Plague Land (29 page)

‘Then offer your men higher wages to return, Oswald. You can’t use aggression against such a man as de Caburn. He is strong and violent. You must use your brains.’

‘I had to confront him for once, Brother.’

Peter threw up his hands. ‘But what good has it done you? The man nearly killed you.’

We sat in silence for a few moments. He tapped his foot upon the floor. ‘I think I’ve solved the mystery of the Starvecrow murders,’ I told him.

He stopped tapping. ‘Oh yes?’

‘It was de Caburn and Cornwall.’

He said nothing.

‘They rape young girls and then murder them. The dog head story was an invention to disguise their crime.’

Peter now pulled at the wart on his neck. ‘I see.’ He sighed. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m going to write to the sheriff.’

Peter stood up and clasped his head in his hands. ‘What? You can’t do that!’

‘Why not?’

‘I told you to use your brains, Oswald! De Caburn is protected by the earl. And Cornwall is a priest.’

‘But I have witnesses.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘So I should just forget about it?’

‘De Caburn and Cornwall will be punished, Oswald.’

‘But not at my hands. Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Let God deal with them.’

I raised my voice. ‘No. Alison and Matilda will receive earthly justice. I will make sure of it.’

Peter took a deep breath and went to argue back, but stopped himself. The awkward silence returned as Peter sat down again and resumed the tapping of his foot.

I thought about leaving, but then remembered my purpose in coming to the library. ‘So how did you make the flash and boom, Brother? Was it alchemy?’

Peter smiled weakly now. ‘Alchemy? I thought you were sceptical of such notions, Oswald.’ He stood up again. ‘Let me show you.’ He led me to the corner of the library where he lifted a blanket to reveal a pole of iron. It was as long as my arm and as thick as the trunk of a young apple tree. ‘It was a gift to me from a crusader. It comes from Arabia, I believe.’

‘Did you know it could make such a flare?’

‘He told me it would. But I’ve never used it before.’

I touched the cold, grey shaft of the weapon and tried to lift it. ‘It’s so heavy, Brother. How did you wield it?’

‘I propped it in the crook of a tree.’ He pointed to one end of the pole. ‘See. It’s hollow. I placed small stones into it at this end.’ He then pointed at a small slit drilled into the tube. ‘Then I lit a piece of rope here.’

‘But how would that cause the stones to shoot out with such force?’

He smiled again. ‘Ever the inquisitor, Oswald? There is another ingredient. It’s a black powder that I placed into the tube before the stones. The burning rope ignites this powder and causes the flare.’

‘And this powder made the soot and the smoke?’ He nodded. ‘Could you use it again?’ I asked, suddenly imagining how I might punish de Caburn and Cornwall, and gain justice for my sisters.

But it seemed Brother Peter had read my thoughts. He took the weapon away from me. ‘No. And I’m glad of it. The powder is the Devil’s dust, Oswald. I only had enough for one blast.’

‘Could you make some more?’

He flared his nostrils. ‘I’ve no idea what’s in it. And, even if I did, it would be a mistake. It’s an ill-fated material. I nearly killed you.’

He covered the metal pole with the blanket. ‘De Caburn will retaliate for this attack. He’s been shamed in front of his men.’

I nodded, knowing with morbid fatality that this was true. ‘So, what should we do?’

‘We should pray, Oswald. God will provide an answer.’

I sighed. ‘No, Brother. You know I don’t believe.’

He touched my hair and stroked it gently. ‘Please, Oswald. Take communion with me. If only to please an old man.’ I looked up at his face. His eyes were red about the rims and his face thin and grey.

But he had saved my life and I loved him.

So, I followed Brother Peter to the chapel. I took communion with him and prayed. Barely two days later our prayers were answered, though not in the way we had hoped.

Chapter Sixteen

At first light a distant figure was seen walking towards Somershill. Piers had kept the night watch from the north-west tower, and on seeing the stranger emerge from the forest he ran into the great hall and bashed the copper cook pot, rousing the whole house.

Given the urgency of the noise, I was expecting to see a group of mounted knights from Versey Castle when I rushed to the window. But from the faint awkward image it seemed as if a cripple or leper were approaching the gate of the house. The solitary figure limped forward through the early morning mist, but not without determination and purpose. And there was something familiar in their gait.

It was Mother who noticed first. ‘Look. It’s Clemence.’ She held her hand to her mouth in dismay.

‘What! Where’s her horse?’ I said.

‘Perhaps Merrion threw her off?’

Even from this distance, I could see my sister was not wearing her riding gown, so I pulled on my boots and ran out to meet her with Mother keeping to my shadows as if we were about to confront a wild animal.

If Clemence were not a wild animal, then she was an injured one. As she came fully into focus we saw a face caked in blood. Her dress was muddy and creased, and her sleeves were torn away – exposing a trail of ugly bruises that marked their path up her arms. She looked as exhausted as a camp follower returning from battle.

I rushed to embrace her, but at my touch she became as rigid as a rock. ‘What happened?’ I released her quickly from my unwelcome hold.

Her voice was weak and hoarse. ‘I am sent to you from my husband.’

‘De Caburn did this?’

She nodded.

Mother crept out from behind me and took my sister’s limp hand. ‘Did you provoke him, Clemence?’

Clemence snatched her hand away. ‘No. I did not.’ She pointed at me. ‘He did!’

‘Your husband meant to kill me, Clemence. I didn’t imagine it would lead to this.’

I would have pressed my case further except Clemence was too weak for argument. She fell to the ground sobbing and would not be comforted by either Mother or myself. As we tried to lift her, we looked up to find Humbert pounding over from the house with the speed of a hen pheasant fleeing the hounds. He ran to Clemence and pushed us aside.

‘Take me inside,’ she said to him. ‘And be gentle.’

Humbert scooped Clemence up in his arms and carried her to her old bed in the ladies’ bedchamber, where Brother Peter administered a sleeping draught. When we were sure she was sedated, Mother sent Humbert away while we stripped Clemence of her dirtiest clothes and bathed her wounds in an ointment of rosemary and tar. Given the scratches and swelling about her body, it was clear she had been both assaulted and raped – though Mother and I did not speak of this openly.

We were about to leave her sleeping next to Mirabel, when I noticed Humbert in the shadows. He must have sneaked back into the bedchamber, ghost-like as a she-cat. I didn’t have the heart to remove him, so pretended not to have seen the boy.

We ate a late breakfast in the great hall without speaking. Brother Peter chewed methodically upon his rye bread, while Hector snuffled about under the table, scavenging for crumbs. Even Mother was silent.

Suddenly, the great hall reverberated with Clemence’s screaming. ‘Get this whore away from me!’

Mother dropped a spoon into her pottage and scowled. ‘Why must she shout so? This is not Cheapside market.’

‘We should be forgiving, Mother,’ I said, leaving the table to investigate.

Brother Peter wiped some pottage from his mouth and stood up to join me. ‘Your daughter has been harshly violated, my lady. Kindness is required.’

Mother muttered something under her breath as we left the room, but we didn’t wait to hear it repeated.

Opening the heavy door to the bedchamber we found Clemence holding Mirabel by the hair. Humbert stood between them, but his efforts to stop the fight were as ineffectual as a child with flapping hands trying to break up a pair of brawling dogs.

‘What is this whore doing in my room?’ said Clemence when she saw me. Her words were slurred by the swelling to her lip.

‘Let her go,’ I said.

But Clemence twisted Mirabel’s hair more tightly, tugging it hard enough to make Mirabel squeal. I pushed past Humbert and forced Clemence to release the girl. ‘Her name is Mirabel. And she’s not a whore.’

Clemence snorted. ‘I know who she is! Flaunting herself about Versey. In front of my husband.’

Mirabel sobbed. ‘I never did, my lady. I wanted him to leave me alone.’

‘Lies!’

I grasped Clemence with both hands. ‘Mirabel was also attacked by your husband. You should have sympathy for her.’

Clemence broke free of me and slumped back down onto her bed. The energy of the fight had suddenly exhausted her, and tears began to stain her face. ‘Is that why you tried to kill my husband, little brother? To save this whore?’

‘I came across de Caburn and Cornwall in the forest,’ I told her. ‘They were attacking Mirabel. She was not the first of their victims.’

I sat down next to Clemence and stroked her forehead. She was hot, and the sweat ran greasily through her long black hair. ‘Was it de Caburn alone who did this to you?’ I asked her softly.

‘It was just him,’ she whispered to me. ‘He would have killed me, but . . .’ she almost smirked, ‘he made sure to leave me the strength to return.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

She opened her eyes and grabbed my wrist. ‘What good is being sorry, Oswald? You must avenge me.’

Brother Peter interrupted. ‘God forgive you, Lady Clemence. Do not incite your own brother to sin.’

Clemence turned to Peter, her face red and sneering. ‘I would kill de Caburn myself, if I were able. And God would be pleased about it.’

‘That is blasphemous talk.’

She burst out laughing, but it sounded as harsh as the call of a crow. ‘You won’t be so principled when he comes for you, priest. You and your precious Oswald.’

Peter remained calm. ‘And Lord Versey plans to do so?’

‘Of course he does. You burnt him. He won’t let it pass.’

‘What does he intend to do?’

‘Don’t ask me. How would I know his plans?’

She gripped her stomach and rocked to ease her pain. Peter then poured some more of the sleeping draught and attempted to feed her, but she pushed him away. ‘No more of that poison,’ she told him.

‘It would help you to sleep, madam.’

‘I don’t care to sleep!’ She was becoming angry again. Her teeth were gritted.

‘I can dilute its strength if it would please you.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I must stay awake. Remain vigilant.’

I tried to take her hand, but she waved me away. ‘You’re safe now, Clemence.’

Peter fared no better when he tried to gauge her heat by feeling her forehead. She pushed him away with surprising vigour. ‘I should inspect your wounds, my lady,’ he said.

Now she sat up straight. ‘No! Keep away from me.’

‘But I’m an infirmarer. I’ve treated a woman intimately before. It really would be—’

‘You’re not treating me intimately, priest!’ She shrank back into the bed and pulled the sheets about her.

‘But you’re running a fever. And your wounds may become corrupted.’ Peter went to place a comforting hand upon Clemence’s shoulder, but this time Humbert pressed himself in the way.

Seeing this approach was unlikely to succeed, I drew Peter back to a private corner of the room, where the others could not hear us. ‘I think we should allow Clemence to rest, Brother. Let’s approach her again tomorrow when she’s calmer.’

Peter shook his head. ‘Clemence must be treated today. She’s been wounded internally.’