The Vanishing Witch (51 page)

Tenney heard the
two horses in the stable whinny as they sensed Master Robert’s horse approaching down the street. He’d been listening all morning for his master’s return. His horse always gave a distinctive snort as it came close to the gate, as if it knew it would soon be relieved of its burden and be able to bury its nose in a bucket of oats.

Tenney snatched up the monkey’s paw and hurried out. He still hated
the feel of the thing, but it gave him courage to have it in his hand. If he could get the gate open before the master had a chance to ring the bell, then with luck the three women would be so busy yammering to the sheriff in the house that they wouldn’t realise he had returned. Tenney was determined he would tell him today, right now, even if he had to drag him into the kitchen and bar his way
until he’d heard all.

Robert looked mildly surprised to see Tenney rushing out to open the gate while he was still a yard from it, but he made no comment as his manservant caught the reins he handed to him.

‘Master Robert, there’s summit I must tell you in private. You’re not going to like it, but you have to know. I’ve done you good service over the years and I reckon I’ve earned the right
to ask you to hear me out.’

‘Whatever it is, I’m not discussing it in the street.’ Robert looked anxiously around as if he feared any passer-by might be holding an assassin’s knife. ‘It can surely wait until I’m off this damned horse. Lead us inside, man.’

Tenney hesitated, clutching the monkey’s paw tighter in his great fist. But the horse could smell its own stable just feet away and would
not be prevented from reaching it now. Before Tenney could make up his mind, it barged through the gate.

‘Thing is, Master Robert . . .’ Tenney began, as Robert pressed down heavily on his shoulder to dismount.

‘Père,’ Leonia’s voice called cheerfully. Both men looked up as she came running across the yard. ‘Thomas Thimbleby of Poolham has come to see you.’

‘The sheriff? God’s bones, why didn’t
you tell me he was waiting, Tenney? The sheriff wouldn’t come in person to my house at this hour unless it was important. Maybe Jan’s murderer’s been discovered.’

Tenney tried to step in front of him. ‘But, Master Robert, I must speak—’

‘Later, man, later,’ Robert said impatiently.

Leonia flattened herself against the wall as Robert hastened past her and into the hall. She looked back at Tenney,
standing helplessly in the courtyard, and tossed him one of her most innocent smiles. ‘People always say I’ll listen
later
, don’t they, Tenney? But when they finally do, it’s always
too
late.’ She vanished into the dark shadow of the house.

Sheriff Thomas was seated at the table, mopping up the juices and last fragments of flesh from some herrings with a morsel of bread, which he stuffed into
his mouth with the eager appetite of a man who’d missed his breakfast. His well-fleshed face had grown increasingly haggard over the last few weeks. What had been a post of honour had suddenly become one of immense responsibility and the burden was evidently taking its toll.

Catlin was standing close to him, so close that for a moment Robert wondered if Thomas and Catlin were . . . He dismissed
the thought with a shake of his head. Catlin was his new bride and Thomas was his friend. They’d never dream of cuckolding him.

‘Is there trouble? Has there been another uprising?’ he asked, too anxious to bother with any of the usual pleasantries.

The sheriff drained his mug of ale and looked hopefully about for more, which Catlin was quick to supply. ‘It’s to prevent more trouble that I’m
here,’ he answered, taking another swig. ‘A royal messenger arrived last night. King Richard’s declared that all the charters granting manumission to the villeins that he was forced to sign while the rebels were attacking London are to be cancelled. He’s met with the envoys from Essex and told them that the villeins will not be freed from their obligations. They’ll remain as bondsmen for ever and
so will all their descendants. Not only that: because of the murder and destruction they carried out, he told them their servitude will be harsher than it’s ever been before under a King of England.’

‘As they richly deserve!’ Robert said firmly. ‘What I witnessed in London . . .’ He shut his eyes at the memory. ‘Granting freedom to them would be like allowing a pack of wolves to roam about our
cities.’

‘But won’t that inflame them the more?’ Catlin asked.

The sheriff pursed his lips. ‘I don’t doubt that it will, but the young King is determined to rule with a fist of steel. Gibbet cages are being erected in every village and town, even where there’s never been one before, and plenty of men are being executed to fill them. Bishop Despenser has hanged, drawn and quartered some of the
ringleaders himself. Others have been cut to pieces wherever they’ve been caught. Apparently the rebels slaughtered some Flemish merchants in London. I don’t know if you heard of it when you were there, Robert?’

Robert swallowed hard. There were nights when he woke himself with a cry almost as loud as Beata’s. He dreamed about those heaps of corpses, feet pinning him as the vast crimson lake
crept towards him.

Thomas did not appear to notice the effect his words were having. ‘The King’s messenger said that instead of handing the guilty men over to the executioners they delivered them to the widows, mothers and daughters of the Flemish merchants and told the women to hack the heads off those who’d killed their menfolk. Old ladies wielding axes – have you heard of such a thing? But
Richard is determined to round up every last man or boy who took part in the rebellion and there’s to be no mercy shown any of them.’

He leaned forward. ‘That’s what brings me here, Robert. He’s ordered every county to set up a Commission of Array at once to draw up plans to put down any new rebellion at the first whiff of trouble but also to seek out the names of any men or boys who took part
in the rebellion. They’re to be arrested, questioned and the details of their crimes sent to London. I don’t think we’ll find many from these parts, but we must try to produce some names, to show our loyalty to the throne. This is certainly not a good time for any man or, indeed, city to have their allegiance questioned.’

Thomas’s expression was as grave as Robert had ever seen it, and with good
reason.

‘On the King’s orders I must appoint ten commissioners and, of course, knowing how faithfully you represented our merchants in London, you’ll be eager to do your duty as one of them.’

‘No! I . . . I can’t do it!’ Robert rose abruptly from his chair and crossed to the casement, standing with his hands behind his back, staring out at the street. ‘I’ve neglected my business for too long
. . . I haven’t the time.’

‘I haven’t made myself clear,’ Thomas said. ‘It wouldn’t be a question of you having to seek out these rebels yourself. I have informers to do that. If people are questioned directly, we will learn nothing. This has to be done subtly. Men drinking quietly in taverns listening to the gossip, women encouraged to report anything suspicious among their neighbours, in exchange
for a few pennies. No, the commissioners are simply there to order the arrests of any reported to them and question them about their crimes. A few meetings are all that’s required.’

‘I’m not the man for this,’ Robert said, turning to face him. ‘There are many others who’d be far more capable.’

‘But most have only heard the stories of destruction and murder. Few others in Lincoln have witnessed
it in person, as you’ve done. You know, first-hand, what these rebels did, Robert. You know what questions to ask of them. We need your counsel.’

The sheriff rose and swung his cloak about his shoulders. ‘It would do your business no harm if you came to King Richard’s attention as a man who’d worked to bring his enemies to the gallows. When he needs merchants to provision the army, and indeed
his own court, he’ll be looking for loyal men.’

Thomas crossed to the door, pausing to take Catlin’s hand and raise it to his lips. Still holding her hand, his gaze darted to Robert, who was standing with his back to him at the window. ‘See if you can persuade your husband, Mistress Catlin. I sorely need his services,’ he said. Then he bent his head so that his mouth was almost touching Catlin’s
ear, his fingers briefly caressed the trembling pulse at her throat. ‘A neck as pretty as this deserves to be hung with only the finest gold and jewels,’ he whispered. ‘And I have it on good authority, there will be a deal of money to be made from this, perhaps in time even an invitation to the King’s court. And you would surely outshine any other woman there. Try your best, Mistress Catlin. You
could coax a man to anything.’

Almost as soon as the door had closed, Robert felt Catlin snuggle up beside him, her hand slipping into his and her fingers entwining themselves about his own. ‘You’re too modest, Robert. You’d do a splendid job as a commissioner. You deserve this honour.’

Robert snatched his hand from hers. ‘It’s not an honour. It’s a death sentence. As soon as the rebels discover
who the commissioners are they’ll target them and their property to ensure they’re silenced. Do you think I want to see my warehouse burned to the ground, or feel a knife in my back, or have poor little Leonia kidnapped or threatened?’

‘No rebel would dare to harm an important man like you, Robert,’ Catlin said.

‘They cut off the head of the Archbishop of Canterbury, so they certainly wouldn’t
hesitate to murder me.’

He hadn’t told her how they’d forced him down in the filth of the street, how he had been moments from having his own head added to those being kicked like balls about the streets. He couldn’t bear to think of it, never mind speak of it. He cringed at the humiliation, made worse by the knowledge that he would have died pleading for his life.

‘But the archbishop was killed
by a great mob in London,’ Catlin said. ‘This is Lincoln. Who would hurt you here? You heard the regard the sheriff has for you. I think he plans to make you head of the Commission. Think of it, Robert, think of the business you would gain – royal business, he said. You’re always complaining about the Florentines and foreign merchants undercutting you and stealing your trade. With the money you’d
make from royal patronage you could open a dozen new warehouses, employ a score of men to buy wool and cloth for you. You could drive every foreign merchant in Lincolnshire out of business and out of this city, just like that.’ She snapped her fingers.

He rounded on her, fury and fear in his eyes. ‘And what good would a dozen warehouses be to me if I am lying in a grave next to my son?’

‘You
said you wanted justice for what the Florentines did to Jan. This would be your chance to destroy them. I can’t believe you’d let a few miserable villeins intimidate you. Have I mistaken you, Robert? I thought you were a man of strength, a man who was afraid of no one, a man who could protect his family. Have I married a coward?’

A witch cannot die until her familiars or imps are dead. If a witch desires to put an end to her suffering she must call each familiar by name and order it to die. Then, when the last is dead, she too will die.

Edward’s horse tossed her head irritably in the heat, trying to rid herself of the cloud of flies crawling round her eyes. Edward flapped them away from his own face
with as much irritation. Strictly speaking, of course, it was not
his
horse. If it had been, it would have been meat for the hounds and hide for the tanner’s yard long ago. The nag was well past her prime, broken-winded, her belly distended, her flanks shuddering as she heaved. But that old tight-purse, Robert, reckoned the horse still had another year of work left in her, provided she was walked,
not galloped. What more did Edward need to carry him around the environs of the city?
A bloody sight more
, he thought sourly.

The afternoon sun burned hot on his back and head. He tried to turn the horse sideways so that he could get some relief from the miserly shade of the spindly birch tree, but the stubborn mare was having none of it. She had her own head in the shade and refused to move.
He glanced back up the track towards the city. God’s arse, where was the woman? Catlin always thought the entire world would wait on her pleasure. She was always disappearing on some mysterious errand or other. A more suspicious man, he thought, might wonder if she had a lover.

He’d almost decided to turn for home when he spotted her trotting towards him along the riverbank astride her perky
little palfrey, whose chestnut hide gleamed red in the hot sun. Her mount seemed deliberately to lift its head as they approached, flaunting its youth and vigour in the face of the swollen-kneed old mare. The sight did nothing to lighten Edward’s mood.

‘I’ve been waiting for hours,’ he snapped.

Catlin pursed her lips in annoyance, and the sunlight mercilessly exposed the deep wrinkles that were
forming at her mouth. Catlin, Edward thought, was beginning to look her age.

‘Leonia delayed me. She’s becoming tiresome. She flirts with Robert like some marketplace whore.’

Edward chuckled. ‘Jealous, are we? Young Leonia knows exactly what she does to men and how to get them to pour everything she wants into her lap. And you of all people can hardly blame her for that. She’s been taught by
a mistress of the art.’

Catlin glowered at him. ‘She certainly has Robert by the nose.’

‘That’s a good thing, surely. It distracts her. Let her play with him for now. She’s headstrong and you can only force her hand so far. This whole affair will be far easier to manage if she consents to it willingly.’

‘You’re a fool if you think she’ll walk blindly into this with a sweet smile,’ Catlin snapped.
She shook her head as if a thought was buzzing around it. ‘The way she looks at me, the questions she asks, with that wide-eyed innocent expression, it’s as if she knows everything I do and is laying some trap.’

‘She’s a child and knows nothing. How can she? You’re her mother, you can keep her under control. Harsh discipline, little Maman, that’s what she needs. Break her. Make her as afraid
of you as that brat Adam is, and she’ll do as she’s told.’