The Gallows Curse (59 page)

    Luce
swept off towards the sleeping quarters where, judging by the giggles inside,
the girls were already waiting to claim their gowns.

    Elena
picked up a bunch of grapes and wandered over to the turf seat to find a place
to hang them. It wouldn't be so bad, would it, if it was only what Luce had
said? After all, at the feast days back in the village, that's what they'd all
done, danced and flirted a little. Wasn't that where she'd first noticed how
handsome Athan was, when she saw him with a group of lads at the feast, and
observed how every time she'd glanced in his direction, he seemed to be looking
at her?

    Luce
said they came from miles around. Suppose, just suppose Athan was to come here
tonight. He might if Master Raffaele had told him where she was. It would be
his chance to see her without risk of betraying her hiding place. Elena hugged
herself in delight.

    Then
just as suddenly she was seized by fear as another thought struck her. If Athan
knew where she was then he knew she was in a brothel. She had grown so used to
living in this place, she had forgotten how it would appear to Athan and his
mother, Joan, even to her own mother. Athan would think she was a common whore,
that she'd given herself to other men. He'd be disgusted. What if he came and
told her he despised her, and that he never wanted to see her again? She
couldn't bear that. She couldn't let him find her here.

    'Will
he come tonight?' a small voice whispered beside her. Looking down, she saw
Finch squatting behind the turf seat. For a moment she thought he meant Athan,
then she saw the misery etched in his face.

    The
boy tugged at her skirts. 'The werecat? Holly, will he come back for me?'

    It
was on her lips to say no, to reassure and soothe the child, but she stopped
herself. Once before she had told him everything would be all right, but it had
been far from all right, and she knew Finch had been hurt much more by that
false promise from her than by anything Hugh had done to him. The slashes on
his arms were healing well, but the scars would remain as long as he lived.

    She
stroked the pale golden curls. 'I don't know, Finch, I don't know if he will
come, but there will be lots of people here. Everyone will be together in the
garden. You won't be alone.'

    'He
could still take me to a room,' Finch said in a dead voice.

    Elena
knew that was true. Whatever Ma's plans, if any man dangled enough money in
front of her, he would be able to buy whatever he wanted, she was sure of that.

    Finch
stared anxiously about him to see if they could be overheard, then he wriggled
closer, staring up at her with a look of fierce determination.

    'I'm
gonna run away today.'

    Elena
shook her head. 'You can't, Finch, you'd never get past Talbot.'

    'I
know a different way out. I found it. In the cellars, there's another tunnel.
Leads to a gate. It's a way out of here. Talbot doesn't watch that one. He
thinks no one knows about it, 'cause it's hidden. But. . . but I can't open it
myself. I know how to, I've seen Talbot do it, but I can't do it by myself. You
could help me though. We could do it together, then we could both run away. You
want to leave here too, don't you?'

    Elena
crouched down and looked into the child's face. 'We can't, Finch, it's too
dangerous. You don't understand, there are people looking for me. I can't leave
here. Besides, where would we go? How would we live?'

    'I'm
strong, I can work. Look!' Finch clenched his small fist, lifting his thin
little arm to try to make the muscles bulge. 'I can earn money for us both and
we could sleep in a barn. You remember, Holly.
We shall be safe, diddle
diddle, deep in the hay.'

    He
smiled up at her with the unshakeable confidence of a child, his eyes bright
with excitement for the very first time she had known him.

    She
felt her own heart leap upwards. Why not? Why couldn't they just go? She didn't
have to wait for Master Raffaele, why should she? He'd made it very plain that
he had more important matters to attend to than her. Who knew when he'd come
back, if he ever did? He probably had no intention of taking her away from this
place. He had not protected her from Raoul. He'd allowed Ma to put her to work
as a whore. Maybe, maybe Ma had even paid Raffaele for her. He certainly wasn't
going to protect her from Hugh.
Stay out of his way
—those were the only
words of comfort he'd offered. Only she could save herself now.

    No
one would recognize her with her dyed hair, besides which they'd probably long
forgotten about the runaway serf. No one would be looking for a woman
travelling with a boy. There were other towns, other cities. They could go
anywhere.

    Elena
seized the boy's hands. 'Finch, are you sure about this? Are you sure the gate
really leads to the outside, not just to another cellar?'

    Finch's
eyes were sparkling. 'I saw it. I looked out through the bars and saw a great
river right outside. I could ... I could nearly touch it.'

    His
eager little grin only made him look smaller and more vulnerable. Could she
really look after them both? She had worked ever since she could toddle, but
she'd never in her life had to seek work. As a villein, she had merely done
what others told her to do. She wasn't even sure how to go about finding a
master or mistress. What if they started asking questions, demanding the
parchment to prove that she was a free woman?

    Did
the boy understand what he might be facing out there? Winter would soon be here
and if they couldn't find shelter they'd starve or freeze to death in some
stinking alley like the other beggars. But at least if they ran, Finch would
have a chance. She knew only too well what it was like to spend your days
waiting in fear and dread. If Finch had been her son, she wouldn't hesitate.

    Elena
looked down at the boy. 'If we do run away, we won't be able to stay in
Norwich. They'll come looking for us. Do you understand that? We'll have to
walk, maybe a very long way, for days, weeks even.'

    She
realized that she had no idea what might lie beyond Norwich, nor even in which
direction she should go. Not back to Gastmere, that was certain, even her dyed
hair would not disguise her there. Gastmere lay down-river of Norwich, so they
must walk upstream. But what lay upstream, another town, a marsh, a lake? She
didn't know

    Elena
bit her lip. We might not be able to find food for days. And we'll be hungry
and cold, but we'll have to keep moving no matter how tired we are or how many
blisters we have on our feet. Are you sure you can do that?'

    The
light in Finch's eyes had not dimmed for an instant. 'I can, I can! I promise.
Afore my uncle gave me to Talbot, I was hungry all the time and cold too, for I
slept with the dogs. But I never cried. I promise I won't ever cry, even if I'm
starving. Please, Holly, please let's go now, afore the werecat comes,' he
begged, tugging on her hand.

    'No,
we can't go yet. Talbot or Ma might look for us, or go to the cellars to feed
the animals. We'll have to wait until this evening, until everyone is busy,
then we won't be missed. And we'll have all night to walk in the dark with less
chance of anyone seeing us.'

    'But
what if the werecat comes afore we get away?'

    'Ma
won't let anyone in here until it's dark, not tonight.' Seeing the child's face
crumple, she said quickly, You get whatever clothes and food you can, tie them
in a bundle and hide them near the cellar door. But be careful no one sees you.
Then tonight, once the feast has started, I'll meet you.. .' she stared around
the garden trying to find a suitable place, 'over there.' She pointed to a
large bush closest to the courtyard wall. 'Keep moving around, but keep
watching that bush. I'll go there when I think it's safe. I'll nod to you. When
you see my signal you creep along to the boys' chamber and make sure it's
empty. If it is, go and hide in there till I come. Can you do that?'

    Finch
nodded eagerly and in a fit of joy suddenly hugged her, so fiercely that Elena
thought he would never let her go.

    The
moon rose bright and fat, clad only in a few wisps of cloud. The evening star
pierced the indigo sky, but few gazed upwards to see it as one by one the
lanterns were lit in the brothel garden, misting the trees with soft yellow
pools of light. The naked wooden angel now pissed wine that sprayed out in a
graceful arc from between her spread legs whenever someone pressed her
lusciously rounded breast. The older women bustled out from the kitchens,
piling the tables with platters of food, but there were none of your dainty
dishes and pewter goblets at this feast.

    Flagons
of mead, wine, ale and cider graced the little tables, surrounded by all manner
of curious little vessels a man might wish to drink from: a polished goat's
horn, a leather cup fashioned as a woman's shoe, or a breast-shaped pot from
which he could suck his chosen libation through a hole in the rosy nipple.

    There
were other plump round breasts formed from curd tarts with cherry nipples,
which nuzzled alongside goose-filled pastries shaped like men's cocks which
squirted thick rich gravy into the mouths of the biters. Custards were moulded
into buttocks, with rosehip jelly syrups dribbling between their fat cheeks.
Breads were baked into curvaceous torsos. Brawn became shapely legs and arms,
whilst rosewater pudding was moulded into sweet red lips. Pike in galentyne was
formed into a female belly, with strands of green samphire dripping with melted
butter artistically arranged as her pubic hair. In short, every part of the
human anatomy that a man could desire was fashioned in sweet or savoury, salt
or sour to whet his appetite.

    As
soon as a good crowd of men were gathered, the crowning glory of the feast was
borne in to a loud rattle of drums from the musicians who at once struck up a
lively tune. Not for these gentlemen a cooked duck artfully disguised as a
living peacock. No, a man could see exactly what meats he was being offered
here. A giant penis had been created by stuffing larks inside a boned chicken,
the chicken in a goose, the goose in a heron. At one end, on either side of the
long thick sausage of meat, two sheep's stomachs had been packed with mutton,
beef and pork until they were as round and taut as the rising moon. And, in
honour of the Archangel Michael whose feast it was, two goose wings were
attached on either side as if the whole creation was in flight.

    The
four women who bore in the flying genitals on a great wooden board swooped and
swerved in a mocking dance, wafting the tip past the girls with cries of 'You
think you can stretch to this one, Annie?' 'Now this'll give you something to
get your teeth into, girl.' The men roared their appreciation.

    All
over the garden, men and youths were lounging in twos or threes. Girls were
sprawled across their laps, feeding them meats and pastries from their own fair
fingers, dripping with juice or sauces, which the men sucked at like infants at
their mother's knee. A few men and women were dancing to the bawdy songs of the
musicians, while others joined in the choruses, bellowing like bulls near cows
in heat, with much enthusiasm but precious little melody.

    A few
couples had already retreated behind the gauze hangings, clearly wanting
privacy for their passions. But the customers, unlike the brothel girls, were
oblivious to the fact that the artfully placed lanterns threw every twist and
turn of their antics as giant shadows on to the walls, much to the amusement
and delight of those watching the play.

    Elena
tried to keep to the corners of the garden as much as possible, and whenever a
man did try to catch hold of her, she slipped away on the pretext, as Luce had
advised, of fetching him a drink or some food, but never returning. She gazed
anxiously round for Finch. She saw the other boys who were plainly enjoying the
feast, stuffing themselves with food or sitting on men's knees, letting
themselves be fondled while sipping wine from the men's own goblets. But of
Finch there was no sign.

    She
was so preoccupied with searching for him that she didn't notice Luce heading
purposefully in her direction until it was too late. Luce was leading a young
man by the hand who could have been scarcely more than thirteen or fourteen
summers. To Elena, a woman at sixteen, he was a mere boy.

    'Here
we are then,' Luce said in a motherly tone, thrusting the blushing youth at
Elena. 'This is Holly, she'll take care of you.'

    Seeing
that Elena was about to make some excuse, Luce leaned forward and hissed, 'You
best take this one. Ma's watching you and if you don't take him, she's liable
to fix you up with someone herself. Besides, this one'll do no more than stare,
poor lamb. He's not a clue what it's for, except to piss with, and I doubt he's
even learned to do that straight yet.'