The Gallows Curse (52 page)

    Talbot
shifted his weight, 'Nowt,' he said bluntly. 'But you'd have information to
trade, once you find out who it is the envoy has come to see. If it's that
bastard Hugh, then you'd have your proof and could name him without needing to
drag Elena into this. You'd be able to buy your way out of a deal of trouble,
maybe buy a pardon for the lass too, with a traitor's name to parley with. It's
a gamble, to be sure, but seems to me you've a simple choice: cast your dice or
accept a certainty — a
dead
certainty.'

    Raffe
knew Talbot would give anything to see Hugh tried as a traitor. He'd always
wanted to get even with him ever since the man had tried to hang him at Acre.
All the same, he had a point. If he could prove Hugh a traitor without Elena
having to repeat what she'd overheard, he'd not only keep her alive, she might
be able to return to Gastmere.

    The
inn door opened and Talbot drew back into the shadows. 'I'd best be on my way.
Word is ship's to weigh anchor seaward side of the isle of Yarmouth. They
learned their lesson with the
Santa Katarina
, so they'll not risk
running the ship into Breydon Water. Too easy to get trapped there. But
Yarmouth's a free port, so there's none of John's men stationed in it,
leastways not officially. I'll get word to you when ship's been sighted.'

    'But
what. . .' Raffe began, then realized he was speaking to the empty air. Talbot
had vanished.

    Raffe
sat on the keg, staring out over the whispering marshes. The black bogs seemed
to suck all the light from the stars and moon. The stinking, bottomless mud
gurgled continuously like the stomach of a great beast digesting its prey. Here
and there unearthly shrieks rang out from the tall reeds, but he knew of old
that there was no living soul out there, only the tormented restless spirits
who wandered the marshes.

    
But
it isn't your country, is it?
What did it matter if he betrayed England?
What did it really matter? He owed this land no loyalty. It was Gerard's home,
not his. Talbot had said he had a choice, a simple choice, he'd called it:
betray Gerard's beloved country to the French or let Gerard's own mother be
taken and executed as a traitor.

    Once,
as a little boy, he had knelt in the great abbey church and fervently prayed
before the hot, bright candles for the life of his father. Now in the darkness
he sank again to his knees among the stinking fishing nets and prayed once more
with all his soul.

   
 Gerard,
forgive me. Forgive me for what I am about to do.

    
Mice
— are particularly efficacious when stewed, roasted, baked or fried, to
strengthen sickly children, cure them of colds, fits, the pox and fevers, or
prevent them from wetting the bed. If a mortal has a persistent cough, let him
hang a bag of live mice about his neck and the cough will travel to the mice.
When they are all dead the patient will be cured.

    Mouse
teeth are often worn as charms. Ailing cattle may be given water in which teeth
or bones of mice have been laid. When the milk teeth of a child fall out they
must be placed in a mouse hole so that the child's new teeth will be as small,
white and sharp as a mouse's.

    If a
mouse squeaks in the chamber of one who is sick, the person will die. Likewise,
if a mouse should run across a living person, he is doomed, for the spirits of
man often appear in the likeness of a mouse. If the mouse should be red, the
spirit is pure, but if black the spirit is steeped in sin.

    If a
mortal sleeps, a mouse may be seen running from his open mouth, and that is his
spirit which leaves the body to travel through the dream world. But take heed,
if you should move that man from his place while he sleeps, or wake him before
his mouse-spirit has returned, that man will wake, but it will be as if he is
dead, unable to talk to the living. He will wander senseless like a corpse and
after some days or months he will die.

    The
Mandrake's Herbal

    Talbot
grasped Raffe's arm and led him through the door to Ma's staircase. But instead
of mounting the stairs, Talbot opened a small door tucked in behind them. In
all the years he had been coming here, Raffe had never noticed the door before.
In the dark recess of the stairwell, it was nigh on invisible.

    Talbot
led the way into a tiny cell. A shaft of early morning light streamed in
through a slit in the stones, high up on the wall, revealing the low, narrow
bed and a banded wooden chest which occupied most of the narrow space. From the
clothes strewn across the bed, Raffe guessed this must be where Talbot himself
slept, close enough to the main door to reach it quickly should he be summoned
in the night.

    Talbot
turned to face Raffe. 'It's well you've come, saves me a journey. The ship
carrying your cargo has been sighted off the coast.
Dragon's Breath
,
she's called. They reckon she'll put in at Yarmouth tomorrow on the evening
tide. Her crew'll not be allowed ashore till the day after her cargo's been
inspected and tolls have been paid. You'd best meet them then.'

    'But
if they inspect the cargo . . .' Raffe protested.

    Talbot
waved his hand dismissively. Yarmouth folk aren't interested in men, only goods
they can tax. They'll not look twice at the passengers, not unless John's men
get wind of it, of course.'

    At
the mention of the king, anger welled up in Raffe again. 'I won't do it. I
won't meet this man. I can't give aid to England's enemies.'

    Talbot's
fist shot out and grabbed the front of his tabard. You bloody will, you old
bullock. That priest meant what he said about spilling all. He's nothing to
lose and a great deal of favour and money to gain. You might not have told him
about my role in this, but there's no knowing what he might have learned on
board the ship. Besides, I want Hugh's head on a pike, and this French Skegg
might just be able to give us the proof we need to see him die as a traitor. If
not. . .' His eyes flicked up to the beams above and he lowered his voice to a
whisper, 'no matter what her upstairs says, I'll use that lass of yours to nail
him, even it does see her hanged for Raoul's murder into the bargain.'

    Talbot
wasn't a man to make idle threats. Raffe's friendship with him went deep, but
was it as deep as Talbot's hatred of Hugh? Besides, Talbot's warning was sufficient
to remind him of what else lay at stake if the priest chose to talk. The one
name he could be certain the priest did know, besides his own, was Lady Anne's,
and he couldn't risk him uttering that. Raffe nodded weakly.

    Talbot
let go of his tabard and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. 'That's more
like it. Now, give the boatman this.'

    He
grabbed Raffe's hand and tipped a small tin emblem of St Katherine into Raffe's
palm, just like the one the priest had sent to Lady Anne.

    'He'll
ask you where the cargo comes from. You're to tell him Spinolarei in Bruges.
He's expecting that answer and he'll know you're the right man and not one of
John's spies.'

    Raffe
was aware that Bruges, eager to keep the lucrative trade with England, was known
to favour England against France, so no suspicions would be aroused should
anyone chance to overhear the remark.

    You
got money?' Talbot asked. The man's been paid already but he'll expect more.
They always do, the greedy bastards.'

    'And
you do it for love, I suppose,' Raffe said sourly.

    Talbot
grinned, but was instantly serious again. 'Be there, Raffe, for all our sakes,
especially that lass of yours. I'd hate to see her pretty little neck
stretching on a rope.'

    Elena
cautiously opened the door and eased herself into the small chamber. Master
Raffaele was standing at the casement, staring up at the white clouds drifting
across the brothel garden. The bright morning light washed his face, rubbing
away, just for a moment or two, the wrinkles and sagging fat around his jaw.

    Catching
sight of him in profile, Elena glimpsed the ghost of the beauty that had once
made her mother see an angel in him, but then, just as rapidly, it vanished,
leaving behind only the wreck of flesh, the awkward, ungainly proportions of
the too long limbs and the massive buttocks. Elena gave a little shudder.

    'Master
Raffaele . . .' She shuffled uneasily, not knowing whether he had heard her.
Had he finally come to take her away? Why wouldn't he look at her? She meant to
wait for him to speak, she really did, but the silence in that room was too
much to bear.

    'My
Athan, is he well? Have you seen him? And my mam —'

    'They
told me about Raoul,' Raffaele cut in.

    'I
didn't do it, I swear.' Sweat burst out on Elena's forehead. 'I couldn't have .
. .'

    'But
Talbot says you knew how he had died before you were told. That's not easily
explained away. Elena, tell me the truth. For once in your life trust me. If
Raoul hurt you, if he
...
if he forced himself on you, I wouldn't blame
you for killing him. It would be natural that you wanted him dead, honourable
even, but I must know the truth.'

    Elena's
hands were clenched so tightly it hurt. She didn't want to talk about it,
especially to him, but she knew Raffaele would go on questioning her until she
did.

    'I
hated him for what he did. I hated him touching me. He was revolting. I felt
sick. And if I could have killed him then to stop him, I would have, believe
me, I would have done it gladly, but I couldn't. He was too strong.'

    She
swallowed the hard lump that had risen in her throat, trying to think how to
explain it so that Raffaele would understand.

    'Afterwards
... after he'd gone I fell asleep. I dreamed I'd killed him, but it was only a
dream, just a dream. I couldn't have done it. I've thought about it over and
over again. I don't remember walking through the streets. It must have been a
dream.'

    'Like
the dream you had about your son?' Raffaele snapped. 'Curious, isn't it, how
you dream and deaths always follow? There are those who might say that is worse
than murder; they might call it witchcraft.'

    Elena
gaped at his back. He couldn't be saying this. 'But my son isn't dead. I told
you
...
I told you that Gytha took my son. I thought you believed me. That's
why you helped me, wasn't it, because you knew I was innocent?'

    'I
don't know what I believe any more!'

    Raffaele
gripped the edge of the casement so hard that Elena thought he was going to
tear it apart with his bare hands. For several moments he stood there, his head
bowed, his knuckles white. Then he seemed to regain control of himself.

    'You
shouldn't speak about your dreams to anyone,' he said quietly. 'If Ma or the
other women think they are harbouring a witch, they will not keep you here.'

    'But
I don't want them to keep me here,' Elena said. 'It isn't safe.'

    For
the first time since she'd entered the room, he turned to face her, staring at
her as if she was a stranger. Elena realized it was the first time he'd seen
her dyed hair. Her hand slid up, pulling her cap further down over her coiled
plaits, but she couldn't hide her eyebrows. Luce had insisted on dyeing those
too, saying her pale auburn ones were in too marked contrast to her dark hair.