The Vanishing Witch (48 page)

Eventually he clambered down the other side and began to pick his way through the ravaged garden. Several pigs had found their way in and were rootling through the dirt, and a dog was cocking his leg against a great heap of charred barrels and smashed chairs.

A movement near the high wall caught his attention. A woman was crouching, helping a man to drink from a beaker.
The man caught sight of Gunter and must have said something to the woman for she turned and called to him. ‘Have you bread? For pity’s sake! Can you spare anything?’

Gunter hesitated. He had a little cheese in his scrip. It was all he had left, and even that he’d been driven to snatch from a looted shop. He wanted to keep it, for God alone knew when he’d next find something to eat, but guilt
pricked him. The cheese was stolen. He had no right to it. He limped towards her, trying not to trip over the smashed furniture and broken pots. As he came closer, he saw that half a dozen people were lying in the shelter of the wall, bloodied and mangled. He couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead. He lowered his eyes. He couldn’t bear to see any more corpses. He pulled the cheese from his bag and
handed it to the woman.

‘Bless you, Master, bless you.’

‘Is he your kin?’

She nodded. ‘I can’t move him and I’ll not leave him.’

‘The rebels hurt him?’

She snorted. ‘He was with the rebels, doing his duty, tearing down this cursed palace. But some cod-wit threw kegs on the fire. Thought they were full of silver but they weren’t. Full of gunpowder. Brought half the building down on their heads.
My man, he was near the blaze and a piece of metal shot out of the fire and went straight through his thigh. Did for these others too. Can’t do nothing for ’em, save give ’em water. No bugger’ll help me.’

She savagely dashed away the tears that had sprung into her bloodshot eyes.

‘Mind you, I reckon it’s worse for them.’ She pointed to the ruins. ‘There’s men trapped somewhere under that lot.
I can hear ’em yelling sometimes. I tried to get some men in the street to help them, but they were too drunk to listen.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose they could have done much anyway. It’d take an army to dig them out from under that.’

‘The rebels have all gone to Smithfield,’ Gunter said. ‘I’m bound there myself. I’ll send men back to help. They’ll want to rescue their own.’

The woman gave
him a scathing look. ‘No bugger’ll help,’ she repeated.

Gunter was walking away when he heard the cry. The voice was so cracked and broken that only he could have recognised it.

‘Faayther! Faayther . . .’

He whipped round. At the far end of the line of bodies, a little figure was struggling desperately to lift his head.

To make a girl dance naked you must write on virgin parchment the name ‘Fruitimiere’ with the blood of a bat. Cut the parchment on an altar stone over which mass has been said, then place it under a doorstep over which the girl will pass. When she steps over it she will be forced to come to you, strip naked and dance without ceasing, even to her death, unless you remove the parchment.

Ever since I’d started climbing the steep hill to the top of the city I’d had an uneasy feeling someone was following me. But dozens of men, women and children were travelling the same route as I was, goodwives, beggars, pedlars and goose-girls from the city all mingling with the steady stream of pilgrims who were plodding up to visit the shrines in the cathedral. Why should I
imagine any were interested in me? I drew to the side, glancing behind me several times, but I could see no one I recognised.

When I reached the top of the hill, I turned away from the cathedral and went through the castle gate, across its bustling green and towards the far gate that led out of the city to the west. It was late in the afternoon and few traders came in to Lincoln by that route
– most made their way into the city via the north or south gates – but I couldn’t help glancing behind me once more.

The watchmen barely looked up as I passed, too engrossed in a game of dice and too hot or lazy to stir themselves. I hastened through the small copse on the other side of the road towards the high meadow. The ground was baked hard, showing brown between the short, wiry strands
of grass, like the pate of balding man.

Across the far side of the meadow, a small grove of elms surrounded a spring that bubbled out from between the rocks forming a small pool, before it trickled away into a stony brook and vanished into the earth. A fairy spring, some called it, while others knew it as St Margaret’s well. When the trees were no bigger than saplings someone must have placed
iron horseshoes around them and now, centuries later, they had grown through and around them so that horseshoes stuck out from the trunks like tiny steps.

On Midsummer’s Day, girls came here at dawn to discover whom they would marry. Others bathed here when they were with child, or carried flasks of the water back to the homes of women giving birth so that they might be safely delivered of their
infants, for the water was said to be holy. Mostly the place was deserted: there was no shortage of wells and springs within the city walls from which goodwives could draw water closer to their homes.

At first I thought the grove was empty and felt the hollow ache of disappointment. But as I drew closer, I smiled. He was waiting for me, lying stretched out on the ground, dozing in the sun. He’d
set a flagon of wine to cool in the trickling water. I stood and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest with the same shiver of delight I’d felt the first time I had laid eyes on him.

We had abandoned the tower in the lower part of the city for our trysts. The stench of Butwerk middens and the festering river mud below was enough to quell even my desire. This spot was far sweeter, but it
was too exposed and I feared someone might stumble upon us.

My beloved’s eyes were still closed beneath the dappled gold and apple-green light, but he whisked his elegant hand across his face, driving a gnat from his cheek. I pulled off my shoes and hose, luxuriating in the feel of sun-warmed earth beneath my feet. The grass by the stream grew cool and soft. I tiptoed through it and, taking care
that my shadow didn’t fall upon him, I knelt behind him and pressed my mouth to his, feeling at once the hungry grasping of his lips. But still he didn’t open his eyes.

Without warning, his hands shot up to my shoulders and he jerked me forward so sharply that I rolled over on top of him. Fiercely kissing my face, he pulled down the front of my gown so that he could nuzzle my breasts. I resisted,
pulling away from him.

‘Who were you dreaming of?’ I demanded. ‘Who did you think was kissing you?’

‘A pretty little milkmaid. Jealous?’ He laughed, as I punched his shoulder.

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ I told him.

Turning away from me, he lifted the flagon of wine from the pool and poured it into the two goblets he drew from his leather scrip. He dipped twin red cherries into the wine and touched
them to my lips. I licked the drops from them and pulled them into my mouth, gnawing the sweet, juicy flesh.

He dangled another. But I pushed it away and sat up abruptly, glancing over my shoulder towards the castle. Though we were hidden from the gate, I could see the walls rising above the line of trees. A small dark splinter of a figure moved across the top of them.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked,
following my gaze.

I shivered. ‘I kept thinking I was being followed here and thought I saw someone just now watching us.’

My lover shaded his eyes with his hands. ‘It’s only the watchman on the castle wall, doing his rounds. If he can see us so far away he must have the eyes of a hawk.’

‘No, over there.’ I pointed towards the bushes a little way across the meadow. ‘I thought I saw movement.’

‘If someone is there, it’ll be one of the goat-boys looking for a place to nap out of sight of his master.’

He tried to pull me down into the grass again, but I pushed him away. ‘Not here. It’s too open. We have to find somewhere else to meet next time. I can’t risk tales being carried back to my husband.’

‘What are you worried about, my sweet one? Even if every priest in Lincoln swore on Christ’s
foreskin they’d seen us naked together, you could still convince Robert it was a lie. He’s infatuated with you. He’d more readily believe the Virgin Mary herself was a whore than that you were anything less than a saint.’

He dipped his finger into the wine and drew it over my lips, then reached up to lick away the droplets.

I turned my face aside. ‘You’re wrong. A man in love could discover
his wife with a half-eaten babe in her hands, blood smeared on her lips, and he’d swear she’d been trying to save the child’s life. But let so much as a whisper of an illicit kiss reach him and, true or not, he’d fly into a jealous rage and never trust her again. We have to be careful, my beloved.’

He sat up and began savagely to shred a blade of grass. ‘And don’t you think I’m jealous knowing
you share Robert’s bed night after night and he can take you any time the mood seizes him? You won’t let me fuck you one afternoon when he’s miles away. Is that the thanks I get after all I’ve done for you?’

‘How do you know I still have a husband?’ I said. ‘The gossip in the marketplace is that the streets of London are piled with corpses. That was why you and I sent him to London, wasn’t it?
If he’s killed there, no one will blame me for that and you will be able to have me in any place you choose, whenever it pleases you.’

‘And if he isn’t?’ he said, tearing up another grass blade.

‘If he returns alive, having contacted Gaunt, Robert’s reputation will grow in the city and so will his wealth. I cannot lose. I will find a way to dispose of him. But the precise manner of his death
will take a good deal of thought. Another in the family so soon after Edith’s and Jan’s, and even old Father Remigius might start to wonder. I will have to find someone who will be blamed for Robert’s death without question so that it never occurs to anyone to look for another hand in this.’

I plucked a buttercup and held it to his cheek, so that the gold reflected on his skin.

He pushed it
away impatiently. ‘I begin to think you’ve no intention of getting rid of him. You’re in love with Robert and it’s me you’re playing with.’

I laughed. ‘I said I never intended to fall in love with Robert and I always speak the truth. Do you think that a butcher looks at a goat grazing in the field and thinks how lovely its coat, how sweet its face? No. He sees it skinned, chopped and being sold
for a good profit. Do you really imagine I could fall in love with a corpse? From the moment I selected Robert out of all the men in Lincoln, that was what he was – a rotting cadaver. Dear Robert’s grave was dug on the first day I went looking for him at the guildhall. The only question you need to ask is how I will push him into it.’

Hay ricks and thatched roofs must be finished with a green branch or straw cock to prevent witches from landing on them and to ward off fire and storms.

Adam heard the bell ring outside the high gate that led to the stableyard. He peered out of the casement. Tenney, a stout stave in his hand and a wicked-looking knife tucked into his belt, strode across the yard and opened
the shutter over the grille. At once, he laid aside the stave and, yelling for the stable-boy, slid back the bracing beam and flung open the gate. There was a clatter of iron horseshoes on the cobbles as Robert’s mount trotted in, and Tenney hurried to close and brace the gate.

Robert leaned forward over his horse’s neck, trying to swing himself onto the mounting block. He was visibly wincing
and his movements were stiff and clumsy, as if he were injured. Adam remained standing at the casement. He was in no hurry to greet his father. If he was in pain, his temper would be worse than usual. As if he were watching a wild pigeon dragging a broken wing, he was curious, but he felt strangely unconcerned. He couldn’t even be bothered to go down to the great hall and tell Catlin her husband
was home, and he knew Leonia wouldn’t.

Turning his head he said softly, ‘Robert’s here.’

Leonia smiled. ‘Told you he’d come today,’ she whispered. But she hadn’t told anyone else.

She was sitting on a chair, combing her long black curls. She had already put on the blue gown with the gold trim Robert had bought for her. Not the necklace, though. It had gone. Leonia said her mother had taken
it, and Adam was sure she was right – she always was. She’d been furious, but she’d said not a word to Catlin.

‘I’ll punish her for that, but not yet. I want to make her wait.’

Adam shivered with excitement, thinking of Fulk lying on the warehouse floor, his face a mass of blood. He wanted to ask how she would punish Catlin, but he knew she wouldn’t tell him till she was ready.

‘What about
them?’ Adam pointed to the floor below.

Leonia smiled. ‘Wait . . . Wait till he comes in.’

Adam glanced back out of the casement. Tenney had taken the reins from Robert’s hand and thrust them at the stable-boy. ‘Hold the beast steady, lad. Here, Master Robert, put your weight on my shoulder.’

It took several minutes for Robert to ease himself to the ground. He stood there, bent over like an
old man. Then, with obvious effort, he pulled himself upright and limped towards the door.

Leonia crossed the solar and ran down the stairs, closely followed by Adam. She flung herself at Robert, seizing one of his hands and kissing it. ‘I’ve been so worried, Père. I feared something terrible had happened.’

Robert hugged her, though his eyes closed briefly as if the movement caused him pain.
He fingered her soft, glossy curls, but as he glanced up, Adam saw his expression harden at the sight of Edward and Catlin sitting side by side, murmuring to one another, when he entered.

Catlin rose gracefully to her feet, but the smile on her lips did not reach her eyes. ‘What a delightful surprise, Robert. We weren’t expecting you. The news is so grave from London, I thought you might have
been detained there longer. Were you received well at John of Gaunt’s palace? You must tell us about its splendours. I hear it is magnificent.’