The Gallows Curse (72 page)

    'Course
they bloody did. What else would they have come for?'

    'Old
Giles, he didn't go quietly though,' his brother added. 'Those shits killed his
dog just to stop it howling. When old Giles saw that, he went mad. Gave out a
few bloody noses and black eyes afore one of the bastards cracked him over the
head and dragged him off. Then Margery went for the soldier with her iron
skillet like the old warrior queen herself, but it didn't do no good. In the
end they managed to get her on the ground and tied her hands good and tight,
but she was still trying to kick them as they led her off.'

    The
lad's eyes had lost their suspicious glare and were alight with the excitement
of a good fight which would lose nothing in the telling around the fire for
years to come.

    'Course
all the tanners came running, trying to help, but we couldn't get anywhere near,
for there was a ring of those arse-lickers round the yard holding us off with
their pikes. We could have taken them easily enough just with our bare hands,
but they said any man that tried to interfere would be arrested too . . . for
treason'.
His voice dropped to an awed whisper as he pronounced the word.

    There
was a question Raffe badly needed to ask, but he had no idea how to do so
without arousing their suspicion even further. The tanners would sooner die
than denounce one of their own, but they wouldn't think twice about reporting
Raffe to the sheriff, especially if they thought it might help Giles and his
wife. Raffe was still trying to decide how to phrase the question when it was
answered for him.

    The
brother holding the iron bar had still not lowered it, and now he lifted it a
little higher.

    'Soldiers
weren't alone. I saw that little runt standing off at the far end of the lane.
I reckon it was him who brought the king's men here and pointed out Giles's
cottage, 'cause they went straight to it. No one from the castle would know
which was Giles's yard unless it were shown to them. And what's more, he didn't
run off when he saw what was happening. He stood there bold as a stag in rut,
watching like he was enjoying it. He knew fine rightly he was in no danger of
being taken himself.'

    The
lad's eyes narrowed. 'This man, he only came here to stay with Giles a few days
ago. None of us had ever clapped eyes on him afore, but Margery said he was her
kin. And now there's another of you claiming kinship. Anyone would think she'd
come into a fortune.'

    'This
man,' Raffe asked cautiously, 'had he a withered hand?'

    The
two brothers nodded slowly and, glancing at each other, took another step
towards Raffe.

    'I
came here to warn Margery that they were in danger. This man ... he was only
pretending to be kin . . . Margery had not seen her real relative before, so
she'd only his word.'

    'Pity
you didn't get here sooner,' the younger of the two said sympathetically.

    But
his older brother lifted his chin. 'Aye, but that doesn't explain why he should
want to pass himself off as family. They'd not got a spare penny to bless
themselves with. And why would this man want to have poor old Giles arrested?
He's no traitor, just trying to earn an honest living same as the rest of us.
Why him? You tell me that!'

    He
jabbed at Raffe with the iron bar, not hard enough to hurt him, just to leave
him in no doubt he was prepared to inflict some serious injuries if Raffe
didn't furnish him with satisfactory answers.

    Raffe
rapidly considered his options. If he drew his knife he could probably take one
or both of them, for he guessed for all their muscle they would be clumsy and
slow in a fight. But he couldn't afford to get into a fight. He needed to get
away fast. He swallowed, gambling that something near the truth would sound
more convincing.

    'This
relative of Margery's, the real one, he's a priest. He's disappeared. The man
with the withered hand poses as a runaway priest, so he can denounce any who
give shelter to them.'

    The
two brothers again exchanged glances, as if they were a single man divided in
two and could not think or act without the other.

    The
older brother's brows furrowed so deeply they met in the middle.

    'I've
lived aside Margery all my life and I've never heard her mention a priest in
the family. Anyway, how do you know so much about this man? What's your
business with him?'

    'I
haven't got time to stand here answering your questions,' Raffe snapped, hoping
that a display of anger might deflect the youths. 'There may be others in
danger. I have to warn them, before there are more arrests.'

    He
didn't wait for the brothers' reaction, but turned and strode rapidly away,
praying that they would not follow him. As soon as he had turned the corner, he
broke into a run and then, slipping into a darkened courtyard, he ducked down
behind a stinking vat and listened.

    He
heard footsteps running up the track towards him. More than just the two
brothers, they'd obviously roused others to give chase. Raffe crouched in
darkness, his heart thumping, but not just because of the tanners. Martin was
moving far more quickly than he'd anticipated. The arrest of Giles and his wife
meant that the sheriff must know of Martin's real identity and mission. A
messenger would even now be on his way to King John, who would send more men to
help round up the traitors. And Raffe had no doubt at all that Martin, and
probably the sheriff too, was already searching for him.

    There
would be no safe place for Raffe now in England. He'd have to leave the country
at once, go abroad where John couldn't touch him. He could do nothing more for
Lady Anne. Please God, her friends would help her, but he dared not go back to
find her, even if he knew where she was. Besides, if he was caught with her he
would put her in more danger. And there was still a chance that her part in
this was not known. As for the murderers of Raoul and Hugh, all he could do was
to pray that no one came forward who had recognized Anne near the Adam and Eve.

    But
there was one person Raffe could not leave in England.

    He
had sworn he would return for her. The poor child still foolishly believed that
she had killed Raoul and Hugh. He should have known that she could never have
done that. And she still believed against all hope that one day she could go
home to her village and to Athan. She didn't know that Athan was dead, worse
still that he, Raffe, had stood by and allowed Athan to hang when it should
have been him dangling there.

    He
would make amends to her for that. He would take her away, back to Italy, and
spend the rest of his life working to make her happy again, to help her forget
all she had suffered and all she had lost. They were bound together with bonds
stronger than ever tied a husband and wife. For Gerard was in her, and through
her he could still hold on to the one man who mattered to him above all others.
Nothing, nothing had ever defiled her innocence and purity, and he would give
his life to ensure it never would.

    If
Osborn had come to the door and opened it, as Elena was expecting, all might
have been over in a breath. But he didn't. Afterwards, Elena couldn't imagine
why she'd thought he would. Unlike her, a man of his rank was not used to
opening his own doors.

    She
knocked and heard him call, 'Enter!'

    That
deep, harsh voice slashed away the last remaining strand of confidence she
clung to. She would have fled at that moment, had he not called out again.
'Come in, damn you. I haven't got all night.'

    Perversely,
it was that very element of command that generations of lords and villeins had
instilled in her to obey which made her right hand drop from the hilt of the
dagger and fumble for the latch on the door. She raised it without being able
to stop herself.

    Osborn
was sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the small chamber, his back
resting against the wattle and daub wall, and his drawn sword across his knees.
He was alone, but was clearly taking no chances.

    'Close
the door, woman.'

    Elena,
trembling, did as she was bid, and turned back to him. The only light came from
a single lantern hung by the door, but it was just enough to illuminate a long,
narrow chamber with a great mound of hay heaped against one end. At the other
end several thin straw pallets were piled against the wall, together with a
heap of stained blankets and sheepskins which had seen much use. But beyond the
bench which Osborn occupied, there was no other furniture.

    'What
are you standing there gaping for?' Osborn said. 'I was told you have
information for me concerning my brother. Let's hear it.'

    Elena
opened her mouth, but no words emerged. This wasn't the way it was supposed to
happen. Talbot had told her that Osborn was expecting information, but it
hadn't even occurred to her to plan what she might say. All her thoughts had
been on striking the blow.

    'I .
. . I . . . shall I fetch you some wine, master, if we are to talk?'

    'I
don't want wine, girl. I want information. Tell me what it is you know.'

    When
she still made no answer, he sighed impatiently. 'I know what will loosen your
tongue.' He picked up a small leather bag from the bench beside him and fished
out a small gold coin. 'That's what all you Jews want, isn't it, gold? Give you
people anything that glitters and suddenly you remember everything. A miracle,
isn't it?'

    For a
moment Elena couldn't think what he was talking about, then she remembered the
amulet Ma had fastened around her neck. Perhaps he recognized it, or he had
been told to expect a Hebrew woman.

    He
must have mistaken her expression, for he added. 'Don't worry, you shall have
your gold, and more besides, if what you have to tell me discovers my brother's
murderer. Here!'

    He
tossed the coin towards her, but her hand had once again reached for the hilt
of the dagger inside her cloak and she made no attempt to catch the coin. It
fell with a clink on to the boards.

    'Pick
it up, girl, go on, grovel for it.'

    She
bent, trying to feel around for the coin without taking her eyes off Osborn,
but it had rolled away and she couldn't find it.

    Osborn
was watching her curiously. 'Have we met before? I can't recall speaking to any
of your faith in Norwich, though I've run my sword through plenty of them in
the Holy Land.'

    Elena
turned away, trying to hide her face on the pretext of searching for the coin.

    'Leave
that,' Osborn ordered impatiently. 'You can search for it later. Tell me why
you've dragged me from my warm fireside to this beggar's hovel. And I'm warning
you, girl, if you've been wasting my time, you will pay dearly for it.'

    Elena
didn't rise, still trying to keep her face concealed in the shadow of her hood.

    'I'm
... I am afraid if I tell, the murderer —'

    'I'll
see you come to no harm,' Osborn broke in impatiently. 'Just give me his name
and I promise you he'll be in the dungeons of the castle by daybreak.'

    'But

    'Speak,
girl! Believe me, I am more to be feared than any murderer. If you don't tell
me what you know I will take you to the castle myself this very hour. And I can
assure you, there are men there who know how to persuade a stone to speak.'

    
A
voice was pounding in Elena's head.
Do it! Do it now before it's too late.
You've killed two men before, this time it should be easy... like poking a hole
in jellied brawn.

    But
Osborn was still sitting on the bench facing her, his drawn sword across his
knee.

    I've
killed two men before. I can do it. I can do it!

    Talbot's
voice growled through all the others clamouring in her head —
You've seen
the other girls, the way they sidle up to a man, run their hand over his
shoulder and make to kiss him.
If Luce had been here, she would have
sauntered across to Osborn and sat in his lap, distracting him with promises of
what she could do. Luce wouldn't have had to think twice. Elena had seen her do
it. No man had ever brushed her off. It looked so easy, just a winsome smile, a
hand caressing his hair, stroking his face and the man would melt like lard in
the fire.

    Elena
didn't give herself time to plan how to do it. She rose and stumbled across the
room until she was close enough to touch Osborn's legs with her own. She leaned
over him and ran her fingers through his wiry grey hair. She tried to imitate
the playful, seductive tones she'd heard Luce use.