff must know of Martin's real identity and mission. A messenger would even now be on his way to King John, who would send more men to help round up the traitors. And Raffe had no doubt at all that Martin, and probably the sheriff too, was already searching for him.

  There would be no safe place for Raffe now in England. He'd have to leave the country at once, go abroad where John couldn't touch him. He could do nothing more for Lady Anne. Please God, her friends would help her, but he dared not go back to find her, even if he knew where she was. Besides, if he was caught with her he would put her in more danger. And there was still a chance that her part in this was not known. As for the murderers of Raoul and Hugh, all he could do was to pray that no one came forward who had recognized Anne near the Adam and Eve.

  But there was one person Raffe could not leave in England.

  He had sworn he would return for her. The poor child still foolishly believed that she had killed Raoul and Hugh. He should have known that she could never have done that. And she still believed against all hope that one day she could go home to her village and to Athan. She didn't know that Athan was dead, worse still that he, Raffe, had stood by and allowed Athan to hang when it should have been him dangling there.

  He would make amends to her for that. He would take her away, back to Italy, and spend the rest of his life working to make her happy again, to help her forget all she had suffered and all she had lost. They were bound together with bonds stronger than ever tied a husband and wife. For Gerard was in her, and through her he could still hold on to the one man who mattered to him above all others. Nothing, nothing had ever defiled her innocence and purity, and he would give his life to ensure it never would.

  If Osborn had come to the door and opened it, as Elena was expecting, all might have been over in a breath. But he didn't. Afterwards, Elena couldn't imagine why she'd thought he would. Unlike her, a man of his rank was not used to opening his own doors.

  She knocked and heard him call, 'Enter!'

  That deep, harsh voice slashed away the last remaining strand of confidence she clung to. She would have fled at that moment, had he not called out again. 'C
ome in, damn you. I haven't got all night.'

  Perversely, it was that very element of command that generations of lords and villeins had instilled in her to obey which made her right hand drop from the hilt of the dagger and fumble for the latch on the door. She raised it without being able to stop herself.

  Osborn was sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the small chamber, his back resting against the wattle and daub wall, and his drawn sword across his knees. He was alone, but was clearly taking no chances.

  'Close the door, woman.'

  Elena, trembling, did as she was bid, and turned back to him. The only light came from a single lantern hung by the door, but it was just enough to illuminate a long, narrow chamber with a great mound of hay heaped against one end. At the other end several thin straw pallets were piled against the wall, together with a heap of stained blankets and sheepskins which had seen much use. But beyond the bench which Osborn occupied, there was no other furniture.

  'What are you standing there gaping for?' Osborn said. 'I was told you have information for me concerning my brother. Let's hear it.'

  Elena opened her mouth, but no words emerged. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. Talbot had told her that Osborn was expecting information, but it hadn't even occurred to her to plan what she might say. All her thoughts had been on striking the blow.

  'I . . . I . . . shall I fetch you some wine, master, if we are to talk?'

  'I don't want wine, girl. I want information. Tell me what it is you know.'

  When she still made no answer, he sighed impatiently. 'I know what will loosen your tongue.' He picked up a small leather bag from the bench beside him and fished out a small gold coin. 'That's what all you Jews want, isn't it, gold? Give you people anything that glitters and suddenly you remember everything. A miracle, isn't it?'

  For a moment Elena couldn't think what he was talking about, then she remembered the amulet Ma had fastened around her neck. Perhaps he recognized it, or he had been told to expect a Hebrew woman.

  He must have mistaken her expression, for he added. 'Don't worry, you shall have your gold, and more besides, if what you have to tell me discovers my brother's murderer. Here!'

  He tossed the coin towards her, but her hand had once again reached for the hilt of the dagger inside her cloak and she made no attempt to catch the coin. It fell with a clink on to the boards.

  'Pick it up, girl, go on, grovel for it.'

  She bent, trying to feel around for the coin without taking her eyes off Osborn, but it had rolled away and she couldn't find it.

  Osborn was watching her curiously. 'Have we met before? I can't recall speaking to any of your faith in Norwich, though I've run my sword through plenty of them in the Holy Land.'

  Elena turned away, trying to hide her face on the pretext of searching for the coin.

  'Leave that,' Osborn ordered impatiently. 'You can search for it later. Tell me why you've dragged me from my warm fireside to this beggar's hovel. And I'm warning you, girl, if you've been wasting my time, you will pay dearly for it.'

  Elena didn't rise, still trying to keep her face concealed in the shadow of her hood.

  'I'm ... I am afraid if I tell, the murderer —'

  'I'll see you come to no harm,' Osborn broke in impatiently. 'Just give me his name and I promise you he'll be in the dungeons of the castle by daybreak.'

  'But

  'Speak, girl! Believe me, I am more to be feared than any murderer. If you don't tell me what you know I will take you to the castle myself this very hour. And I can assure you, there are men there who know how to persuade a stone to speak.'

  A voice was pounding in Elena's head. Do it! Do it now before it's too late. You've killed two men before, this time it should be easy... like poking a hole in jellied brawn.

  But Osborn was still sitting on the bench facing her, his drawn sword across his knee.

  I've killed two men before. I can do it. I can do it!

  Talbot's voice growled through all the others clamouring in her head — You've seen the other girls, the way they sidle up to a man, run their hand over his shoulder and make to kiss him. If Luce had been here, she would have sauntered across to Osborn and sat in his lap, distracting him with promises of what she could do. Luce wouldn't have had to think twice. Elena had seen her do it. No man had ever brushed her off. It looked so easy, just a winsome smile, a hand caressing his hair, stroking his face and the man would melt like lard in the fire.

  Elena didn't give herself time to plan how to do it. She rose and stumbled across the room until she was close enough to touch Osborn's legs with her own. She leaned over him and ran her fingers through his wiry grey hair. She tried to imitate the playful, seductive tones she'd heard Luce use.

  'You're a very handsome man.'

  Osborn gaped at her in amazement. She quickly bent forward and pressed her lips to his forehead, running her fingers softly over the back of his neck. He pulled his head away.

  'God's Blood, what are you doing, girl? I didn't come here to whore. I came here to learn about my brother's killer.'

  'But. . . but I can't resist you,' she stammered unconvincingly, trying again to kiss his face. He pushed her away, then stared at her.

  'I do know you! Of all the brazen tricks. You're my runaway villein, the girl that listens at doors. The moment Lady Anne told me you worked as her maid, I realized it was you I'd seen running away. So you've come here thinking to blackmail me, have you? You think I will pay you to keep silent about what you heard. Do you really imagine the king is going to take the word of a runaway villein, a baby killer, over that of a loyal, trusted lord of England? I'll make you wish you'd hung on my gallows before I've finished . . .'

  He tried to struggle to his feet, but she was standing too close to him. His sword slid to the floor with a clatter. He bent forward to recover it and as he did so, she pulled the dagger from the pocket in her cloak and stabbed it as hard as she could into his back.

  Osborn yelled in shock and agony, slumping to his knees on the wooden boards. He groped behind him, trying to grasp the dagger hilt that was still sticking out from his flesh. At the same time his other hand grabbed Elena's skirts and held on.

  She struggled to pull her skirt free, but his grip was too tight. Seizing a handful of his hair, she yanked his head back as hard as she could. It was enough to make his grip slacken momentarily. She managed to free her skirts and ran to the door. She fumbled desperately with the latch, but her hands were slippery with his blood.

  Osborn finally managed to grasp the dagger hilt. With a groan of pain, he wrenched it out and lumbered to his feet, her dagger gripped in his hand. He lunged at her, but just as he did so, the latch gave and the door swung open. She tumbled out, half falling down the stairs in her blind panic to get away.

  As Elena fled across the courtyard, Osborn was shouting for help and staggering down the steps. The serving wench was crossing the yard with two flagons in her hand. She stopped in mid-stride, staring up in alarm at Osborn, who was still clutching the bloody knife. Elena crashed into her, sending the girl reeling backwards, her flagons smashing on the cobbles. Above the sound of music and laughter pouring out from the inn, Elena could hear Osborn bellowing at her to stop. But she didn't wait to see him reach the bottom of the stairs. She fled into the night.

  Raffe yanked at the bell rope and hammered furiously on the door of the brothel. The small shutter opened and a face peered out through the stout metal grill. The face did not belong to Talbot, but to the woman they called Luce.

  'Someone's certainly got a fire in his breeches tonight,' she scolded. 'You worried it'll fall limp afore you hit the target?' Then her face broke into her usual generous smile. 'Why, if it isn't the Bul. . . Master Raffaele,' she hastily corrected herself.

  Raffe had never bothered to use a false name at the stew. What would be the point? When you stand out so much from the crowd, any attempt at disguise is useless. Luce unfastened the door and swung it wide before closin
g it behind him. He followed her into the guest hall where, as usual, platters of meats and flagons of wine and ale stood ready for the customers, for as Ma was fond of saying, 'A man needs good red meat if he's to hold his end up.'

  Luce turned and winked, arching her back so as to push her plump breasts forward in the manner that had become second nature to her.

  'What's your pleasure this evening, Master Raffe? Name the girl you fancy and I'll see if she's free to serve you.' She ran her strawberry-red tongue slowly over her upper lip. It was a gesture as habitual to her as a serving maid's curtsy.

  'I need to see Talbot, it's urgent.'

  She laughed. 'He will be flattered. He doesn't get many customers asking for his services.'

  Then, seeing the strained expression on Raffe's face, she seemed to realize this was no joking matter. She dropped her seductive tone and became in the instant serious.