The Gallows Curse (25 page)

    Anne
regarded him calmly. 'Even you cannot have a noblewoman hanged on your whim,
Lord Osborn.'

    'No,
but I will make you wish I could. You were very close to your son, weren't you,
m'lady? How would you like to be even closer? Let's see if a month chained in
the pit next to his rotting corpse will tame you. You won't look much like a
noblewoman when you get out of there, that I promise you.'

    Anne
blanched visibly, swaying backwards. You wouldn't dare,' she blazed, but the
quaver in her voice betrayed her fear.

    Osborn's
mouth curved in a humourless smile. You think not?' He turned to the servants.
'Take her to the pit.'

    But
no one moved. They all stood frozen, staring at him, shock on every face.

    'No.'
Raffe stepped hastily between Anne and Osborn. 'She did not release the girl. I
—'

    'He's
right, m'lord,' a timid voice broke in.

    Hilda
was hovering by her mistress's side, her arm thrust out in front of Anne as if
she thought she could simply flap away any man who approached.

    'My
mistress was sound asleep in bed all night.'

    'No,
Hilda!' Anne protested, but for once her faithful maid ignored her.

    'Lady
Anne was so upset about the girl, I knew she'd never rest, so I added a few
drops of poppy juice to her posset. She wouldn't have been able to stir from
her bed, never mind help that wicked girl. I knew that girl was trouble, taking
advantage of poor Lady Anne's trusting nature. Evil, that's what she was.'

    Anne
gave a shuddering sigh. 'Hilda is confused, I didn't...' she began, but all the
words seemed to have drained out of her. She swayed alarmingly and had to
clutch Hilda's arm to stop herself falling.

    Osborn
spun around to face Raffe, his eyes flashing with rage.

    'So!'
he bellowed. 'It seems we come full circle. Who released the girl? As steward
you are responsible for the conduct and discipline of my villeins, therefore
you will decide. The girl's lover or her mother, which one will hang in her
place? You may choose.'

    Cecily,
Athan and Joan all let out a shriek of anguish. Their horrified faces turned
towards Raffe. For a moment he was too stunned to speak.

    'No!
No, you can't ask me to choose. You have no proof that either of them did it.'

    'In
that case I have no alternative but to hold Lady Anne responsible. After all,
she did confess and her maid is doubtless lying out of a misguided sense of
loyalty. Perhaps I should reward that loyalty by allowing her to join her
mistress in the pit.'

    Hilda
whimpered in protest, but Osborn ignored her.

    'Come
now, Master Raffaele, do you really think a woman of Lady Anne's delicate
breeding would survive a month in the dark, chained up in the cold and damp,
with only bread and water to sustain her? I've seen men driven mad in half that
time left alone in the dark. And next to her poor son's corpse too. What a
torment that would be for a doting mother.'

    Raffe's
gaze flicked to Anne's face. She held her head defiantly high, but he saw the
tremble of her mouth and the lines around her tired eyes. She would go into
that pit with dignity if she had to, but they both knew she would not come out
alive.

    'So I
repeat, Master Raffaele, it is your choice. Lover or mother, which shall I
hang?'

    In
the courtyard none of the servants moved. The wind stirred their clothes, as if
they were rags on stone statues. Athan's face was almost green, as if he was
about to vomit. His eyes were closed and his lips moved frantically as he
mumbled what sounded like a prayer. Cecily was crouching on the ground, her
arms cradling her head, rocking backwards and forwards. Joan was twisting the
cloth of her skirts, and gabbling frantic pleas for mercy. But she was sobbing
so hard, it was impossible to tell if she was begging Raffe, Osborn or the
Almighty to spare her precious son.

    All
the servants' eyes were fastened upon Raffe, but he couldn't look at anyone. He
stared up. A flock of starlings, like a pillar of smoke, spun across the pale
blue sky towards the marshes. Raffe knew what Gerard would have done, he'd have
confessed in an instant. He'd never let someone else die for him, but then
Gerard was of noble blood and would never have had to face the gallows. Raffe
could not bear to lose his life to Osborn, to die ridiculed and disgraced. He
had lived his whole life in humiliation until Gerard had found him, and he
would not die in shame now, not after all he had been through. And who would
protect Lady Anne and Elena? He couldn't leave them undefended to Osborn's
mercy. He had a duty to stay alive for them.

    If
that spineless oaf, Athan, had ever stood up to his mother and defended Elena
as he should have done, then none of them would be in this position. Elena
would be safe and all would be well. That wretch had seduced her, fathered a
child by her, and then hadn't had the guts to try to save the mother of his own
son from the gallows. Athan hadn't rescued Elena, but by God's blood, he should
have done! Elena adored him, yet Athan would have stood next to his witch of a
mother and watched the woman he claimed to love hanged before his eyes. Any
bastard who did that deserved to die.

    Raffe
whipped around to face Osborn. Athan! Hang him.'

    'Not
my son!' Joan screamed. 'You can't. Take her. Take Cecily. It's her daughter
who's the murderer. She's to blame. She is Elena's mother, so it's her fault if
the girl turned bad. Not my boy! Not my innocent little bairn!' She fell on her
son, trying to cradle him as if she could protect him.

    Osborn
watched them, a look of triumph on his face. 'A wise choice, Master Raffaele,
we'll have you broken to the bridle yet.'

    He
spun on his heels, pointing at the men holding Athan. 'String him up at once,
and let's be done with this before some fool tries to rescue him.'

    The
men dragged Athan over to a thick metal hook that hung from the curved vault of
the undercroft beneath the Great Hall. A stout rope already dangled from the
hook with a noose at one end. Athan shrank from it, cowering and whimpering.

    With
a howl of anguish, Joan threw herself on the ground at Osborn's feet, clinging
to his legs, begging and pleading. Osborn gazed down at her for a moment, then,
as if she was a stray dog peeing on his leg, he kicked her away.

    Yesterday
you were happy enough to see another woman's child hanged, so this is only
justice, is it not? Perhaps you and the rest of the villagers will learn it is
wiser to settle your petty squabbles among yourselves and not waste the time of
great men.'

    A
bench had been placed beneath the noose, but Athan had collapsed on the floor,
vomiting with fear. They tried to make him clamber up on to the bench, but he
couldn't or wouldn't stand. In the end two men were forced to lift him bodily
on to it and stand either side of him, holding him upright between them as the
third placed the noose around his neck and drew the rope tight.

    Athan's
face was contorted in terror. He seemed to be mouthing something but no one
knew if it was a plea or a prayer. All eyes turned to Osborn.

    'What
are you waiting for?' snapped Osborn. 'I said hang him at once.'

    The
two men holding Athan jumped down as the third kicked the bench from under him.
He kicked and thrashed in agony, his eyes bulging, his face turning purple.

    'Help
him,' Joan screamed, 'help my boy.' She tried to reach him, but two servants
held her back.

    'Leave
him,' Osborn ordered. 'Let him dance. It will be a salutary lesson to others.
No one's to touch him till nightfall.'

    Raffe,
casting a furious glance at Osborn, ran towards the strangling lad and seized
both legs in an iron grip. He pulled violently downwards. instantly the jerking
stopped. Athan's head lolled to one side in the noose. The eyes glazed and
fixed. It was all over. Only Joan's sobbing broke the silence.

    Raffe
walked slowly through the crowd of silent servants without looking at anyone.
As he passed, Osborn seized Raffe's arm and yanked him round to face him.

    'You'll
pay dearly for that,' Osborn growled. 'And if I ever find a way to prove that
you had a hand in that girl's disappearance, by God, I'll make you wish it was
you who had hanged this day, not him.'

    Raffe
tore himself out of Osborn's grasp, his face expressionless, and continued
walking towards the gate.

    Behind
him he heard Osborn yelling, You needn't think this death wipes out the girl's
punishment. I won't rest until she's dragged back here at a horse's tail. I'll
find her, Master Raffaele, sooner or later I'll find her, you can be sure of
that.'

    
St
John's Wort
— Mortals use this herb in love charms and to increase
fertility. It is most effective when gathered on St John's Eve with the dew
still wet upon it. If a maid shall gather it, fasting, it shall bring her a
husband within the year, and if she places it under her pillow she shall see
the face of the man she will wed. They also claim that if a barren wife desires
a child, she should strip herself naked and go out to pick the flower on
Midsummer's Eve, then she shall surely bear a child before the next feast of St
John.

    But
beware lest you step on St John's Wort whilst it is growing, for a horse will
rise up from the ground under you and carry you away. And though it rears and
bucks, drags you through thorn thickets and stinking ditches until you are
bruised and exhausted, you will not be able to slide from its back. You shall
be forced to ride the beast until cockcrow, whereupon the faerie horse will
vanish and you shall be left to walk home for many a mile.

    The
Mandrake's Herbal

    The
two boatmen gripped Elena's arms on either side, hurrying her up the darkened
streets. They had reached Norwich before dark, but the men had moored up on the
River Wensum a little way short of the town in the shelter of the marshes. They
had offered Elena bread and onions, and strips of dried eel. But though she had
not eaten for more than a day, she felt full and nauseous after only a few
bites of the coarse bread. Her breasts burned and ached, so swollen with milk
that she couldn't even bear the touch of the cloth of her kirtle on them.

    As
soon as it was dark the boatmen sculled up the river into the outskirts of the
town and tied up near a decaying wooden jetty that tilted precariously into the
oozing mud. Now they scuttled through a maze of alleys and snickets, avoiding
the main streets where the flames of the torches guttered and danced in their
brackets on the walls of the houses. These little alleys huddled in darkness
save for the dagger-thin blades of yellow light that struck out between
shutters or under doors.

    In
Gastmere most villagers lived in tiny one-roomed cottages, separated from their
neighbours by wide tofts where vegetables, herbs and fruit grew, and chickens,
geese and pigs wandered freely. Elena had not dreamed that any place could have
so many streets or houses so squashed together.

    The
men finally halted in front of a large wooden house. Elena guessed they must
have looped back towards the river again, for she could feel the sharp, damp
breeze on her face, though she could not see the water. The dwelling, though
large enough to be owned by a merchant of some property, was not in the sort of
street any man with money would choose for his wife and children. The ground
was ankle-deep in bones, vegetable peelings and worse, thrown out by the inns
and alehouses which lined it. The music of the hurdy-gurdy and frestelles
tumbled from the windows, and bawdy songs and raucous laughter spilled from the
casements.