Plague Land (28 page)

And then I thought of my father. He would have ridden to Versey with a company of men and demanded de Caburn return my farmhands. Instead, I was to approach the place with nothing more than a façade of courage and a simple-minded boy. But I could not give up on this venture. I might be afraid. But I was angry. How dare de Caburn take my men and women? It was a provocation that could not be ignored, no matter how weak my position.

There was also more at stake here. I was tired of Brother Peter’s schemes and excuses. I was tired of keeping quiet and appeasing my enemies.

I must return to being a lord.

‘Don’t tell Brother Peter where I’ve gone,’ I said to Mother, as we turned to leave.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. He would tell me to write a letter.’

For once the sun was shining hard onto the wheat and barley, which enraged me further – the village should have been working in my fields, making the most of the brief opportunity the weather had provided. Humbert and I didn’t pass a soul on the road. Not even a wandering knife-grinder or a stray dog. How empty and remote this place suddenly seemed.

‘Why do you care so much for Clemence?’ I asked Humbert as his face jolted up and down in time with his pony’s trotting.

Patches of magenta formed on his pasty cheeks. ‘She’s kind to me.’ This was as articulate as I had ever heard him sound. Perhaps because he was not looking directly at me.

‘She’s cruel to me,’ I said. ‘But that’s because I’m her brother.’

He shook his head. ‘She’s not cruel.’

I laughed. ‘She is.’

He stopped his pony and glared at me. ‘She stopped them. Always.’

‘Who?’

But now he wouldn’t answer.

‘Do you mean my brothers, Richard and William?’

He suddenly trotted on, and it was clear I had picked at the scab on an old wound. But I had that scar myself, though it was better healed than Humbert’s. My older brothers loved to torment the weak and feeble, and I had been their favourite plaything until the age of seven. They must have looked around for a new victim at my departure for the monastery, and found him in the clumsy boy who had been dumped on the doorstep and lived in the hay barn.

Reaching the forest that separates my lands from those of de Caburn, our silent journey was interrupted by a distant howl. Thumping my ear, I wanted to make sure this was not some imagining inside my head. But it was definitely a canine sound. A repeated howling and barking. Even the faithful pony picked up her ears warily, and had to be encouraged to enter the woodland path by a sharp dig in her flanks. Within a few seconds the barking had ceased and the silence returned, only disturbed by the hooves of our ponies on the track.

‘Wolves?’ I said to Humbert.

He shook his head. ‘Just dogs, sire.’ We continued, but his assurances didn’t entirely comfort me. It was humid and dark in the dense woodland, and although we kept to the track, I longed again for the open meadows and orchards of Somershill.

We had travelled on at a steady trot for nearly an hour when the barking began again, only this time we could hear voices in the distance – both male and female. A scream stabbed the air.

We stopped the ponies and listened. The sounds were coming from somewhere ahead of us, in an area of densely coppiced chestnut – trees with long saw-edged leaves that shielded the source of the noise from view.

Dismounting, we tied the ponies to an oak tree, and then I instructed Humbert to stay with the animals, whilst I crept towards the coppice with my sword drawn. The ground was wet, despite the warmer weather, and the sun had disappeared leaving a grey tone to the woodland, which only amplified the despondency of this place. The birdsong had ceased, and the carcass of a badger lay in my way, as if the path itself might lead to the underworld. Sweat beaded across my brow and my hand shook as I tried to master my fear.

Creeping closer and closer to the source of the noise, I listened for voices. Being an accomplished sneaker and creeper, I was practised in moving about unheard – as a nocturnal visit to the abbey kitchen had sometimes been the only means of a decent meal. Other novices were often caught, but not me. My feet trod as softly across the leafy soil that day, as they had at night along the stone corridors of the abbey. I did not snap the thinnest twig nor rustle the driest leaf.

Now close, I could make out muffled voices and screaming, followed by laughter. The dogs could smell my approach, since they growled and barked, but it was too late to retreat. Tightening the grip on my sword, I moved forward to pull aside a small branch in order to spy upon the scene.

I would tell you the Plague had deadened my heart. But it had not completely. What I saw that day was as repugnant as my first sight of maggots in a wound or the bulbous lesions of a leper’s face. There, in a small clearing, I saw de Caburn with his doublet raised and his braies by his ankles. He was leaning over a girl with her gown hitched up to her waist and her legs forced apart. Three men stood behind. Two were dressed in the garb of servants and I did not recognise them. But de Caburn’s third companion was well known to me. It was Cornwall. And by his face I had the impression he was waiting to take his turn.

And then de Caburn moved aside and I could see their victim.

It was Mirabel.

There was no moment of hesitation, or contemplation of the best course of action. Instead I rushed from my cover with a raised sword. ‘Get away from her!’ I shouted.

But de Caburn was a knight and had served the king in France. I could not hope to frighten such a man. He swerved deftly as I swiped at him, causing me to stumble and fall. Getting quickly to my feet, I attempted another strike, but this time de Caburn kicked me easily to the ground and then booted me again and again until a fierce pain seared through my body.

When I was completely subdued, he placed the tip of his sword at my neck. ‘Are you spying on me, de Lacy?’

I cried out for Humbert to come to my aid, but it was a mistake since this only caused de Caburn quickly to send his two servants into the forest to track down my companion. And then, as I looked through a swollen eye at Mirabel’s trembling body, a terrible realisation came upon me. ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’ I said to de Caburn.

He only laughed at me.

‘You and Cornwall. You murdered the Starvecrow sisters.’

Now he sneered. ‘Who?’

I should have considered this possibility. I should have examined the bodies of my sisters further and looked for evidence. ‘You raped them first. Didn’t you?’

He kicked me again in the face, but I would not be silenced.

Blood trickled from my mouth. ‘Cornwall invented the dog head story to cover your crimes.’ I felt a tooth come loose. ‘You’re rapists and murderers.’ The tooth dropped to the forest floor. ‘Both of you.’

At these words, de Caburn resumed his attack, but John of Cornwall did not answer my accusation, nor join in my torture. He simply slipped away into the coppice and silently disappeared.

His desertion went unnoticed by de Caburn, as the man was too interested in trying to kill me. He even failed to notice when Mirabel picked up my fallen sword and crept up behind him. She should have used the opportunity to flee while de Caburn was occupied with my termination. But I am pleased she didn’t. Her face was twisted into a knot of hatred and she might even have had the strength to fell our enemy – but I must have given her away, for just as she attempted to swing the weapon, de Caburn turned on his heels and pushed her to the ground. She screamed, calling him the foulest of names, but he just laughed at her.

There was indeed a monster in this forest.

Our only hope now was Humbert, but within moments he was also marched into the clearing by de Caburn’s men – his face cut and his tunic torn.

De Caburn recognised Humbert immediately. ‘Look. It’s my wife’s little boot-licker.’ He sauntered over and poked his sword into the boy’s groin. ‘Did my wife leave you, boot-licker?’ Humbert didn’t look up, but his shoulders were beginning to shudder. De Caburn pushed the sword in harder and put his face right into Humbert’s. ‘You wanted to lick more than her boots, didn’t you?’ Humbert’s tears now flowed. ‘Isn’t that right, boy?’

The two servants laughed at him. Perhaps it was de Caburn’s taunts, or perhaps it was the recollection of my brothers’ bullying, because Humbert screwed up his face and spat at de Caburn. I have rarely seen so much malice concentrated into so small a ball of spittle.

De Caburn screamed with fury. He wiped the spittle from his face and went to stab the boy, when a sudden radiance flared through the air, followed by a deafening boom that was as loud as a hammer breaking through the glass of a cathedral window. A strong burst of flame threw de Caburn and his men to the floor. The dogs broke free of their leashes and fled into the trees.

I had shielded my eyes instinctively, but Mirabel was dazed – her clothes and hair burnt. She was alive, whereas de Caburn and his men appeared lifeless and blackened, having taken the full force of the blast by virtue of being upright when it came upon us. Only Humbert remaining standing – like a pillar of scorched stone.

I took Mirabel’s limp hand to try to rouse her. But then, through a cloud of grey and acrid smoke, a figure ran towards us, waving the fumes from his face.

It was Brother Peter.

He grasped me in a powerful embrace. ‘Oswald! You’re alive. Thank the Almighty. I thought I’d made a terrible mistake.’

‘It was you?’

‘Yes.’

‘What was it?’

‘I’ll tell you later,’ he said, pulling me up. ‘We need to get out of here.’ He turned to de Caburn and his men, who were beginning to groan. ‘Quickly. They’re coming round.’

I staggered to my feet and we lifted Mirabel between us. Her hair was sooty and her thin clothes were burnt away to reveal the blackened skin of her legs. I felt guilty, since Humbert and I had been protected from the force of the blast by the leather of our tunics and boots.

Brother Peter gave his cloak to Mirabel and we wrapped her up like a small child against the wind. Then we carried her away to the ponies, but we soon found my own mount was too small to take the weight of both of us – so I was forced to use the horse that Brother Peter had ridden in our pursuit. It was my beloved Tempest, who seemed every bit as pleased to see me as I was to see him. The flames and boom hardly promised to have settled his mercurial nerves, but Brother Peter whispered into his ear and stroked his neck, before sending Mirabel and myself on our way. He and Humbert followed closely behind on the ponies.

In the distance de Caburn called my name.

His voice bore the vengeance of the Furies.

Gilbert was reluctant to wait upon Mirabel, despite her obvious injuries, so I persuaded Mother to perform the duty – once we had established Mirabel was neither my whore, nor a witch. She was given a bed in the ladies’ bedchamber, a draught of Brother Peter’s sleeping tonic, and was left to recover from the horror of the day. Mother promised to keep a vigil at her side and to feed her ale and honey if she awoke.

Once I had washed myself clean of the sooty residue, I sought out Brother Peter in the library. He was consulting his books on herbs, and writing some notes onto a separate piece of parchment.

‘Come in quickly, Oswald. I have your tooth here. If we replace it now, it will grow roots again.’

My tongue found the empty gap in my front teeth. ‘How did you find it?’

‘It was lying on the ground near where you fell. I have it in this cup.’

He showed me a small white piece of bone floating in some sour-smelling milk. ‘Are you sure it’s mine?’ I asked.

‘Of course it is, Oswald. I would recognise your tooth anywhere. Now sit down here.’ He took my head in his hands. ‘Open your mouth.’ His long fingers tasted salty and rough as he pressed my tooth back into its cavity. But it wasn’t painful.

‘I suppose it was Mother who told you where I was going?’ I said. ‘Even though I asked her not to.’

‘You know the woman can’t keep a secret, Oswald.’ He passed me a bottle. ‘Here. Drink some of this to clear your mouth of corruption.’

The brandy was both fiery and soothing about my gums. ‘Thank you for coming, Brother.’

Peter took the bottle from me and drank a little himself. ‘Why did you do it, Oswald? It was very foolhardy.’

‘De Caburn’s taken all my men, Brother. I had to do something.’