The Gallows Curse (62 page)

    His
mouth curled in a slow smile. 'Or could it be that you enjoy a little fear? You
get a thrill out of poking the stick in the lion's cage to rile it, see if it's
really as dangerous as they say.'

    He
stood up so abruptly that Elena almost spilt the flagon of wine over them both.
He inclined his head towards Ma Margot.

    'I've
changed my mind, mistress. Forget the boy. What's the pleasure in the hunt, if
the quarry cowers in a corner waiting for the spear? A she-bear who turns and
fights is far more challenging. There's good sport to be had in bringing her
down.'

    You,
man,' he called to Talbot, who still hovered in the corner. Hugh tossed a small
bag of coins at him. 'Take us to a room and see to it we are not disturbed.'

    Even
before Hugh had flung her into the chamber, Elena knew instinctively that all
the arts of seduction that Luce and the other women had explained to her would
only anger him: the playful words, the slow teasing strip, the slide on to his
knee and soft caresses would have no effect on him.

    Elena
was terrified, but she knew the one thing she must not do was show it. She had
to keep him occupied long enough for Finch to get away. She had to stand up to
Hugh, that was what he wanted, and if she was to get out of here alive, she
must give him what he wanted. Wasn't that the one thing Ma had taught her, give
them what they want and survive? Nothing else matters but to survive.

    Hugh
stood on the other side of the chamber watching her, his arms folded. Between
them was a bed that almost filled the chamber. It had been carved to look like
a boat, with a high dragon prow. Ropes hung from its sides and sacks of raw
wool were piled in a heap inside, layered so deep that you could dive in head
first and come to no harm. The whole chamber smelled of sheep's fat and damp
wool, like Athan always did when he returned from the shearing in Gastmere.
Elena tried to swallow the hard lump rising in her throat.

    Hugh
prowled around her, looking at her from every angle. 'You know, I'm sure I've
seen you before. I was certain the other night, but I just can't place ...'

    'I
used to work in the market place in Norwich,' Elena said quickly, falling back
on the lie Ma had invented.

    'So
that other wench said, but I am not in the habit of buying either fish or women
in market places. I have servants to fetch the one and I would not dream of
soiling myself on the other.'

    He
pulled off his shirt. A band of sleek black fur was fastened around his waist.
He stroked it and for a moment his expression became glazed as if he was
listening to something in the far distance. The pupils of his eyes dilated so
wide they looked like huge black holes in his skull. He slid a long knife from
his belt and fingered the blade.

    'Now,
suppose you tell me the truth, or shall we make a game of it? A game that I
think I shall rather enjoy, although I can't promise that you will.'

    
Pearl
- A pearl denotes a tear. It is for grieving and mourning, and thus a pearl
ring must never be given as a wedding gift. Yet, above all, it is an emblem of
female beauty, of chastity, of sex, of the moon, and of the sea-born goddesses.

    It
grows in beauty like a mortal woman if it is worn against her skin, for it
feeds upon her heat, grows lustrous on her passion.

    Mortals
believe that at certain times the oyster shell opens itself to the sky and
drops of heavenly dew fall into it and impregnate the virgin oyster and from
this union 'twixt the earthly and the divine are pearls conceived. In like
manner, so they say, the virgin womb of Mary conceived the Holy Child. Thus the
pearl brings fertility, for it is conceived of water and the moon, and is
wombed within a shell as it grows.

    But
if a thunderstorm should rage, the oyster closes its shell and scuttles away in
fear, and the pearl is aborted and drowns.

    The
Mandrake's Tale

    
She
is standing in a large, empty hall. It is night and the room seems to extend
far back into the darkness as if it has no walls. The floor is cold under foot,
but smooth, very smooth, almost as if she is walking on glass. There is
something in her hand, heavy, but weighted evenly as she balances it in her
fingers. She is breathing hard. Her blood pounds in her ears, like a drip
echoing in a deep well. She is shaking with anger, a blind fury. She knows not
at whom the rage is directed. She only knows she wants to rip, to tear, to
smash, and yet she had already done that, but it isn't enough, not nearly
enough.

    She
senses a movement in the darkness ahead of her. Someone is coming towards her.
She raises her arm to defend herself. She hears a cry.

    'Not
here, I beg you. Do not desecrate this holy place with my blood. I am not
worthy.'

    A
shaft of moonlight falls upon the disembodied head of an old man. His pate
shines in the light and his beard flows in a silver cascade from his hollow
cheeks. She draws back with a gasp, crossing herself as the head floats towards
her out of the darkness. Then, as it comes closer, she sees the outline of a
body hung in simple black robes.

    The
monk holds up his hands, as if in surrender. 'I will come with you outside. You
may do what you wish with me there. I will not resist you. But I beg you, do
not spill my blood in here, not here. I have cared for this place all my life,
I could not bear to think my death had violated what I have always striven to
keep holy.'

    A
cloud drifts in front of the moon, and the light slowly dims. The old man moves
towards her, then passes her as if to lead her outside. He shuffles ahead of
her up the smooth marble floor. Then, without warning, he stumbles and falls,
sprawling across something lying in his path. Painfully he pushes himself into
a kneeling position, rocking backwards on his heels. He moans softly, crossing
himself again and again. 'God have mercy. Mea culpa, mea culpa. . .'

    She
walks towards him, her footsteps echoing. He glances up, his arm raised to
shield his head as if he thinks she is going to strike him. Then, as she stands
there staring at the bundle on the ground, he turns on her, his voice raised in
anger and grief.

    'What
have you done? God have mercy on you, what sacrilege have you committed in this
holy place?'

    She
kneels beside the old monk. A body lies on the cold, hard floor. She can
distinguish little in the dark, except that the body isn't moving. As she bends
to peer closer the moon emerges from behind the clouds again and a beam of cold
silver light illuminates the figure.

    A
man is lying on his back, a pool of blood darkening on the white floor at his
side. But she can see no wound on his body. Her gaze travels up over his neck
and thence to his face. Two dark holes mark where his eyes should have been.
Tears of blood, black in the moonlight, trickle down from the corners of the
empty sockets. His face has been slashed across, not once nor twice but almost
a dozen times, as a furious child might scribble out a drawing he wants to
obliterate.

    Still
kneeling beside her, the old monk raises his face to heaven; his arms crossed
tightly over his chest, he rocks back and forth in a frenzy of grief and
outrage, muttering and wailing to himself in Latin.

    She
stretches out her right hand to make the sign of the cross over the corpse.
Only then does she see what she had been grasping so tightly in her fingers. It
is a knife and the blade is dripping with blood
.

    Elena
stirred as acrid fumes burned her nostrils. Something wet and cold trickled
down her forehead. She lashed out blindly and heard a woman's voice cursing as
something clattered to the floor.

    'She's
not dead at any rate.'

    Elena
forced her eyelids open, wincing in the light of the lantern that hung over
her. Ma was kneeling beside her on the boat-bed, dabbing at her head with a
vinegar-soaked cloth.

    Elena
tried to focus her eyes, but the green emerald flashes in Ma's dark hair seemed
to be darting back and forth like angry bees. Her tongue felt bruised and
swollen. Her jaws ached.

    'Hugh!'

    She
fought to sit up, but Ma pushed her back. 'He's gone, girl. Let me look at you.
Are you hurt?'

    Elena
felt the throbbing bruise on her temple and another on her jaw. One had been
from Hugh's fist, the second where her head bounced off the wooden frame of the
boat-bed.

    Ma
slid her hands under the sheepskin that covered Elena's belly and ran her
fingers down the length of her body, probing at the bones. Elena suddenly
realized that she was naked.

    'Few
cuts and bruises, girl, but nothing that won't heal. You're lucky he hit you.'

    'Lucky?'
Elena whimpered.

    'He
fancied he'd killed you. Not that he was too worried about that. "Who
cares if there's one less whore in the world?" he said. "There's
always plenty more." But there was no point carrying on after you were
dead. No pleasure for him in that.'

    Elena
remembered very little. Terror and pain had driven much of it from her head.

    'Thing
is, girl, did he remember who you were?' Talbot's voice broke in, and Elena was
suddenly aware of him standing behind the lantern light. She struggled to cover
her breasts, wincing as she moved.

    'I
don't... I can't...'

    She
saw a sudden image of Hugh coming at her with the knife, pinning her against
the wall by her throat. She'd fought like a rat, convinced he was going to stab
her. She'd squeezed her eyes shut as the deadly point came slowly nearer and
nearer to her face, then the knife plunged down on to the neck of her gown,
slicing through the fabric like a fishmonger cutting through the belly of a
fish. The blade caught her skin beneath the gown, leaving a thin red seam
running down between her breasts and over her belly to her groin, as the dress
fell away from her. Beads of scarlet blood oozed from the vertical cut.

    Hugh
looked down at her naked body and grinned.

    'What
have we here, little Holly? It seems you're not a raven-haired maid after all.
The bush never lies.' He roared with laughter. 'Oh, I see it now — Hollybush! I
like it. But why would you try to disguise the fire, I wonder? Unless . . .'

    'Well?'
Ma demanded. 'Talbot asked you a question, my darling. Did Hugh remember who
you were? Did you tell him?'

    They
were both watching her, waiting for an answer.

    'I
think, he may ... he didn't say, but ... he saw my . . . hair ... below.' She
passed a vague hand over her groin.

    Ma
whipped up the corner of the sheepskin and peered closer. 'Devil's arse,' she
cursed. 'I told Luce to make sure she dyed everything. How could she have been
so stupid? I'll swing for that girl.'

    Elena
tried to struggle up on to one elbow. 'No, no, it wasn't her fault. She wanted
to, but I wouldn't let her. I was embarrassed and I didn't think anyone would
see.'

    'Embarrassed
is better than hanged, my darling,' Ma said. 'And what possessed you to throw
yourself in his path tonight? Him of all people! Why didn't you stay out of his
way?'