The Gallows Curse

1Oth Day after the New Moon,

June 1211



St John's Wort — Mortals use this herb in love charms and to increase fertility. It is most effective when gathered on St John's Eve with the dew still wet upon it. If a maid shall gather it, fasting, it shall bring her a husband within the year, and if she places it under her pillow she shall see the face of the man she will wed. They also claim that if a barren wife desires a child, she should strip herself naked and go out to pick the flower on Midsummer's Eve, then she shall surely bear a child before the next feast of St John.

But beware lest you step on St John's Wort whilst it is growing, for a horse will rise up from the ground under you and carry you away. And though it rears and bucks, drags you through thorn thickets and stinking ditches until you are bruised and exhausted, you will not be able to slide from its back. You shall be forced to ride the beast until cockcrow, whereupon the faerie horse will vanish and you shall be left to walk home for many a mile.

The Mandrake's Herbal





Mother Margot



The two boatmen gripped Elena's arms on either side, hurrying her up the darkened streets. They had reached Norwich before dark, but the men had moored up on the River Wensum a little way short of the town in the shelter of the marshes. They had offered Elena bread and onions, and strips of dried eel. But though she had not eaten for more than a day, she felt full and nauseous after only a few bites of the coarse bread. Her breasts burned and ached, so swollen with milk that she couldn't even bear the touch of the cloth of her kirtle on them.

As soon as it was dark the boatmen sculled up the river into the outskirts of the town and tied up near a decaying wooden jetty that tilted precariously into the oozing mud. Now they scuttled through a maze of alleys and snickets, avoiding the main streets where the flames of the torches guttered and danced in their brackets on the walls of the houses. These little alleys huddled in darkness save for the dagger-thin blades of yellow light that struck out between shutters or under doors.

In Gastmere most villagers lived in tiny one-roomed cottages, separated from their neighbours by wide tofts where vegetables, herbs and fruit grew, and chickens, geese and pigs wandered freely. Elena had not dreamed that any place could have so many streets or houses so squashed together.

The men finally halted in front of a large wooden house. Elena guessed they must have looped back towards the river again, for she could feel the sharp, damp breeze on her face, though she could not see the water. The dwelling, though large enough to be owned by a merchant of some property, was not in the sort of street any man with money would choose for his wife and children. The ground was ankle-deep in bones, vegetable peelings and worse, thrown out by the inns and alehouses which lined it. The music of the hurdy-gurdy and frestelles tumbled from the windows, and bawdy songs and raucous laughter spilled from the casements.

One of the boatmen pulled on a rope, and somewhere from deep inside the building a bell tolled. Almost at once, as if he had been waiting behind it, a small panel behind a grill opened and a man peered out, holding up a lantern to illuminate his visitors.

The boatman moved closer to the grill. 'The Bullock said to bring this package to Mother Margot.'

'Did he now? Then we'd best take a look at it, hadn't we?'

After much fumbling, the door swung open and the boatman pushed her inside.

'Meet me in the Adam and Eve tonight, we'll reckon up then,' the gateman said. The two boatmen nodded tersely and, with a rapid glance up and down the street, retreated back into the shadows.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, the gateman guided Elena into a long, narrow room. A fire burned brightly in a pit in the middle, the smoke meandering to the blackened roof beams far above. Around the top of the walls were carved grotesques, masks of green men and other leering faces, like those Elena had seen on the church in Gastmere. At the far end of the hall was a long table set on either side with benches. The table was laden with flagons, leather beakers and half- eaten platters of cold meats, roast fowls, pies, bread and slabs of yellow cheese. It appeared that a great company had sat down to dine here, but had been served with more food than they could possibly eat. Another wave of hunger and nausea rose up in Elena at the sight of the meats. She swallowed hard, and tried to focus on something.

The gateman was looking her up and down with a great deal of curiosity. He was a stocky man, with thick, bowed legs that gave him a rolling gait. His nose had been badly broken and had mended crooked, and the thickened ears which bulged out from under his grizzled hair bore witness to their owner having engaged in numerous fist fights. But he had the cockiness of stance which suggested he usually came out of a fight victorious, whether by fair means or foul.

'I wonder . . . tell me, lass, did you work at the manor with Master Raffaele?'

'For a little ... as a maid.'

An oddly satisfied grin flickered across the gateman's crocked face. 'So you're the girl he was so keen to protect. You certainly have a knack for getting yourself into trouble, lass.'

He nodded to himself. Then he glanced towards the far end of the hall as if someone had attracted his attention, though Elena could see nothing except the carved grotesques.

'You wait here,' he ordered.

The gateman disappeared through a narrow doorway on the opposite side of the room. Elena heard the creak of stairs, then silence. Finally the stairs creaked again and the gateman was standing in the doorway beckoning to her.

'Best follow me, lass, Mother Margot doesn't like to be kept waiting'

Elena shuffled towards him, clutching her scrip tightly against her stomach, as if it would afford her some kind of protection. Although she had never seen a nunnery in her life, as soon as they had entered the building she had recognized that this was no convent. But some part of her still tried to cling desperately to the notion that it was, for if it was not a convent, what was it?

The gateman led the way up the stairs, holding the lantern down by his side so that Elena could see the steps. The stairs ended at a stout door. He knocked before reaching down for Elena's arm and pulling her into the room.

This upper room was smaller than the one below, with a casement overlooking whatever was behind the house, though the shutters were firmly closed. A large bed with thick hangings around it occupied one corner and much of the remaining space was taken up by a table covered with a pile of ledgers and quills and the remains of a supper — a good one too, judging by the wine dregs and goose bones. A huge carved chair stood behind the table, but it was set too deep in the shadows for Elena to make out more than a shape and something that glittered green. Only a single wax candle illuminated the room, so that at first Elena thought it unoccupied.

A fresh little bub to see you, Ma.'

Ah, the Bullock's girl.' The voice seemed to be coming from behind a thick woollen cloth screening off the corner of the chamber. 'So, what brings you here, my darling?'

Thoroughly disconcerted at being addressed by someone she couldn't see, Elena stammered, 'Master. . . Master Raffaele said you'd take me and I'd be safe here ... I'll work hard, Mother, I'll do anything'

'I'm glad to hear it. Very glad, but why should you need to be kept safe? Why should you not be safe where you were? Tell me the truth, my darling. I can always tell when someone is lying and I don't like liars, do I, Talbot?'

The gateman jerked his head in a vague gesture of agreement.

Elena stared at her feet, desperately hoping she was about to do the right thing, but Raffaele said Mother Margot was a friend of his and he'd not have sent her here if he thought the woman would turn her away.

'I had a baby, a boy. I was afraid for him so I gave him away, but they said . . . they said I'd killed him. But I didn't. . . I swear. You have to believe me,' she added desperately.

'I don't have to believe anyone, my darling, and I seldom do. So it's here or the gallows, is that it? That should sharpen your appetite for work. Now, let's see what Master Raffe has sent us.'

The cloth billowed as someone stepped from behind it.

Now Elena was naive, but she was not stupid. She was no longer expecting the figure which emerged to be dressed in a nun's habit, but nothing in her life thus far had prepared her for what she now saw.

The woman was a dwarf, no more than three feet high, with a massive head, so that it looked as if the head of a giant had been placed on the body of an infant. She was dressed in a long, loose scarlet robe, which though stained and a little threadbare, must once have been as costly as any gown of Lady Anne's. Heavy gold bracelets squeezed around the bulging muscles of Ma's arms. Her oiled black hair was coiled up like a snake on top of her head and fastened with long gold pins topped with jewels that glowed blood-red in the candlelight. Ma's yellow-green eyes, bulging like a frog's, ran an appraising glance up and down the length of Elena.

'Well, we know she'll not pass as a virgin, not now that she's been stretched by the baby. How old are you, girl?'

Elena was gaping at Mother Margot in such shock that for a moment she couldn't grasp the question, never mind remember the answer. Finally she managed to whisper, 'Sixteen.'

Mother Margot glanced up at Talbot hovering in the doorway. 'She looks much younger, that'll please some, those that like them looking innocent at the start of the night anyway.'

Talbot eyed Elena shrewdly, as if he was appraising the quality of a horse. 'Bit on the scrawny side if you ask me, Ma, most want a bit of flesh they can grab on to, still there're some that like them boyish-looking. You want me to get her started?'

Ma Margot shuffled forward and walked around Elena, then reached up a hand and without warning pinched her swollen breast. Elena gave a sharp cry of pain as milk soaked the front of her kirtle.

'No, not yet. For now she can earn her keep as a maid, till we hear from Raffe. He may have something special in mind for her.' She looked up at Elena. 'I'll give you something to dry up that milk. Our customers don't want reminding there are consequences to their sin. They like to think the good

Lord created breasts for their pleasure. If they wanted milk they'd sleep with a cow, or their own mothers. Isn't that right, Talbot?'

He snorted. 'I reckon some of them do just that.'

Elena's face was burning. She had been trying to pretend, trying to cut her mind off from the truth, but even little innocents like her can't keep thought out once it has wormed its way in. Master Raffaele, the one person she had trusted, had sent her to this place ... this ... she couldn't even think of the word for it, but there was no mistaking what they did here. How could he have betrayed her like this? How could she have been so stupid as ever to believe he would protect her? She should have known from his anger the night she had been dismissed from the manor, and again by the violence he had threatened when he sent her down into the pit, that he hated her. He believed that she had killed her son. This was his way of punishing her, but why? Why this? Why hadn't he simply left her to hang?

She turned and ran to the door, but Talbot stood barring the way.

'Let me go! You can't keep me here!'

Her only thought, for she had nothing that resembled a plan, was to run from this place as fast as she could. She tried to push past Talbot, but though he made no attempt to restrain her, he would not move from the doorway. Ma Margot caught her by the wrist, twisting it at the same time, so that before Elena could do anything to resist, she found herself being forced to her knees. Ma pushed Elena's arm up behind her, hard enough to leave her in no doubt that this tiny woman was capable of snapping a bone as easily as a twig if she chose to.

'And just where do you think you are going to run to?' Ma said, ignoring Elena's whimpers of pain. 'Do you think I didn't know that Osborn was searching for you, long before you set foot through the door? I know when a beggar farts in this town, before they've even smelt it themselves. You're wanted for murder and furthermore you're a runaway villein. By tomorrow, criers will on the streets of every town and village within miles, offering a reward to anyone who brings you in dead or alive. And I can tell Osborn means business, for most men would sell their own children for the size of the purse he's offering. If that weren't inducement enough, he's threatened dire punishment to any caught sheltering you.

'You just be grateful, my darling, that I'm willing to take that risk for you, 'cause I tell you now, no other soul in this town or any other would take you in, not if Osborn's determined to find you.'





With her mouth still bitter from the draught of herbs Ma Margot had given her to dry her milk, Elena descended the narrow staircase again, and this time Talbot led her through a door to the left, which opened directly on to a courtyard. Elena shivered in the cold night air. The courtyard and the garden at the far end were both enclosed by the solid walls of buildings. Half a dozen doors led from the courtyard into what appeared to be chambers beyond. Instead of blazing torches, lanterns swung in the breeze. They were not bright enough to illuminate anyone's features, but cast just enough light through the horn panels for a man to pick his away across the yard without falling down the well or colliding with the several stout benches that were scattered about. To one side was a bigger door set into the wall which appeared to lead out of the courtyard to the world beyond.

Seeing Elena's gaze fasten on it, Talbot nodded his head.

'Behind there's the stables. Some of our gentlemen arrive on horseback, but it's no use thinking you can get out that way. Kept bolted on the other side. There's only one way in or out for you girls and that's the way you came in, through the guest hall. But you'd best not try slipping out that way unless Ma gives you leave. You never know when she's watching you, and if she catches any of her girls doing something she don't like, believe me, they soon wish she hadn't.'

The gatekeeper led Elena past several of the chambers. Light shone out through the shutters and from inside came the sounds of laughter, grunts and squeals. Elena shuddered.

Talbot grinned. 'Noisy bastards, ain't they? Always puts me in mind of pigs when you throw them a mess of swill.'

He stopped outside the last door in the far corner of the courtyard. 'This is where you all sleep. No customers to be brought in here, you understand?'

He pushed her inside.

It was hard to see much by the dim light of the lantern. Raised wooden platforms ran along either side of the room, on which were a number of straw pallets at all kinds of angles to each other, and between them Elena could see small boxes and rolled bundles, evidently their owners' meagre possessions. More clothes were heaped on top of the mattresses.

At the same instant as she pitied the women for the little they owned, it struck her for the first time that she now owned nothing except the damp, stinking rags she stood up in and her scrip. She pressed the leather to her, but she knew it was empty save for the wizened mandrake, and what use was that to her now?

She thought of the small chest crammed with the kirtles and trinkets she had received from Lady Anne, standing in her mother-in-law's cottage. What would that old witch do? Wear them? Sell them? Anger boiled up in her. Joan had never thought her good enough for her son, but to do all in her power to get her daughter-in-law hanged — how could any woman be that spiteful? She shuddered at the thought that if Joan'd had her way, she would even now be hanging in a gibbet with ravens pecking at her sightless eyes. Elena tried to remind herself that all that mattered was that she was alive. She knew she should be grateful for that. But then she remembered where she was, and the fear and revulsion engulfed her again.

Several women were already sleeping in the chamber. Some lay sprawled across their pallets with arms and legs spilling out from beneath the coverings, others were curled up in tight balls, furrowing their brows in their sleep as the light from Talbot's lantern brushed their faces. Talbot marched down between the platforms, stepping carefully across the firepit in the centre though there was no fire burning now. Towards the back of the room, the pallets were occupied by four or five young boys, who were arranged head to foot like a row of herring on the monger's slab, tugging the blankets towards them as they fought one another in their dreams.

Talbot paused by two women who lay side by side whispering to each other.

'Here,' he said in a gruff whisper. 'Ma's taken in another bub. Find her a corner, will you, Luce. Tomorrow, take her in hand and show her the rules. She's only to clean for now, nothing more. And, Luce, mind you treat her like your own sister. She belongs to the Bullock.'

A dark-haired girl, with large doe eyes, propped herself up on one elbow.

'Belong to Master Raffe, do you? Aren't you the lucky one! What's he like then, the Bullock? They say he's got tricks that not even a ship's whore knows.' She tugged at the wet, muddy hem of Elena's skirts. 'If we're to be sisters you must tell everything he does in bed, I want every detail, mind.'

Elena snatched her skirt out of her grasp. 'I haven't . . . I've never let him touch me. He's an old man.'

Luce laughed. 'You wait till you see some of the wrinkled old cocks we get in here, you'll think Master Raffe a pullet compared to them. What's your name, kitten?'

'El—'

Elena was stopped mid-word by a heavy cuff from Talbot. 'Goose-head! You don't ever give your real name to anyone in here. Here, Luce,' he said, shaking his head as if he despaired of her stupidity, 'you give her a name.'

The girl chuckled softly. 'Prickly little thing, isn't she, and with hair that red, we'd best call her Holly. Tell you what, with flame on top like that, there'll be no hiding her light under a bush, not even a roomful of bushes.'

Talbot laughed.

Luce glanced around the room, then pointed to a pallet opposite her own.

'Take that one, next to Apricot; just chuck her bundle on to the top of that box. She's always spreading herself out.'

Elena picked her way across to the vacant pallet and, struggling out of her sodden shoes, lay down fully clothed, her scrip still fastened around her waist. Her teeth began to chatter and she shivered uncontrollably.

'You not got any covers, Holly?' A coarse blanket came flying through the air, hitting Elena in the face. 'Get out of your wet clothes, you'll catch your death.'

Elena gratefully drew the blanket over her, but she still made no attempt to peel off her damp clothes, though she longed to be warm and dry. To be naked in this place would be to admit she was now one of them and she wasn't. She wouldn't ever allow herself to be.

Luce glanced at Talbot and shrugged. Talbot, shaking his head as if he could never understand women, lumbered from the room.





Ma poured a goblet of wine for herself and pushed the flagon across her table towards Talbot. He shook his head, as he usually did. Talbot could down his own bodyweight in ale of an evening and still remember every word of gossip he'd picked up in the Adam and Eve Inn, but he'd never had the stomach for wine.

He hovered uneasily in front of Ma's table. He knew the signs; that silent and too concentrated paring of an apple with her razor-sharp knife meant Ma was not happy, and if she wasn't happy, you could be certain she'd make damn sure he wasn't either.

'So, my darling,' Ma said. 'Why don't you tell me why I'm really risking my neck taking in this girl? And don't say you're just doing a favour for the Bullock.'

Talbot grinned. 'She's a pretty wench, has an innocence about her some men would love to spoil in more ways than one. She'll earn you good money.'

'I never take in girls who don't bring me money. What else?' The rubies on Ma's stubby fingers flashed in the candlelight as she scraped her long talons down the pewter goblet.

Talbot's grin faded instantly. He knew when Ma's patience was wearing thin.

'All right, Ma, if you must know, back in the spring Raffe told me that a lass in the manor had overheard a man talking about bringing French spies into England. She didn't recognize who was talking, but it turns out the rat was none other than Hugh of Roxham, Osborn's little brother. Raffe wouldn't report it for fear Hugh would get to the lass first. And I reckon that little red-head downstairs is the same girl Raffe was trying to protect then. Now it seems she's fallen foul of the other brother too.'

Ma's yellow-green eyes opened so wide they looked as if they might explode out of her head. 'What! And you persuaded me to take her in here! I'll have your bollocks roasted for this — while you're still wearing them.'

Talbot took a step backwards, his hands held up in protest.

'Wait, Ma. Don't you see? This could be good for us. Sheriff is always trying to line his filthy little coffers with taxes and fines. And with that bastard John demanding more and more money from Norwich and the other towns for his wars, it won't be long before the sheriffs round here again finding some excuse to fine us again. Osborn's got a long reach and he's a favourite of John. If anyone could persuade the sheriff to leave us in peace, he could. We just need to give him a reason.

'The lass has only murdered her brat, not like she's killed a nobleman, so we could tell her John would pardon her if she delivered a traitor to him. He'd probably hang her anyway, but what does that matter? Thing is, Osborn's got too much to lose to risk his brother being accused of treason. Once he learns what this little red-head knows he might be persuaded to keep the sheriff off our backs and even to contribute a generous sum to our little convent here, just to make sure we keep the lass quiet.'

Ma's fingers tightened round the neck of the goblet. 'Blackmail is a dangerous game, especially when it involves the likes of Osborn. It could see us all on the gallows.' She fixed Talbot with an unblinking stare. 'Now, you listen to me, my darling, and you listen well. We'll keep this girl safe till we see which way the wind is blowing. If the time's right we'll play your game, but if I think the risks are too high I'll sell her to Osborn myself. But I'll decide. Until then you keep your mouth shut, you understand?'

Talbot nodded. It was the best he could hope for from Ma.

He was almost at the door when she said quietly, 'That nobleman back in the Holy Land who would have hanged you for thieving, I seem to recall you telling me once his name was Hugh. Not the same Hugh, by any chance, was it, my darling?'

Talbot scowled at her. 'Everyone was at it, filling their pockets, the nobles were the worst. I only took their leavings. And that fecking bastard Hugh had me searched and, brazenly as you like, pocketed all I'd taken. Then he told his men to string me up for thieving. He was the bloody thief. It was him who should have been hanged. Those were my spoils. I'd found 'em. They were mere chicken scraps to a man like him, but that bit of gold and silver would have set me up for life. Could've bought myself a juicy little business and been me own man, I could, if it weren't for that swine.'

'Now we're getting to the real nub of it.' Ma smiled, showing her sharp white teeth. 'The Bullock's been a good friend to us and I'll take this girl for his sake, but if I find you putting me or this house in danger just to take revenge on this Hugh of yours, I swear I'll make your life so miserable you'll be cursing Raffe to the fires of hell for ever saving you from that noose.'





Elena lay rigid on her back, listening to the groans, snores and mutters of the sleepers around her. She heard the last of the customers stumbling drunkenly across the courtyard, some singing, some calling goodbyes in hoarse whispers loud enough to raise the saints from their perfumed coffins. Every now and then the door would open and another woman or boy would stumble into the room and pick their way across the prone bodies to their own little space, slip off their clothes and slide naked under the covers, sinking into sleep almost at once.

Just a few hours ago Elena had prayed to be saved from the gallows and now . . . now she didn't know what to pray. How long would it be before she was made to join them out there in those other rooms, and what would they make her do? All the jokes and conversations she listened to between Marion and the other women began to echo again in her head, the way they giggled over what they'd done with men, things Elena couldn't imagine any woman doing or wanting to do. Half the time she'd thought they were making it up just to make the younger girls blush, now she wasn't sure.

She had only ever slept with Athan, and the thought of any other man lying on top of her, his hands all over her, made her gag, never mind the thought of what else they might want her to do. She turned over and winced as her tender swollen breasts pressed against the coarse straw of the pallet. She longed desperately to feel her baby's soft little mouth nuzzling against her, to hold him just one last time.

Elena's eyes burned with tears from exhaustion, hunger, fear, but mostly for the great ache that was the absence of Athan and her son. She loved Athan so much. But the face that rose up in front of her when she tried to picture him was distorted with the doubt she'd seen in his eyes when he'd last looked at her. Did he really believe she could have done it? Why hadn't he spoken up for her to Osborn? Why hadn't he even tried to come to her last night in the pit? He said he would always love her. Those were the last words he had spoken to her and she clung desperately to them. But could you really love someone and believe them capable of murdering your own little son?

Tears forced their way from under Elena's eyelids but angrily she rubbed them away. Of all of them, Raffaele had been the only one to help her in the end and she must believe he would continue to protect her. Who else was there she could trust? If she allowed herself to think that there was no one, she'd never be able to go on living.

That first day after he'd taken her to see Lady Anne, Raffaele had promised to be like a father to her and no father would let his daughter be used as a whore. He had sent her here to keep her safe, and it had been a good plan, for Osborn's men would never think to search here. And when Gytha returned to Gastmere and proved her innocent, she would be able to go home again to Athan and he would look at her tenderly the way he had that night they conceived their son. Everything would come right. It must. All she had to do was wait. Clinging to that single thread of hope, Elena finally drifted into an exhausted sleep.





11th Day after the New Moon,

June 1211



Ants — which some call pismires, for they stink of piss.

As many swellings or warts as a mortal has, he should take that number of ants, bind them in a cloth with a snail and burn it all to ashes and mix with vinegar. Then remove the head of an ant and crushing the body between his fingers anoint the juice on the swellings and they shall shrink.

Some say ants are Muryans or faeries who undergo many earthly transformations, getting smaller and smaller until they become ants before vanishing for ever. Others say they are the souls of unbaptized children who cannot enter either heaven or hell, therefore an ants' nest must never be destroyed. And if a piece of tin is placed in an ants' nest at just the right moment under a new moon it will turn to silver.

Ant eggs can be used to destroy the love of a man for a woman, or a maid for a lad, if they should desire that person for themselves. For mortals are fickle in all ways but this, that they burn most fiercely with love for another when that love is not returned.

The Mandrake's Herbal