The Raven's Head (28 page)

To flatter him, I bobbed my head as respectfully as any lowly servant. ‘I thought you’d want to know at once, Master Robert, that there are some disturbing rumours circulating in the taverns about you. Not that I eavesdrop, of course, but when men are merry and the tavern’s crowded, voices become raised, and you can’t help but hear things.’

‘Rumours? What rumours?’ the bailiff blustered. But it was plain from the flushing of his face and the alarm in his eyes that he had a pretty good idea of what was being whispered, and not just whispered – shouted.

‘Of course, I don’t believe a word of it myself,’ I assured him. ‘And neither, I’m sure, does the bishop for he’d have never appointed a man to such high office in Lynn if there was even a hint of something untoward in his past.’

Drayton’s neck was now as red as a cock’s wattle. ‘I’ve done nothing, nothing to give my lord the bishop any cause to doubt my honourable stewardship of his town.’

‘The rumours are no more than a wicked slander,’ I told him soothingly. ‘What they’re saying is ridiculous.’ I laughed. ‘You’ll never believe this, but they are actually claiming that three years ago you murdered a girl in Wiggenhall. I ask you, how do these outrageous tales ever get started?’

‘That is a foul lie!’ The bailiff leaped from his chair and paced around his chamber in great agitation. His fists were clenched, but that didn’t disguise their trembling. ‘If they had a single grain of evidence why didn’t they arrest me three years ago?’

I shrugged. ‘From what I heard, the girl’s body has only just been found. Apparently her brother was away at sea when she disappeared. The neighbours thought she’d simply moved away. It was common knowledge she was walking out with a man and several neighbours saw her go off with him the day she disappeared. Later the man returned alone with a cart and loaded her few possessions into it. He told one of the neighbours that they were going to be wed in his own town. The villagers had no reason to doubt him, at least until her brother came home. He was adamant his sister would have left word for him about where she was living, and when he searched the cottage he discovered necklaces and other precious things her mother had left to her, still concealed in the hiding place they used. He was certain she would never have left them behind if she had gone to be wed.’

Drayton snorted. ‘Hardly proof that the girl was dead. I dare say she hid the jewels to prevent them becoming her husband’s property on their marriage. Knew her brother would find them and intended him to look after them for her. Plenty of women try to keep a little money or some trinkets concealed from their husbands, so as to have some means to support themselves if he turns out be a drunkard or abandons them.’

‘That must be how it was, Master Robert,’ I said. ‘Pity the brother didn’t think of that, but apparently he wouldn’t let it rest. Said he kept waking in the middle of the night to find the ghost of his sister standing at the foot of his bed, water streaming from her. He was sure she’d been murdered and her spirit was trying to show him where the corpse was so that it could be given a Christian burial. He did what most men do when they want to find the drowned. He hollowed out a loaf of bread, filled it with quicksilver and floated it on the river. It led him straight to the spot where her corpse lay. It had been dismembered, put in a basket, weighted down with stones and dropped to the riverbed. Course, by the time they’d fished her out, the flesh had gone, but he knew her by her bones for she’d an extra finger on her right hand, as her mother had before her.’

Beads of sweat were standing out on the bailiff’s forehead, and he kept plucking at the skin on his throat as if it was closing up. ‘What’s this got to do with me? I know nothing of any girl.’

‘When her brother came to the Moot House to report the murder, he saw you there and recognised you as the man who was courting his sister. That’s what they’re saying in the tavern, that it was you who murdered the girl, Master Robert. I was sure you’d want to know straight away,’ I added, giving him my most innocent look. ‘I knew you wouldn’t want to let such rumours go unchallenged. They could be most damaging to a man in your position.’

‘It’s bilge-water!’ Drayton said furiously. ‘I’ve passed through Wiggenhall, like hundreds of other men, but I’ve not paid court to any women there, much less murdered one.’

‘After three years it is all too easy for a man to mistake why he recognises a face,’ I said soothingly. ‘You probably look familiar to the brother if he’s seen you pass through the village on some occasion. A man may think he’s met a woman in a tavern, while the truth is she looks familiar because he’s seen her at the fair. But the trouble is, if the idea is put to him that they met in a tavern, that is what he will swear to and therein lies the danger for you. If the rumour reaches the bishop he’ll summon the girl’s neighbours to testify. And since they have already heard the brother’s tale, they may easily make the same mistake about believing they saw you with the girl.’

The bailiff seemed to deflate like a pricked bladder and crumpled down into a chair, his head buried in his hands. Even his skin sagged. I could feel the waves of misery and despair emanating from him. I let him stew for a few minutes, to allow the full horror of his situation to sink in, knowing he’d be all the more grateful when I dangled the key in front of him that would help him escape from his hell.

‘So what have you come for?’ he muttered. ‘You want money, I suppose, a bribe to keep silent and not to report this to the bishop.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘You’ve not got the brains of a cockle if that’s why you’re here. You said yourself, rumours are spreading all over town. If the bishop hasn’t already heard, he surely will before the week is out.’

‘Which is why you need to have a story prepared that will save you from the gallows,’ I said quietly.

‘A story that proves I didn’t kill the girl?’ he asked bitterly. ‘After three years, how can any man be certain where he was on a particular day? I doubt even the neighbours will be able to agree what day she went missing.’

‘So that’s why you don’t deny you killed her. You admit it with tears and sobs, if you can manage it.’

His head jerked up and he glowered furiously at me. ‘That’s your answer, is it – confess to murder? Why don’t you just fetch me the noose now and save the town the cost of a hangman’s purse?’

‘You admit to killing her,’ I said, ‘but you make them bless you for it.’

‘What?’ he demanded. ‘What on earth are you drivelling about? Explain yourself.’

But I’d learned from my mistake with the miller – demand the money first, a good deal of it, and only then part with the story.

We engaged in a lively bout of haggling, as you can imagine, but he was desperate, and when a man has seen the cold shadow of the gallows dangling over him, he’d sell his own wife in the marketplace to save himself. Only when I had his money safely tucked into my purse did I begin.

‘You frequently have cause to travel between Lynn and Downham as part of your duties and, as you passed through Wiggenhall on one of those journeys, your horse stumbled outside the door of one of the cottages and you were thrown heavily to the ground. A girl came running out and helped you inside to recover.

‘She had a strange beauty about her.’ I waved my hand vaguely at Robert. ‘You’ll have to describe her, but make sure you mention an unusual quality in her eyes – wild, unblinking, couldn’t tear your gaze from them, that kind of thing. And teeth, emphasise the sharp white teeth . . . She did have teeth, I trust?’

He nodded glumly. I could see that so far I had not helped to reassure him. In fact he appeared on the verge of asking for his money back. I hastened on with the tale.

‘She was all gentleness, caring for you with such tenderness you might have been her husband instead of a stranger, plying you with mead and meat, so that before long you began to doze off by the hearth. When you woke it was dark. The girl was standing in the open doorway in the light of the new moon, clad only in a thin shift, her feet bare on the cold earth floor. Her hair hung around her in a silver mane and the light from the fire caught her eyes, which glowed bright green. You thought her the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, but for reasons you couldn’t understand you were deathly afraid of that beauty.

‘When daylight came, some of the enchantment of the night had faded. In the sunlight, she was a comely enough woman, but her charms were no greater than those of a dozen young girls of your acquaintance. Nevertheless, you were grateful to her for all her kindness, though you had no reason to call on her again.

‘Yet somehow over the next few weeks you found yourself returning several times to that cottage, inventing excuses to ride through Wiggenhall, even though it took you miles out of your way. And every time, the same thing happened – however hard you tried to keep awake you’d fall asleep in the heat of that soporific fire, waking to find hours had passed and the girl standing barefoot in the doorway, staring out at the moonlight.

‘But one night, when once more you had fallen asleep by her hearth, the resin in a burning log exploded from the wood with a loud bang. The sound woke you. As you turned in your chair, you saw that you were alone and the door to the cottage was flung wide open. You heard a shrieking and howling outside as if a dozen wild beasts were bounding through the forest in pursuit of their prey. Fearing for the safety of the girl, you dashed out of the cottage towards the marshes.

‘The moon was three-quarters full and shadows of birch trees writhed in the silver pool of its light. All around you the deep bog sucked and gurgled. The shrieking and howling grew louder, but you were so terrified for the girl you pushed aside your own fear and plunged onwards. You burst out from the trees and almost fell into the waters of a black lake.

‘In its centre was a small island on which grew an alder tree. Ferrets and foxes, cats and wolves, all the size of men, were bounding and leaping about the tree. There were other strange creatures besides – a goose-footed man whose beard writhed as if each hair was a long white worm, a youth with the antlers of a stag and the tail of goat, a woman with a scorpion’s tail, and a naked girl, whose head was that of a gaping toad.

‘But even above the howls of bestial delight, you heard other cries – screams of pure terror. For hanging from the alder tree by their limbs were two monks. Their robes had been ripped from them and the foul creatures prancing below them were tearing mouthfuls of flesh from their living bodies and rasping their bleeding skin with long tongues. The monks were shrieking for mercy, but the only mercy that would be shown them was death, which would not be swift in coming.

‘You fled back through the marsh pools to the safety of the cottage. Trembling, you huddled beside the fire until exhaustion drove you into sleep. In the morning you told the girl all that you’d seen and she soothed you with kisses.

‘“Such a terrible nightmare,” she murmured.

‘And in the bright morning light it did seem that it must have been nothing more than a dream. Nevertheless, you were left with such a chill of death in your bones that you resolved never to venture to that village again.

‘But the moment you were away from Wiggenhall, the desire to return grew ever stronger, and as the days passed you could think of nothing else save the girl. Finally, you could stay away no longer, so you went once more to her cottage. But that night, as soon as the girl fell asleep, you drew a circle, sun-wise, with your knife-point in the ash in the hearth, quartering it with a cross. Then you took some of the ash and repeated the sign on the stone of the threshold so that neither witch nor demons could enter through the door.

‘You fell into a deep sleep, but you were awoken by a great shrieking and howling. Grasping your knife, you rose and edged closer to the open door and, to your horror, the foul demons you’d seen a few nights before were circling the cottage in the moonlight, cackling and baying. They called to you in mocking voices, trying to reach in through the door to drag you out, but as their arms stretched over the sign on the threshold, they howled in pain as if they’d been burned.

‘You staggered back from the door. But the girl wrapped her warm arms about you. Her hot breath caressed your cheek. “Come, we shall show you such wild pleasures as you have only dreamed of. You ache to possess me. Come into the moonlight and I shall give myself to you. I am hungry for you. Ravenous!”

‘At that moment the earthy scent of her body was so intoxicating, the desire burning in your loins so fierce, that you allowed yourself to be led towards the door. A howl of delight rose from all the foul creatures capering outside. Gently, gently, she drew you on towards their tongues, their talons, their teeth.

‘But as she stepped into the doorway a shaft of moonlight struck her and at once a great pelt of spotted tawny fur burst from her milky skin to cover her back. Her heels grew long, her feet turned into great cat paws and the embers of the firelight caught the green animal glow of her eyes. Her face and arms, which were still covered by the shadow of the cottage, were human, but wherever the moonlight touched her, she was lynx.

‘With a shriek, you dragged yourself from her grip and pulled out your knife. She lunged forward to seize you again. You called upon St Hubert, patron saint of hunters, and plunged the knife into her throat. She fell forward into the cottage, and as the shadows covered her, the fur vanished and the most beautiful girl in the world lay bleeding at your feet. She lifted her arms to embrace you, then fell back dead.

‘Outside the cottage, there was a shriek as if a thousand seabirds were circling. Then the earth began to bubble and the foul creatures sank into it, as if they were being sucked down into a mire. You smelt a stench of sulphur and glimpsed the hellish glow of the flames far below leaping up to swallow them. Then the ground became solid once more and all was silent and still.

‘You knew you couldn’t bury the body – if any unsuspecting person walked over the ground where she lay, they, too, would become a were-lynx. There was only one way to prevent her spirit rising and wreaking terror on the helpless villagers of Wiggenhall and that was to dismember the corpse and imprison it beneath running water, for evil spirits cannot escape moving water. But it had to be done before the sun rose, else the evil spirit would leave her and enter another.