Plague Land (35 page)

The judge held the side of his head and cried out in pain.

Peter bowed to the earl. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘
Alors
. Speak.’

‘I came here to inform the court of my discovery. The Cynocephalus. The dog-headed beast.’

The earl snorted. ‘
Une bête
?’

‘It is responsible for the murder of Lord Versey and the Starvecrow sisters.’

‘A dog head?
Qu’est-ce que c’est
?’

‘It is a sinful creature that has crept here from the east, bringing plague and pestilence to our lands. It has the head of a wolf and the body of a man.’

The earl pulled his chin into his neck and frowned. ‘I don’t know it.’

‘Ask Father John, my lord,’ said Peter. ‘He was the first to identify the mark of the dog-headed beast on the Starvecrow sisters. He brought the creature to our attention and knows of its guilt.’

The earl leant forward to regard Cornwall. ‘
C’est vrai
?’ Cornwall looked blank at his words, not understanding even the most simple of French. ‘Is that true?
Père Jean
?’ said the earl, now becoming irritated again.

Cornwall remained silent for a few moments as the wheels and pulleys of his mind worked quickly. He would appear a fool for accusing me of the murders, when he had previously cited dog heads. On the other hand, he risked being called a murderer himself – a charge I was having some success in promoting.

Cornwall opened his cloak tentatively. ‘I am heartened to hear Brother Peter admit to the existence of such beasts, my lord. Both he and Lord Somershill have previously denied them.’

Peter put his hands together and bowed most obsequiously to Cornwall. ‘I now regret my former intransigence. I most humbly beg your forgiveness, Father John.’ I tried to get Peter’s attention, but he steadfastly ignored me.

The earl beckoned his knights from the jury bench. They spoke softly in French, but since the earl’s whispers were at the level of ordinary conversation, his words were hardly a secret. Anybody with the rudiments of his language could understand that he was asking his knights if they had ever heard of such creatures. There was a general shrugging and questioning of the story until one of his party claimed to have sighted a similar beast, in the forests of Gascony.

The earl then waved the men away and pointed to Brother Peter. ‘You know where this dog head is?’ Peter nodded. ‘You can lead some men there?’

‘Of course.’

‘
Allez
. Go quickly. Bring the creature back. I want to see it.’

My heart began to drum against my chest. Peter’s deception would be too easy to expose. I wished he had left me to pursue Cornwall rather than concoct this preposterous story.

Peter stepped forward nervously. ‘I would be pleased to capture the dog-headed beast, my lord. But I shall need the assistance of your knights and squires.’ The earl now looked uneasy. Perhaps this was Peter’s plan? To draw the best men away from Somershill, so I might escape?

‘You may take my squires,’ said the earl. ‘My knights stay here.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘And take
Père Jean
.’

Brother Peter froze. ‘That’s not necessary, my lord. I have enough experience of dealing with devilry. I’m sure Father John would rather stay here.’ Cornwall felt his cloak nervously, unsure whether it was a good idea to be part of this search party or not.

‘
Non
. Take him!’ The earl turned to his men. ‘He can smell out the evil, eh?’ The joke was as thin as when I had cracked it – but on this occasion it was met with great guffaws.

Then, like a child suddenly bored of a game, the earl signalled that he wanted to clear the hall. The jury headed for the tavern, Deaf Ellingham collected his papers, and the villagers filed out. Only I remained in custody. Taken back to the gaol house, from where I watched the search party leave on horseback.

The afternoon was dissolving into evening, and a low haze hung over the meadow outside my small window. I could almost smell autumn, and had I been a boy who believed in portents and prophecy, I would have taken its promise of dampness and decay as a bad omen.

I did not understand what Brother Peter was planning, and could not see how this hunt for dog heads would help me.

I felt damned.

Chapter Nineteen

The night was heavy and still, and the moon was bright. I lay awake watching the shadows on the wall again and listening to the snoring of the squire who had been left behind to guard me. I wondered if I would be hanged tomorrow, when, inevitably, they would not find a dog-headed beast. I was both tired and alert, so that every time I closed my eyes all I could see were flashing images. The more I tried to dislodge them, the faster they blinked and burnt, until they spun into a skewer of pain that bored relentlessly into the back of my eye.

As the sun began to rise, sleep finally found me, but it was only for the briefest of time. I was woken up by the sound of voices. Excited voices. Urgent, frightened voices. And there was a smell too. It was the true smell of autumn. Of wet wood smoking in the hearth.

I rattled the door. ‘What’s going on?’ I shouted through the cracks.

The door was unexpectedly opened. ‘They’ve found the dog head,’ said the squire. His face was red and animated. ‘You’re free to go, sire.’ He bowed to me. ‘The earl says so.’

‘What do you mean? What dog head?’

‘They found it hiding, sire. They’re going to burn it.’

I tried to leave, but found my progress blocked by the earl himself. His long and finely dressed arm crossed the doorway like the rail of a gate.

‘My lord,’ I said and bowed my head.

‘You have heard the news, eh? A dog head.’ He laughed. ‘I have never seen such a creature.
Un visage comme un loup
. A wolf. You want to watch it burn?’

‘I don’t know what you’re burning, my lord. But it cannot be a dog head. They do not exist.’

I went to push past him, but the earl pressed a hand against my chest. ‘
Non
,
non
. It is a monster, de Lacy.
Un diable
. I say it must burn!’

‘But—’

He lowered his chin and raised his thick eyebrows. ‘This is my verdict, eh?’

‘But I think that—’

He clapped his hands. ‘Enough!’

‘May I go then, my lord?’

‘
Bientôt
. Soon.’

He sniffed the air of the cell in disgust, waving to the squire for his bag of fragrant herbs. He pressed the bag firmly to his nose and then beckoned for me to follow him outside.

As I left the cell he put his arm around my shoulders. ‘Stay a while, de Lacy. We are friends now, eh? I want to talk to you.’

‘But I must—’

‘I have something for you, de Lacy.
Un cadeau
.’

‘A gift?’

‘
Oui
. Of course!’ He said this as if we often exchanged presents. I felt sweat begin to form in my armpits. ‘I have decided you will have Versey. As well as Somershill.’ He punched my side in jest, but his long limbs encased me like the legs of a spider, and his breath smelt sour.

‘But de Caburn has daughters,’ I said. ‘And my sister Clemence is his widow. Surely they will inherit the estate?’

He snorted. ‘
Non
,
non
. Send her to a nunnery. I will not discuss my business with women. We are
voisins
now. Neighbours. We share interests.’ He leant forward and feigned a whisper. ‘De Caburn was a fool.
Non
?’

‘A fool?’

‘
Oui
.
Il riait toujours
.’

I must have frowned, giving the earl to believe I didn’t understand his French.

‘He was always laughing, de Lacy.’ His face contorted. ‘But why? It is very foolish.’

‘But I thought you and de Caburn were friends?’

He squeezed me tightly. ‘
Jamais
!
Non
. And I am happy the Devil has taken him. He didn’t pay his dues.
Vous comprenez
?’

I understood perfectly. I was younger, less experienced, and more easily bullied than de Caburn. And the earl had belatedly realised that he could exact more money from me.

I wriggled free. ‘I must go, my lord.’

‘
Oui
.
Allez
. Go to the burning,’ he said, slapping me roundly across the back. ‘But I will return in a month. We will talk more then.’ As I sped away, he shouted to me, ‘Remember, de Lacy.
Vous êtes Seigneur Versey
. I said so.’

I ran towards the smoke that rose into a pale sky. A noisy crowd was already gathered about its flames, and pushing my way through their backs I soon came up against two of the earl’s squires as they dragged an angry and struggling woman away from the fire. It was Joan Bath.

She screamed with unhallowed fury. Her face was stained with tears and mud. ‘Stop this!’ she bawled. But the crowd about her only hissed and jeered. A small boy kicked at her dress, to which she responded by spitting.

And then she caught sight of my face and managed to pull herself free of the guards, clutching at my legs with the desperation of a child being separated from his mother. ‘Stop them, sire.’ She choked. ‘Please. Stop them! It’s not a dog head they are burning.’

I knelt down to help her, but she was soon peeled away from me by the heavy hands of the squires, and once again hauled off into the sea of people.

‘The priest betrayed me!’ she screamed, before disappearing into the uproar. ‘It’s he who should burn!’

Now I pushed my way to the flames themselves. ‘Let me through,’ I shouted.

At first those about me didn’t respond, only turning to look at me when I grabbed at their tunics. Perhaps they had forgotten who I was? A young girl asked me to lift her so she might see the sinner die. A ragged boy tried to sell me a faggot of fat for half a penny.

And then a wail cut through the air. It was thin and piteous and came from within the pyre itself – but pushing my way through to the flames, I found no curling and blackened body tied to a stake. No sooty chains or iron hoops. Only the carcass of a bull, with the fire now licking at the brown and white hair of its coat.

The beast had not been skinned and its mouth was jammed open with a thick metal skewer. I recognised the animal immediately. It was my best Simmental bull, Goliath. But why were they burning such a valuable beast? I couldn’t understand. Goliath had sired most of our dairy herd. We could not afford such waste. And then a strange thing caught my eye. Beneath the creature’s distended belly something seemed to move about like a rat inside a sack of barley. I tried to look closer, but the heat repelled me.

Then the plaintive call came again. A groan, followed by the high-pitched scream of a vixen. I grasped the man standing next to me. It was my reeve, Featherby. ‘How can the beast be calling?’ I said. ‘Is it still alive?’