The Gallows Curse (45 page)

    'I
anoint... I anoint thee with . . . holy oil in the name of the Trinity that
thou mayest be saved for ever and ever.'

    Raffe
bowed his head, crossing himself, and so fervently did he pray that he almost
missed the sound of the footsteps crossing the courtyard. But a man who has
watched through many a long night waiting for that slight intake of breath that
the assassin makes before he sticks the dagger in your back or slices his knife
across your throat, can never again give himself over to prayer or sleep or
even love-making without his sixth sense remaining ever watchful.

    Quicker
than an arrow flies from a bow, Raffe had withdrawn the lantern and closed the
trapdoor over the prisoner hole. Below him, he heard a shriek of fear from the
priest. Raffe stood astride the wooden door in the hope that his voice would
carry downwards as well as across the courtyard.

    'Who
goes there?' he challenged as loudly as he could.

    He
prayed that the priest would have the sense to stay still and would not in his
panic lose his wits so far as to cry out.

    'What
are you doing skulking in the shadows, gelding?'

    Devil's
arse! It was Hugh. The last man Raffe wanted to see that night.

    Raffe
strode as rapidly as he could into the courtyard to draw Hugh away from any
sound the priest might be making down there, trapped in the darkness with the
rotting corpse.

    'Doing
my rounds as a steward should, making sure that no one is helping themselves to
the stores. And you, what keeps you awake at this late hour — can't find a
woman to warm your bed?'

    By
the scowl on Hugh's face he knew he'd hit the mark.

    'A
bed-warmer is all the use you can put a woman to, isn't it, gelding?'

    Raffe
noticed with some satisfaction that Hugh was limping. The rumour among the
sniggering servants was that he'd been thrown from his horse earlier in a hunt
that day. His fall and the fact that the hunt had failed to kill a single boar
had made him even more foul than usual.

    Hugh
nodded in the direction of the gatehouse. 'One of my brother's men, Raoul, has
not returned from Norwich. I intend to rouse that bone-idle gatekeeper to learn
if Raoul has sent word about his delay.'

    So
they didn't yet know about Raoul. Raffe muttered a rapid prayer of thanks for
that. But he had to prevent Hugh from going to the gatehouse. If Hugh found the
gatekeeeper absent it wouldn't just be Walter who suffered; sooner or later
Hugh would be bound to discover who had sent Walter away and his suspicions
would be thoroughly aroused.

    But
Raffe was careful to betray nothing of his anxiety on his face. 'If a message
had come, word would have been sent to you straight away.'

    'Walter
would have sent a servant with a message, but since you never bother to school
them in their duties, no doubt the numbskull would have forgotten what he was
about before he was half-way across the yard. There's not enough wit between
the whole pack of servants in this manor to animate a single slug'

    He
made to turn in the direction of the gatehouse, but Raffe blocked his way.

    'I
wouldn't go into the gatehouse if I were you. Walter's stricken with a fever.
It might be nothing more than a touch of marsh ague, but if it's a contagion
then it could spread. We won't know how serious it is till morning. In the
meantime, I told him to go to his bed and I'd take his watch.'

    Walter
and his woman would be sow-drunk by now, and with luck he'd have a raging
hangover by morning and would look sick enough to convince anyone he'd spent
the night with a fever.

    Hugh
rocked on the balls of his feet, half of him plainly determined to see for
himself, the other not wanting to go anywhere near a sick man for his own
safety.

    Finally
caution won out. 'Bring me word at once, no matter what the hour, if there is
word from Raoul. I trust you can get that much right at least.'

    Hugh
gestured towards the gate. 'Well, go on, gelding. If you're keeping watch, do
it. Lie down and keep watch, with the other hounds. At least for once you know
your place. I always said it was among the curs.'

    Raffe
had to force himself to keep silent, though it almost cost a tooth for he was
clenching his jaw so hard, but he meekly walked across to the gate and sat down
by the brazier, warming his hands.

    Hugh
stood watching, then, apparently satisfied, he climbed the steps up to the
Great Hall. An unnerving silence descended on the dark courtyard. It was so
quiet Raffe could hear the leaves rustling on the trees outside, but still he
dared not move to release the priest from his tomb. A flicker of movement at
one of the darkened upper casements told him Hugh was still watching him. Raffe
prayed that the priest would not think himself abandoned, and start hollering
and banging to be let out. Raffe wrapped his cloak tightly around himself and
let his head gradually droop forward on to his chest as if he was dozing.

    There
he remained for as long as he dared. Finally he let his eyes flick up to the
windows without moving his head. He could not see anyone standing there. Please
God, Hugh had grown tired of watching and had at last retired to his bed. Raffe
feigned a yawn, stretched and stood up, ambling round the courtyard as if he
was merely checking all was well. Once he reached the arches under the Great
Hall, where he could no longer be seen, he hurried to the prisoner hole and
pulled up the trapdoor; the stench rolled out like a dense cloud of fog.

    'Father,'
he whispered. 'I've come to take you to the ship.'

    There
was no reply. Raffe lay on his belly and hung the lantern down as low as he
could. The feeble light showed a crumpled figure lying at the bottom of the
pit. His eyes were closed and he was not stirring. Sweet Holy Virgin, was he
dead, suffocated?

    As
rapidly as he could, Raffe descended the ladder. There was scarcely room at the
bottom for him to stand without treading on the prone form of the priest. Raffe
bit his lip hard to stop himself from gagging and carefully avoided looking
into the black hole in which the open coffin lay. Awkwardly he bent down and
shook the priest, but there was no response. He pushed his hand inside the
man's shirt and with enormous relief discovered a faint heartbeat, though the
man's skin was fish-cold.

    Raffe
dragged the limp body upwards and crouched down so that he could hoist it
across his shoulders. It wasn't easy mounting a ladder in such a confined space
with the dead weight of a man on his shoulders and he repeatedly felt the
priest's head bump and graze against the stone wall. They were almost at the
top when the rung beneath his foot splintered under their combined weight and
Raffe felt himself plunging sideways.

    The
ladder twisted, almost throwing Raffe off, but for once the narrow space proved
his salvation. His shoulder crashed hard against the wall, but the ladder was
prevented from falling any further.

    Raffe
balanced there, trying to get his breath, but the ominous creaking of the wood
reminded him that the staves would not bear his weight for long. With a supreme
effort he managed to push the priest's body up through the hole so that the
weight balanced on the rim. Then, kicking against the ladder, he heaved himself
up beside the man.

    Raffe's
limbs trembled with the effort, but fearful that the sounds might have aroused
sleeping servants, he had no choice but to heave the priest's body back over
his shoulder and stagger as fast as he could to the gate. He abandoned caution
for speed; if Hugh was watching now Raffe couldn't bluff his way out of this
one. His only hope was to reach the boat before Hugh could rouse his men and
get to the gate.

    At
the bank of the river he sank to his knees, thankfully dropping the body to the
ground. He gave the owl call to summon the boy. At first there was no answer,
then he called again and this time a peewit cry answered. Almost at once he saw
the dark smudge of the boat emerging from the lee of the islet.

    'What
happened?' the boy asked fearfully, catching sight of the body on the grass.
'Is he dead?'

    'He
lives. He's just fainted,' Raffe assured him.

    'Fainted?'
The boy prodded the body cautiously with his bare toe, as if he'd never heard
of such a thing before, for the marsh-dwellers are a hardy lot and not given to
swooning like milk-sop priests.

    Raffe
unceremoniously heaved the priest into the boat. Trying to find something with
which to revive the man, Raffe reached for the basket of food he'd left with
the boy. All that remained was the flagon of wine, and then only because the
lad was unused to it and couldn't abide the taste, as he told Raffe, wrinkling
up his nose. Between them, they managed to pour a little wine down the priest's
throat, which at least made him open his eyes, though it nearly choked him.

    Raffe
glanced behind him towards the manor. All was quiet save for the rushing water
of the river, no sounds of pursuit. Yet with Hugh on the prowl, Raffe dared not
be found absent from the gate.

    'I
can't come with you, lad. You'll have to take him alone to the meeting place.
There's an old jetty downstream of here by the Fisher's Inn. There'll be a boat
waiting there with two men in it. Give them this as a sign.' Into the boy's
grubby palm Raffe tipped the token Talbot had entrusted to him. 'And this,' he
said handing the boy a small purse, 'is payment for the men who wait for you
downstream. They'll know what to do. Can you scull him there yourself? It's not
far.'

    'Course
I can,' the boy replied with disdain, 'but what about him? He's moon-mazed, he
is.'

    The
priest lay curled up on the bottom of the boat, staring unblinkingly up at the
sky, his teeth chattering with shock and cold. He was muttering to himself over
and over,
Sed libera nos — deliver us
! Though it seemed he could
remember no more of the prayer.

    The
boy eyed him warily. 'Suppose he attacks me or tries to jump from the boat?
There was a man on our isle once got mazed by the boggarts and ran out into the
mire though he'd lived on the marsh all his life and knew the mire would
swallow him.'

    'Just
get him to the men. If he stirs, give him the rest of the wine. That'll calm
him.'

    The
boy still looked doubtful, but he finally nodded and, taking a firm grip of his
scull as if he meant to crack the priest across the head with it at the first
sign of trouble, he steered the boat out into the centre of the river. In only
a few strokes the boat had slid into the darkness and was gone.

    
Bracken
- When bracken is grown to its full height, if it be cut across near the base,
marks will be found on the stem. Some mortals believe these to be the letters
signifying Christ, others the Devil's hoof print, and some find therein the
initials of those they are to marry. At Midsummer the root of the bracken may
be dug up, carved into the likeness of a hand and baked till it shrivels.
Mortals call it
Dead man's hand
and use it to ward off the power of
witches and demons.

    The
seeds from the bracken will enable the gatherer to summon any living creature,
beast or human, from the earth, air or water. The seeds also render the
gatherer invisible if he should swallow them or place them in his shoe. A
parcel of seed plaited into a horse's mane will make horse and rider invisible
to evil spirits on the road or to thieves who lie in wait for the traveller.

    But
the seeds are not easily gathered. It must be done just before the midnight
hour on Midsummer's Eve. The gatherer must place a cloth of white linen or a
pewter dish beneath the frond. It is dangerous to touch the frond at this hour
with his bare hand, so he must bend it with a forked hazel twig so that the
seed shall fall upon the cloth or dish. But bracken is well guarded by spirits
and demons who do not desire that mortals should gain such power. They will
torment the gatherer as he tries to collect the seed, pinching and striking
him, and appearing in such a terrible aspect that some mortals have died of
fright. And many return home to find the seed they gathered in the cloth has
vanished.