Plague Land (27 page)

‘You should announce your entry with a knock,’ said Peter, shielding his eyes from the light.

Gilbert harrumphed. ‘What you doing in here, priest? Always appearing and disappearing.’

Gilbert hadn’t seen me as the sudden breeze had extinguished our candle. I stepped into the light. ‘Brother Peter was with me. We were talking.’

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. ‘Funny place to talk. It’s as damp as a dew pond in here, sire.’ He dropped the barrel next to the sacks of rye. ‘Look at this flour. It’ll be full of weevils soon.’

I shrugged. For at that moment, I didn’t care.

I felt disturbed and irritated. Angry with Brother Peter for his volte-face, but also angry with myself. I had been undermined by a parish priest and his pilgrimage. And I had been a fool in so many other ways. My education had centred on rational argument and the study of empirical evidence. I had read Roger Bacon and Aristotle. And yet I had allowed myself to believe in monsters and shadows. I had even whispered words into the soil of a grave. There had been a good reason why Alison did not reply to me. She was dead.

The Starvecrow sisters had not been killed by devilry as Peter maintained, but neither had they been murdered by Joan. I had to admit that much. She could not have put the head in the well herself, and I doubted her sons would have come up with such a macabre scheme. It would neither help their mother nor have been an easy task for two young boys. Even two such resourceful young men.

I had been wrong to imprison Joan for so long.

At first light the next morning I went to the gaol house, but found the main door was locked. Wondering if Henry Smith, the gaoler, had joined the pilgrimage and abandoned Joan Bath to her cell, I banged heavily on the door until hearing some feet come running from the other side. It was Henry himself, looking rather sheepish and red about the face. When he opened Joan’s cell, her dishevelled dress and the disturbed blanket gave away the reason for his embarrassment. Not wanting to listen to Henry’s excuses, I asked him for the key and then told him to return home.

Joan turned her back to me and combed her hair, which was long and black – though a few lonely white strands had found a foothold at her temples. As she ran the comb along her shining tresses, she released the scent of rose oil and camphor. It was momentarily heady and appealing in this dirty and dismal place.

‘I need to ask you some more questions,’ I said. ‘And you would be wise to turn and face me.’

‘I’ve answered all your questions again and again, sire,’ she said, taking three portions of the hair and forming them into a plait. ‘I’ve nothing else to tell you.’ She didn’t turn around.

‘I was considering releasing you, Mistress Bath. But if you continue to sit with your back to me, then perhaps I will keep you here a while longer.’

She shifted a little, but stubbornly wouldn’t face me.

‘Very well,’ I said, walking towards the door. I was tired of her games, and the air in the cell had lost its scent of camphor and now smelt unpleasantly of naked bodies.

‘Wait,’ she said, as I reached for the key. ‘What is it you want to know?’

She motioned for me to sit next to her on the bed, but I remained standing. ‘Do you believe in dog heads?’ I asked.

I expected her to leap at this opportunity to absolve herself. Instead, she huffed. ‘No. Such creatures don’t exist. Cornwall is a liar.’

‘So, who killed the girls? Can you answer me that?’

‘I have no idea, sire.’ She wiped the comb and slotted it behind her belt. ‘I was only trying to help them.’

Looking through the bars of the window, I could see Old Ralph’s tumbledown cottage in the distance. It looked more like a pigsty than a home.

‘Am I free to go then?’ she asked, standing up and gathering her belongings about her. ‘I’ll have to burn these clothes. They’re covered in lice.’

‘Sit down again. I have more questions.’ She returned to the bed reluctantly. ‘Do you know why Alison Starvecrow wanted to speak with me? On the day she went missing.’

Joan nodded. ‘I’ve told you this before, sire. She wanted you to stop her marriage to my father.’

‘But is there anything else you can remember?’

‘She claimed you would have to help her.’

This was a new fragment of information. ‘Why did she think that?’

‘She wouldn’t say, sire.’ Then she looked at me slyly. ‘Are you sure Alison didn’t speak with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘She didn’t threaten to reveal a secret you would rather keep?’

I almost laughed. ‘Are you suggesting
I
murdered her?’

She bowed her head. ‘No.’

‘I’m aware my father visited the Starvecrow house, if that’s what you’re implying. If Alison hoped to threaten me with such a story, she would have been disappointed. I’m told it’s common knowledge.’

Joan nodded. ‘Your father visited most houses. Particularly if there was a pretty woman to call upon. But at least he left the young girls alone.’

‘So there is nothing else you can tell me about Alison?’

She folded her arms. ‘No, my lord. There isn’t.’

‘Very well. You are free to go.’

We left the dankness of the cell together and as Joan stepped into the daylight she squinted, as if she had never seen the sun before. ‘I hope it’s to be public knowledge I’m innocent,’ she said. Then she laughed. ‘That will please the village gossips.’

‘I’m sure Cornwall will be delighted to announce it in church.’

‘Are my boys free to return?’

‘Yes.’

‘And will you continue to seek the true murderer?’

‘Of course.’

She cocked her head to look at me. ‘Indeed, sire?’

I looked at my feet. ‘I’ve been advised to say the girls were murdered by dog heads.’

‘And will you?’

I shook my head. ‘No. I will not.’

She regarded me thoughtfully, then curtsied and walked away towards Old Ralph’s cottage – the tenure of which she had now inherited. Watching her go, I wondered momentarily if the woman had duped me, for she was as artful as a vixen with cubs. I disregarded the thought however. Joan might be sly, but she was not a murderer.

When the villagers returned from their worthless pilgrimage I would question each one of them again. Somebody would be able to shine a light into the shadows of this mystery. People do not live in a village as small as Somershill for their whole lives and remain unknown to their neighbours. Secrets leak from thin walls and flow through the village as quickly as the flux.

I turned back to Somershill, but was surprised when Joan caught up with me. She was breathless and looked a little uncomfortable.

‘What is it now, mistress?’

‘There is something I should tell you, sire,’ she said. ‘It’s about Cornwall’s pilgrimage.’

‘What about it?’

She took a deep breath. ‘He’s not taking the villagers to St John’s in the marsh. They are going to the chapel at Versey Castle.’

‘What?’

‘After a short mass, de Caburn is to offer them higher wages to stay on his demesne. He means to take your labour.’

I could barely speak at first. ‘Are you sure?’ She nodded. ‘And Cornwall has arranged this with de Caburn?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you know?’

She reddened. ‘Cornwall visited me in the gaol house, sire. To lecture me on my sins.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘But he’s a—’

‘A priest? Yes. He is.’ She shrugged. ‘But you’d be surprised who comes to see me. When the sun sets.’

I sighed.

‘When he wasn’t lecturing me, sire, he liked to boast. How he would become more powerful than the de Lacys. How he has important friends who will assist his rise.’

I took her by the wrist. ‘Why are you helping me?’

She tried to shake me off, but didn’t quite succeed. ‘Because . . . you care about Alison and Matilda.’

I found this difficult to believe from a woman I had imprisoned for weeks. ‘Are you telling me the truth?’ I squeezed her hand, but she didn’t flinch.

‘Go to Versey yourself then, sire. If you don’t believe me.’ She shook me off. ‘See your men working in his fields, when yours lie empty.’

‘I will.’

Chapter Fifteen

The only practical means of reaching Versey Castle from Somershill is on horseback, but I hadn’t ridden since my last visit to that place, having lost my confidence with horses since Tempest had thrown me off by the plague pit. Now I preferred to walk wherever possible. Even so, it didn’t seem a good idea to confront de Caburn on foot and demand my men return. So I saddled up Brother Peter’s pony – a beast with the spirit and energy of a caterpillar, but which could be relied upon to take me to my destination and subsequently return me.

Checking that my dagger was in its sheath, I realised Mother was watching me from the door of the stable – her mouth hanging open like a brown trout. She held Hector in her arms and stroked his bristly head.

‘Are you off to murder somebody, Oswald?’ When I didn’t answer, she dropped the dog to the floor. ‘Is there a raiding party coming?’ Should we lock the doors and close the gates?’ She pulled a small knife from inside the cuff of her gown. ‘They won’t take my honour.’

‘What sort of raiding party are you expecting, Mother? The Danes?’

She gasped. ‘Surely not?’

‘God’s bones! The Danes haven’t invaded for four hundred years.’

She pulled a face at me, and returned the blade to its secret slot in her sleeve. ‘You startled me, Oswald. I’ve not seen you arm yourself before.’

‘I’m going to Versey Castle.’

‘To visit Clemence?’

I belted my tunic and put on my leather gloves while Hector sniffed about my ankles, looking as if he were about to piss against my leg. I pressed my boot against his nose and pushed him away. ‘It’s not a social visit.’

‘Then why are you going?’

‘I’ve discovered Clemence’s new husband is bribing our men to work at Versey.’

‘Bribing our men? What with?’

‘Higher wages, Mother.’

‘That’s disgraceful.’ Her voice tightened enough to scare Hector into abandoning his attempts to urinate on my boot. He shot at speed under a nearby hay stall. ‘Who do these labourers think they are? They can’t just leave our estate when they please. You need to get them back, Oswald.’

‘That’s what I’m doing, Mother.’

‘You should go straight away.’

‘I am!’

I went to mount the pony, but Mother poked me in the arm. ‘I’m not in the least bit surprised about de Caburn, you know. The man is vermin. You should have prevented the marriage, Oswald. I said so at the time.’

‘What?’ This was contrary, even by Mother’s standards. ‘It was only Brother Peter and myself who stood against the union. If I remember, you thought it was a wonderful idea.’

‘Nonsense.’ She leant down to coax her dog out from under the stall. ‘Take Hector with you. He never liked de Caburn. Did you, sweet boy?’ She held out her hand to the wiry-coated little goblin, who met her affection with a steady growl. ‘See. He even objects to hearing the man’s name.’

‘I’m taking Humbert with me.’

‘That big oaf? What use will he be?’

‘More use than a small dog, Mother.’

Before she could continue this conversation, I got into the saddle and backed the pony out of the stable. Seeing Humbert waiting for me at the gate, I took a slow trot over to him, though Mother still managed to keep up with me, the dog now reinstated in her arms. Watching her scamper alongside me like a beggar at the city gate, I wondered what secret potions she drank to maintain her agility. For, despite her protestations of ill health, she was startlingly nimble for her age.

Humbert wore a detached smile across his face. He was hoping to see Clemence when we reached Versey, even though I had explained this would be an unpleasant visit and had ordered him to bear arms. But with a long dagger hung awkwardly from his belt, he looked about as menacing as a spring lamb. And I doubt he had any idea how to wield the weapon. For, despite being the largest boy in the village, his nature was placid and quiet. Sitting on his sturdy pony, his thick legs nearly reached the ground.