The Gallows Curse (27 page)

    She
thought of the small chest crammed with the kirtles and trinkets she had
received from Lady Anne, standing in her mother-in-law's cottage. What would
that old witch do? Wear them? Sell them? Anger boiled up in her. Joan had never
thought her good enough for her son, but to do all in her power to get her
daughter-in-law hanged — how could any woman be that spiteful? She shuddered at
the thought that if Joan'd had her way, she would even now be hanging in a
gibbet with ravens pecking at her sightless eyes. Elena tried to remind herself
that all that mattered was that she was alive. She knew she should be grateful
for that. But then she remembered where she was, and the fear and revulsion
engulfed her again.

    Several
women were already sleeping in the chamber. Some lay sprawled across their
pallets with arms and legs spilling out from beneath the coverings, others were
curled up in tight balls, furrowing their brows in their sleep as the light from
Talbot's lantern brushed their faces. Talbot marched down between the
platforms, stepping carefully across the firepit in the centre though there was
no fire burning now. Towards the back of the room, the pallets were occupied by
four or five young boys, who were arranged head to foot like a row of herring
on the monger's slab, tugging the blankets towards them as they fought one
another in their dreams.

    Talbot
paused by two women who lay side by side whispering to each other.

    'Here,'
he said in a gruff whisper. 'Ma's taken in another bub. Find her a corner, will
you, Luce. Tomorrow, take her in hand and show her the rules. She's only to
clean for now, nothing more. And, Luce, mind you treat her like your own
sister. She belongs to the Bullock.'

    A
dark-haired girl, with large doe eyes, propped herself up on one elbow.

    'Belong
to Master Raffe, do you? Aren't you the lucky one! What's he like then, the
Bullock? They say he's got tricks that not even a ship's whore knows.' She
tugged at the wet, muddy hem of Elena's skirts. 'If we're to be sisters you
must tell everything he does in bed, I want every detail, mind.'

    Elena
snatched her skirt out of her grasp. 'I haven't . . . I've never let him touch
me. He's an old man.'

    Luce
laughed. 'You wait till you see some of the wrinkled old cocks we get in here,
you'll think Master Raffe a pullet compared to them. What's your name, kitten?'

    'El—'

    Elena
was stopped mid-word by a heavy cuff from Talbot. 'Goose-head! You don't ever
give your real name to anyone in here. Here, Luce,' he said, shaking his head
as if he despaired of her stupidity, 'you give her a name.'

    The
girl chuckled softly. 'Prickly little thing, isn't she, and with hair that red,
we'd best call her Holly. Tell you what, with flame on top like that, there'll
be no hiding her light under a bush, not even a roomful of bushes.'

    Talbot
laughed.

    Luce
glanced around the room, then pointed to a pallet opposite her own.

    'Take
that one, next to Apricot; just chuck her bundle on to the top of that box.
She's always spreading herself out.'

    Elena
picked her way across to the vacant pallet and, struggling out of her sodden
shoes, lay down fully clothed, her scrip still fastened around her waist. Her
teeth began to chatter and she shivered uncontrollably.

    'You
not got any covers, Holly?' A coarse blanket came flying through the air,
hitting Elena in the face. 'Get out of your wet clothes, you'll catch your
death.'

    Elena
gratefully drew the blanket over her, but she still made no attempt to peel off
her damp clothes, though she longed to be warm and dry. To be naked in this
place would be to admit she was now one of them and she wasn't. She wouldn't
ever allow herself to be.

    Luce
glanced at Talbot and shrugged. Talbot, shaking his head as if he could never
understand women, lumbered from the room.

    Ma
poured a goblet of wine for herself and pushed the flagon across her table
towards Talbot. He shook his head, as he usually did. Talbot could down his own
bodyweight in ale of an evening and still remember every word of gossip he'd
picked up in the Adam and Eve Inn, but he'd never had the stomach for wine.

    He
hovered uneasily in front of Ma's table. He knew the signs; that silent and too
concentrated paring of an apple with her razor-sharp knife meant Ma was not
happy, and if she wasn't happy, you could be certain she'd make damn sure he
wasn't either.

    'So,
my darling,' Ma said. 'Why don't you tell me why I'm really risking my neck
taking in this girl? And don't say you're just doing a favour for the Bullock.'

    Talbot
grinned. 'She's a pretty wench, has an innocence about her some men would love
to spoil in more ways than one. She'll earn you good money.'

    'I
never take in girls who don't bring me money. What else?' The rubies on Ma's
stubby fingers flashed in the candlelight as she scraped her long talons down
the pewter goblet.

    Talbot's
grin faded instantly. He knew when Ma's patience was wearing thin.

    'All
right, Ma, if you must know, back in the spring Raffe told me that a lass in
the manor had overheard a man talking about bringing French spies into England.
She didn't recognize who was talking, but it turns out the rat was none other
than Hugh of Roxham, Osborn's little brother. Raffe wouldn't report it for fear
Hugh would get to the lass first. And I reckon that little red-head downstairs
is the same girl Raffe was trying to protect then. Now it seems she's fallen
foul of the other brother too.'

    Ma's
yellow-green eyes opened so wide they looked as if they might explode out of
her head. 'What! And you persuaded me to take her in here! I'll have your bollocks
roasted for this — while you're still wearing them.'

    Talbot
took a step backwards, his hands held up in protest.

    'Wait,
Ma. Don't you see? This could be good for us. Sheriff is always trying to line
his filthy little coffers with taxes and fines. And with that bastard John
demanding more and more money from Norwich and the other towns for his wars, it
won't be long before the sheriffs round here again finding some excuse to fine
us again. Osborn's got a long reach and he's a favourite of John. If anyone
could persuade the sheriff to leave us in peace, he could. We just need to give
him a reason.

    'The
lass has only murdered her brat, not like she's killed a nobleman, so we could
tell her John would pardon her if she delivered a traitor to him. He'd probably
hang her anyway, but what does that matter? Thing is, Osborn's got too much to
lose to risk his brother being accused of treason. Once he learns what this
little red-head knows he might be persuaded to keep the sheriff off our backs
and even to contribute a generous sum to our little convent here, just to make
sure we keep the lass quiet.'

    Ma's
fingers tightened round the neck of the goblet. 'Blackmail is a dangerous game,
especially when it involves the likes of Osborn. It could see us all on the
gallows.' She fixed Talbot with an unblinking stare. 'Now, you listen to me, my
darling, and you listen well. We'll keep this girl safe till we see which way
the wind is blowing. If the time's right we'll play your game, but if I think
the risks are too high I'll sell her to Osborn myself. But I'll decide. Until
then you keep your mouth shut, you understand?'

    Talbot
nodded. It was the best he could hope for from Ma.

    He
was almost at the door when she said quietly, 'That nobleman back in the Holy
Land who would have hanged you for thieving, I seem to recall you telling me
once his name was Hugh. Not the same Hugh, by any chance, was it, my darling?'

    Talbot
scowled at her. 'Everyone was at it, filling their pockets, the nobles were the
worst. I only took their leavings. And that fecking bastard Hugh had me
searched and, brazenly as you like, pocketed all I'd taken. Then he told his
men to string
me
up for thieving. He was the bloody thief. It was him
who should have been hanged. Those were my spoils. I'd found 'em. They were
mere chicken scraps to a man like him, but that bit of gold and silver would
have set me up for life. Could've bought myself a juicy little business and
been me own man, I could, if it weren't for that swine.'

    'Now we're
getting to the real nub of it.' Ma smiled, showing her sharp white teeth. 'The
Bullock's been a good friend to us and I'll take this girl for his sake, but if
I find you putting me or this house in danger just to take revenge on this Hugh
of yours, I swear I'll make your life so miserable you'll be cursing Raffe to
the fires of hell for ever saving you from that noose.'

    Elena
lay rigid on her back, listening to the groans, snores and mutters of the
sleepers around her. She heard the last of the customers stumbling drunkenly
across the courtyard, some singing, some calling goodbyes in hoarse whispers
loud enough to raise the saints from their perfumed coffins. Every now and then
the door would open and another woman or boy would stumble into the room and
pick their way across the prone bodies to their own little space, slip off
their clothes and slide naked under the covers, sinking into sleep almost at
once.

    Just
a few hours ago Elena had prayed to be saved from the gallows and now . . . now
she didn't know what to pray. How long would it be before she was made to join
them out there in those other rooms, and what would they make her do? All the
jokes and conversations she listened to between Marion and the other women
began to echo again in her head, the way they giggled over what they'd done
with men, things Elena couldn't imagine any woman doing or wanting to do. Half
the time she'd thought they were making it up just to make the younger girls
blush, now she wasn't sure.

    She
had only ever slept with Athan, and the thought of any other man lying on top
of her, his hands all over her, made her gag, never mind the thought of what
else they might want her to do. She turned over and winced as her tender
swollen breasts pressed against the coarse straw of the pallet. She longed
desperately to feel her baby's soft little mouth nuzzling against her, to hold
him just one last time.

    Elena's
eyes burned with tears from exhaustion, hunger, fear, but mostly for the great
ache that was the absence of Athan and her son. She loved Athan so much. But
the face that rose up in front of her when she tried to picture him was
distorted with the doubt she'd seen in his eyes when he'd last looked at her.
Did he really believe she could have done it? Why hadn't he spoken up for her
to Osborn? Why hadn't he even tried to come to her last night in the pit? He
said he would always love her. Those were the last words he had spoken to her
and she clung desperately to them. But could you really love someone and
believe them capable of murdering your own little son?

    Tears
forced their way from under Elena's eyelids but angrily she rubbed them away.
Of all of them, Raffaele had been the only one to help her in the end and she
must believe he would continue to protect her. Who else was there she could
trust? If she allowed herself to think that there was no one, she'd never be
able to go on living.

    That
first day after he'd taken her to see Lady Anne, Raffaele had promised to be
like a father to her and no father would let his daughter be used as a whore.
He had sent her here to keep her safe, and it had been a good plan, for
Osborn's men would never think to search here. And when Gytha returned to
Gastmere and proved her innocent, she would be able to go home again to Athan
and he would look at her tenderly the way he had that night they conceived
their son. Everything would come right. It must. All she had to do was wait.
Clinging to that single thread of hope, Elena finally drifted into an exhausted
sleep.