The Gallows Curse

Hilda stood squarely in the door of the Lady Anne's chamber, blocking the way.

'She's resting, poor soul. Scarcely closed her eyes all night, with that man shouting and raving about his brother's murder till the early hours. She was that exhausted after returning from her cousin. I've never seen her look so wan. I know her cousin is in poor health, but she shouldn't keep expecting Lady Anne to make that journey to sit with her. She must have tiring maids enough of her own could keep her company. It'll kill my poor mistress, you see if it doesn't.'

Lady Anne had returned from visiting her sick cousin only an hour or so before the messenger from Norwich had arrived and had straight away retired to her chamber, but when Osborn had returned with the body, he had been in such a rage that he was unable to rest or sleep and had made quite certain that no one else in the manor could either. He had not kept silent vigil over his brother's body, as might have been expected, but instead had raged and bellowed his curses against God, the Devil and Hugh's murderer long into the night, as he furiously gulped down goblet after goblet of wine, until finally the effects of the drink overcame even his fury and he staggered to bed.

For once, Raffe almost felt sorry for Hilda, for her eyes were as red-rimmed as the rest of the servants' and she looked as if she was about to fall asleep on her feet. He resisted the urge to thrust her bodily aside, and tried to reason with her.

'I know the Lady Anne is tired. But I must speak with her. I wouldn't disturb her if it were not so urgent. Trust me, Hilda, this is something she must know now and she will not thank you for keeping me from her.' Seeing Hilda's mouth draw tighter than a miser's purse string, he added, 'Lady Anne could be in danger.'

Hilda's hand flew to her mouth in alarm. Raffe knew that this was the one argument he could use that would win the sour old woman over. Whatever her faults, she would have offered her body to a shipload of bloodthirsty Saracens if she thought it would save her mistress.

Hilda nodded and hastened into the chamber. Raffe heard her murmuring to Lady Anne, then she returned and beckoned Raffe in. Lady Anne was sitting in a high-backed chair wrapped in a rabbit-fur robe, her head resting wearily in her hand.

'Hilda, can you wait outside the chamber and make sure none loiter where they can overhear us?' Raffe asked.

Hilda looked to Lady Anne for an answer. She nodded and Hilda reluctantly shuffled outside. Anne was utterly exhausted. The dark carved wooden chair only made her appear even more pale and fragile. Raffe wanted to scoop her up, put her back in her bed and bid her sleep, but he knew he couldn't. He glanced at the door. Hilda would keep away the servants better than any guard dog, but she would be straining to hear herself. While he knew she'd cut out her own tongue rather than willingly betray her mistress, nevertheless she was a gossip and as nervous as a newly trapped songbird. Raffe could not trust her not to let something slip in a fit of panic.

'Please, m'lady, if we could take the casement seat. . . .' It was the furthest from the doorway. He offered his arm and she took it, leaning on it heavily enough to suggest that for once she really needed support. The drawn yellow skin, the dark dry hollows under her eyes, suggested she had spent many a sleepless night watching over her cousin. Raffe could see why Hilda was so concerned.

As soon as Anne was seated, she motioned impatiently that Raffe should sit with her. She gazed down into the courtyard below, where a few of the servants stood in twos and threes talking earnestly about the night's events, making little pretence at working. Rumour of Hugh's murder must have already reached the villagers, for Raffe could see a few of them sidling in through the gates to find out if it was true.

'What is it, Raffaele?' Anne said wearily, without turning her head. 'Another priest in trouble?'

Raffe cleared his throat. 'Worse, I'm afraid. The priest who asked for your help, the one I helped to escape to France, sent a message demanding that I assist a French envoy to reach Norwich. He threatened to betray us both if I didn't.'

Anne turned sharply. 'But he wouldn't have done so, I'm sure, not a man of God. He must only have meant to frighten you to secure your help.'

'Perhaps, but I could take no chances. I couldn't risk your safety.' Raffe knew only too well the priest had meant every word, but he didn't want to hurt her by explaining exactly what had happened that night in the prisoner hole.

Anne's lips trembled and she reached out her hand, briefly clasping it over Raffe's. 'My son chose his friends well.'

'Not so well, it seems. I did as I was asked and conveyed what I thought was the envoy to Norwich, but I've just learned that I was deceived. The real envoy was murdered and the man I took to Norwich was an impostor, one of John's men. I believe he means to discover all the envoy's contacts and when he does he will surely report them to John. If he learns that I am steward at this manor, he may discover that you have given aid to the priests. Indeed, he may have already known about both of us, before I even met him. If he does, you can be sure he will tell Osborn, for he knows he's the king's man.'

Raffe had expected Anne to display some sign of alarm at the news, but her face was expressionless. He had to make her understand the danger.

'Even as we speak, Osborn is already on the road to Norwich. I intend to leave within the hour to try to find this spy of John's before he learns that Osborn is in Norwich and has a chance to reach him. But I had to warn you before I left. I think it would be wise for you to return to your cousin at once. I will send word if all is well and it's safe for you to return to the manor; if not, we may need to try to get you out of England.'

Anne was gazing out of the window again, as though Raffe was discussing the price of wheat. If she'd understood what he had said, her face showed nothing of it.

'He doesn't care, does he?' she said, without taking her gaze from the courtyard below. 'I thought that if there was one person in the world Osborn would grieve for, it would be his brother. I thought he would at least feel something resembling pain at his passing, but all he cares about is the insult and affront to his house and name.'

'I... I believe that grief sometimes shows itself in anger,' Raffe said, completely bemused by Anne's lack of reaction to what he'd thought would be alarming news. 'Osborn is a knight. He's fought many battles in the Holy Land and in France, seen many men die. A man like that doesn't display his feelings in tears, but in action.'

'And ordered the death of many men too,' Anne said, her hands clenching tight.

'That also. But m'lady, do you understand what I said, your freedom, your life could be in danger, you must —'

'I know what I must do!' She turned her face to him. Her eyes, though still tired, were bright with anger. Two spots of red appeared on her thin cheeks. 'Do you think Osborn feels anything? Do you think he cares that his brother was struck down without being granted one moment in which he could utter a prayer, or say a word of contrition or confession? He was sent straight from this life with every one of his sins hanging from his neck, dragging him straight down to hell where he belongs.'

Raffe was stunned by the bitterness in her voice, the fury he could see blazing on her face. He knew she disliked Osborn and Hugh, what woman wouldn't, having barbarians like them occupying her home and threatening her, but he had never heard her speak with such hatred for any man. He hadn't known her capable of it.

Anne searched his eyes. 'I know what Osborn did, Raffe.'

'M'lady?'

'He told me that day after he threatened to imprison me in the hole. The day Elena ran away. I confronted him that night over the hanging of poor Athan. I told him that he could threaten to do what he liked to me, but that I would not stand for innocent people being murdered. I said that I knew John had granted him the manor, but that I would appeal to the king myself, tell him what Osborn was doing and ask for justice. Osborn laughed.'

Raffe grimaced. He knew only too well how Osborn would react to such a challenge. He was amazed that the man had merely laughed at her. He would have expected Osborn to punish her cruelly for daring to threaten him. He would have been vengeful enough if a man had done so, never mind a woman.

Anne pressed her fingers to her temples, massaging them. Raffe could see she was in pain, but he had to be sure she would leave the manor before he could set off for Norwich, and every moment that passed only increased the danger.

'M'lady, you must make ready to leave. I'll call Hilda to pack for you.' He rose and was walking away when Anne's voice halted him.

'Osborn laughed and then he said, "Do you think your precious son was so noble and pure? Do you think he didn't murder the innocent? Your son was drenched in blood, innocent blood, holy blood, and you think the death of one villein equates to that? You could do penance for a thousand years, mistress, and you would not wipe one day off your son's punishment. He is screaming in hell now and nothing you can do will release him. Look to your own house, mistress, before you dare to criticize mine."'

Raffe was staring at her in horror. But Anne gazed fixedly in front of her as if she could still see Osborn talking to her.

'He told me then, Raffe. He told me what you and my son had done four years ago in Gascony. Was that the evil my son spoke of on his deathbed? Was that the sin you feared he would carry to the next world?'

She turned her head to look at Raffe, searching his eyes.

'Tell me,' she ordered.

Raffe's face was frozen with misery. 'No, no, please don't ask that of me. I can't. I don't. . . Gerard never wanted you to know. I don't want you to remember him like that. He was a good man, a great man.'

'I have heard it already from Osborn. I must hear the truth of it from you. I need to know. He was my son.'

Raffe found himself sinking to the floor, his back pressed against the wall, his eyes tightly closed. He had to tell her now. Whatever version she had heard from Osborn would be vile distortion. He couldn't let her believe that. All the same, it was several minutes before Raffe could bring himself to speak.

'We served under Osborn twice. The first was at the siege of Acre where Gerard's father was slain.'

'I know that both my husband and my son killed many infidels,' Anne said, 'but the Pope himself declared that whatever was done by those who fought under the Holy Cross was forgiven even before the act was committed. But tell of the second time with Osborn, tell me of Montauban.'

'Please, m'lady,' Raffe begged miserably.

Anne's eyes flashed in her pale face. 'Tell me!'

'The second time . . . was when King John tried to retake Aquitaine. We landed at La Rochelle and John led the march to the castle of Montauban, close to the rivers of the Garonne and Dordogne. John vowed he would take the castle back from the rebels, but he could not afford a long siege. He brought up every siege engine he had to batter the castle, and finally he succeeded in taking it. But some of the rebels managed to slip away as the castle was stormed. John sent out the order they were to be found at all costs. The nobles were to be held for ransom and those who had little value were to be mutilated and hanged. Osborn was determined to seek favour with John by capturing his rebels. He discovered that some had claimed sanctuary in a nearby Cluniac monastery.

'Osborn ordered Gerard to lead the men in and search for them. Gerard protested that the law of sanctuary could not be violated. It was against all the rules of warfare and of the Holy Church, but Osborn told him that if he didn't persuade the rebels to give themselves up, then he would burn the place down and all the monks in it.

'You have to know that Gerard reasoned with the monks for hours, trying to persuade them to hand over the rebels, but they swore there were no traitors amongst them. He reported this to Osborn but he refused to believe it. He told

Gerard to take his men and search the place, holy or not, or he would destroy it stone by stone and burn the monks alive.

'Gerard knew the monks wouldn't simply open the doors and let him walk in, so he waited until it was dark. There was only one man on watch. The monks, I believe, thought no one would dare to violate their sanctuary. After all, such a thing was strictly forbidden. Gerard tried to disable the watchman and take him prisoner. But the fear that what he was doing was evil in the sight of God made him clumsy and the man began to yell. Gerard had to kill him. He had no choice.

'Once inside, all of us scattered to search for the rebels, but there were so many chambers, staircases and passages in that maze of a building we could have searched for days while they simply moved the rebels from one part to the next, behind our backs. Some of Osborn's men, fearing we'd never find them, began looting the monastery's treasures, no doubt thinking that if they returned with gold and silver, Osborn would be mollified. Gerard attempted to call them to order, but they wouldn't listen. The monks tried to stop them taking the holy objects, fighting broke out, and Gerard ... we lost control of the men.

'We discovered some of the rebels hiding in a crypt beneath the chapel, disguised as monks, but they refused to surrender, knowing full well what John would do to them. We were all fighting then, in the chapel and cloisters. It was dark ... chaos. What few candles, remained burning in the stone passages showed nothing clearly except shapes lunging this way and that. It was impossible to tell rebel from monk amid all the yelling and clashing of swords. Then finally the screaming stopped.

'All the rebels were dead and many of the monks. Osborn's men retreated with all the treasure they could carry to compensate for the loss of ransom for the prisoners. I couldn't find Gerard. I was searching frantically for him among the dead and wounded. I began to fear the worst, but then at last I found him. He was sitting on the floor of the monastery church cradling an elderly monk in his arms. There was a dead man lying at their feet. Gerard's hands were wet with blood. He was begging over and over again for the old monk to forgive him, but the monk ... I don't know . . . maybe he was too close to death to hear him. But he said nothing.

'Then we saw a red glow through the open door and smelt the stench of smoke. Osborn had set fire to the monastery, maybe to cover up the slaughter and the looting or perhaps just for his own amusement. I don't know. I tried to drag Gerard out of the church, but he refused to leave the old monk. He just kept on begging him to forgive him,, as if he couldn't move until the old man had given him a sign.

'The roof was already alight. It was only a matter of time before it came crashing down. In the end, I picked the old monk up and carried him across my arms. We battled down the aisle of the church through smoke and falling wood, stumbling over the overturned altars and broken statues to reach the door. It was open, but there was a line of Osborn's men standing there, swords in hand ready to slay any who tried to escape. When they recognized us, they lowered their swords, all except one man, Hugh.

'He ordered me to toss the monk back inside the burning building. I tried to push past him, I tried ... but my arms were full. Hugh raised his sword. As if he sensed what was coming, the old monk opened his eyes and stared up at him. He cursed us, he cursed every one of us who had violated the House of God, then he tried to pray. But Hugh wouldn't let him finish. Gerard yelled out, but it was too late. Hugh brought his sword down across the man's neck as his head lolled back over my arm and struck the monk's head from his body. The blood spurted up into my face like scalding metal, I was half blinded and stumbled to my knees, still clutching the body of the corpse. I could hear the severed head bouncing down the stone steps, then, as Osborn's men saw it rolling towards them, they began to laugh. Behind us, there was a thunderous rumble and the roof of the monastery collapsed into the crackling flames.'

Raffe was shaking. He found himself with his hands over his ears trying to block out the sounds of the screaming men, of sword severing bone, the violent laughter and the roar of the flames. He forced his hands down, pressing them between his drawn-up knees to stop them trembling.

Anne had covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders were heaving, but she made no sound. For a long time neither of them spoke. Then Anne said Softly, And my son never made confession of it.'

'He couldn't bring himself even to speak of it. It tormented his sleep, that I know. Many a night I heard him cry out and saw him wake drenched in sweat. Sometimes he was too afraid to sleep, and then he would drink, drink far more than any man should, but that only sent him to sleep and back into his nightmares again. Who could he make confession to? Who would hear any of us? What priest in England would have understood and absolved us from the murder of holy monks in the very House of God? Even King Henry could not make penance enough for the murder of Thomas a Becket at Canterbury, and he was but one man slain, and the king's hand did not wield the sword.'

'No,' Anne said fiercely. 'But it was the king who gave the order and God will hold him more guilty than ever the knights who struck the blows.'

She swung herself around on the casement seat and her face was flushed and her jaw set hard. 'I am glad you told me of Hugh's part in this. I had thought to make Osborn suffer by taking away those he cared for, by sending them to hell before they had a chance to confess their sins, but now I see the murder of Hugh had its own justice.'

Raffe was still too troubled by his own memories to respond, but finally he managed to pull himself together and clamber to his feet.

'You must leave here this afternoon, m'lady. I have to go to Norwich, I must find John's spy before it's too late and more innocent men are slain. Promise me you will leave here before this day is out.'

Anne nodded. 'I've heard what you said and I will go. I have friends who will take me in. You're a good man, Raffaele, a loyal friend to my son and now to me. If you would do me one last service, buy me a little time to get away and I shall always be in your debt.'

'I will do all in my power, m'lady, and if it please God I find the man in time before he reaches Osborn or the king, you will be able to return here soon. I'll get word to you wherever you are.'

He bowed with a formality he had not used for a long time, and was half-way across the chamber before some thought in the back of his mind made him freeze in mid- stride. He turned back to Anne. She was still sitting where he'd left her.

'You said you had thought to make Osborn suffer?'

She stared up at him. The anger which had animated her face had drained away and she looked now as lifeless as a wooden mask.

'Yes, yes . . .' She drew a deep breath. 'You have confessed to me, so it is only fair that I should confess to you. Besides, I may not live long enough to find a priest to absolve me.

'You see, my cousin . . . she is not sick, at least, please God she is not, for the truth is I haven't seen her these many months. I have instead been to Norwich and there I sent first Raoul and then Hugh to God's judgment. Raoul, because I knew he was spying for John and it was only a matter of time before he discovered I was helping the priests. But you may ask why I next chose Hugh and not Osborn.

'Death would have spared Osborn the punishment he deserved. I want him to suffer in this life before he suffers in the next. I don't want him to escape that. I need him to know how it feels to go on living when the person you love with all your soul is suffering the torments of the fires for eternity, and you can do nothing to help them, not even place so much as a single drop of cooling water upon their burning tongues. I wanted him to live with that. I wanted him to know that before he dies, for surely that is the only torment that hell itself cannot inflict upon the damned.'

Her eyes were bright with tears now, but she would not let them fall.

'I confess I had thought it would be harder to murder a man. Men always say how tough and brave you must be. But then I thought about what Osborn had done to my beloved son, how he had corrupted and damned Gerard's soul. And how Osborn even now. . . even now has no remorse and laughs as if it were one of his greatest victories. Believe me, Raffaele, when you hate that much, it is not hard to kill a man at all.'





7th Day after the Full Moon,

October 1211



Ash — Its wood is so tough that mortals fashion spear shafts from it. They plant it about their dwellings to protect them from the evil eye. If a man's cattle are diseased he should wall mice or shrews up in the holes of living ash trees, which mortals call the Shrew-Ash, and as the mice weaken and die, so shall the disease die out among the cattle.

If a mortal should suffer sores in his ear, he must boil ash keys in his own urine and therein soak black wool, and press the wool into his ear. A child passed through a split in an ash tree will be cured of bow legs or swellings of the groin. Many ash trees are adorned with the locks of children's hair, which if offered to the tree will cure that child of their cough. Honey made from ash blossom is smeared on the lips of newborn babes, or else they are given the sap which oozes from a burning ash twig, to protect them.

Mothers cradle their infants in ash wood to guard them from foul spirits. Witches use it for their brooms, so that they shall never fall into water and be drowned. Ash wood in a boat will keep it from sinking.

The female ash tree, sheder, will counter the curses of warlocks, and the male ash, heder, will work against the hexes of witches. For the ash is a sacred tree and the three weird sisters of fate — past, present and future — water the ash so that it will never die.

And, at the roots of the ash tree lie three wells — remembrance, rebirth and destruction. And the deepest well of them all is destruction.

The Mandrake's Herbal





Osborn, Son of Warren



'I have the clothes ready for you,' Ma said. 'Hurry now, it'll soon be time, and Osborn's not the kind of man to idly pick his nose and wait.'

She tugged impatiently at Elena's shift and indicated the kirtle and hooded cloak which lay on the table.

'I can't, Ma. I can't,' Elena wailed. 'Please don't make me.'

She'd had nothing else to think about these past three days except Osborn. Even when sheer exhaustion drove her to sleep, his face floated in front of her, with its cold, indifferent expression as if she was nothing more than a hog or a sheep he was inspecting at market, and worth even less. She could still hear the impatience in his voice as he pronounced her sentence, itching to have the business done with and ride out with his hawks. He'd dropped the words carelessly into the air, as a rich man might toss a coin to a beggar to stop him whining, although Osborn would sooner kick a beggar out of his path than give him charity.

And every hour of every day, she'd tried to imagine Osborn's face when he sentenced Athan to be hanged. Had it worn that same bored expression, or was it filled with anger because she had defied him and not waited meekly for the rope as he had instructed? Was that rage in his voice when he condemned Athan to death, or cold cruelty?

And how had gentle, bewildered Athan gone to the gallows? She imagined him standing there, his head lifted inviting the noose, bravely defiant. What were his last thoughts of her? Bitterness that he'd been punished for her, or was he glad to die for her? She knew in her heart it was not the latter. For his face, too, haunted her nights, the horror and disgust she'd seen in his eyes that night he'd thought she'd murdered his son.

And yet... and yet she still could not believe Athan was really dead. He was still there, still walking down that familiar track on the way to the fields. If Athan was gone, then it seemed the whole of her life before this place had merely been a child's game of make-believe. The village, the manor, her childhood and Athan had existed only in her dreams.

Ma pushed her roughly down on a low stool and pulled the kirtle over her head. Then she fastened an old woollen cloak about her shoulders, which smelt of cinnamon.

'Come on, my darling, there isn't much time. Now, listen carefully. Talbot'll take you to a part of the city they call Mancroft. There's an inn on Briggs Street between Sheep Market and Horse Market. The chamber on the upper floor at the back has its own separate entrance up the outside stairs. Osborn will be waiting there. He's expecting a woman alone, so he'll not be on his guard. He thinks you've got information about his brother.'

She opened a small wooden box on her table and lifted out a small silver amulet in the shape of a hand. Across the palm four curious shapes had been engraved. Elena supposed they were letters though they looked strange to her eyes, but since she couldn't even read her own name, they made no sense to her. Ma stood behind her and fastened the leather thong around her neck.

'Now, my darling, make sure anyone who sees you near the inn, either entering or leaving it, can see this.'

Elena looked down at it, puzzled. 'Why?'

'It's an amulet belonging to the Hebrews. Most of the Jews of the city live in Mancroft; if they see you wearing this they'll think you're one of them and you'll pass unnoticed, and if anyone does remember seeing you after the body is discovered, then they'll be looking for a Jewess.'

Elena shivered. 'Ma, please listen to me. I can't kill him. I know I can't.'

Ma clucked impatiently. 'You can and you will. You've done it twice already. Remember what that cunning woman said — the curse will fall on your son if you don't do what she asks. And if it does, everything you did to protect him — sending him away, your lover's death, you having to hide here — all that will have been for nothing'

Ma crossed to her box again and this time drew out a long pointed dagger. She crossed the room and laid it in Elena's lap. Taking her right hand, Ma crushed Elena's fingers around the hilt.

'If he's facing you, just draw close to him. Pull the dagger from beneath your cloak and make one swift thrust there and upwards.' She touched the place on Elena's ribs. 'This blade is so slender and sharp, it'll be like poking a hole in jellied brawn. If he turns his back on you, it's even easier. You killed his brother that way, so you know what to do.'

Ma slid the dagger into a pocket already sewn inside the cloak just where the wearer could easily pull it out. Elena wondered briefly why such a pocket had been made in a woman's cloak, but the thought was lost in the sudden wave of nausea which engulfed her, as she thought of the blade piercing living flesh and jellied brawn spilling out. Ma pulled her to her feet, and she stood swaying, trying to choke back the sickness.

Ma gripped her hands tightly. 'Remember, my darling, Osborn murdered your husband. He sat and watched him dancing on a rope, choking and fighting for every breath, until his tongue swelled up in his mouth and his face turned black and still he struggled. Osborn did that. Osborn deserves to die. Athan's last prayer was to see his murder avenged. Athan died for you, my darling, so you must see to it that his killer is punished. If the innocent are slain, they walk the earth in torment without rest or peace, till their own murderer lies dead. Unless you kill Osborn, your poor husband will never rest in his grave. If you ever loved Athan, you will do this one last thing for him, so that he can be at peace.'

Ma's yellow-green eyes bored into Elena's own. The ruby pins winked at her in the candlelight and the viper's tongues trembled, tasting the air. It seemed to Elena that every eye in the world was turned upon her, waiting for her to do this for Athan and her son. They needed her. She could not fail them.

Ma seized Elena's arm and hurried her down the stairs to where Talbot was waiting. Almost before she knew it, Elena was outside on the street. The shock of the cold night jolted her into a realization of where she was. The sharp wind from the river buffeted her skirts and pressed the hard metal of the dagger against her thigh. She tried to turn back for the door, but Talbot locked her arm through his and set off at a good pace towards the centre of the town. His rolling gait made it hard to keep in step with him, but he held her close, keeping a grip on her arm that was so tight she feared her bones would snap if she tried to wrest them loose.

A draggle of men and women hurried up the street. Some lit their way through the darkened streets with horn lanterns, but a few held blazing torches that guttered wildly in the breeze, forcing those coming the other way to flatten themselves against the shuttered wooden shopfronts to avoid being singed. Most hurried about their business without giving Talbot or Elena a second glance. It was too cold a night to want to stay outside longer than they had to. But Elena couldn't understand why they didn't all stop and stare at her. She felt every person in the city must know what she was about to do, and with each step she took, the dagger thumped against her leg like the heavy tolling of the funeral bell.

The air was heavy with the sweet smoke of the peat fires. Dozens of supper pots bubbled away in the houses, filling the night with the fragrance of beans, boiled mutton, salt pork, burnt goatweed, bitter sorrel and sour ale. The savoury smoke mingled with the piss and dung of human, dog, goose and swine, mixed up with rotting vegetables and the flyblown offal floating in the gutters.

Elena had grown so accustomed to the odours of the brothel, the sweat, the musky oils and suppurations of sex, that the city stench was as alien to her as a forest to a lapdog.

Talbot said he had found her outside on the street the night of Hugh's murder, but she didn't remember any of this.

They hurried through the alleys of the leather workers, and for a while the smell of new leather, hemp and beeswax feebly nudged their way through the other stenches. Unused to walking in the city streets, Elena continually slipped on the rotting rushes thrown out of the houses and felt the crunch of oyster shells beneath her feet.

Eventually the pair emerged into a broad, straight road, wide enough for carts and wagons to pass along it.

'We're in Mancroft,' Talbot announced, drawing her into the shadow behind some steps. 'Open your cloak, lass, so as they can see the silver hand. But keep your hood pulled well over your head and if you pass anyone, keep your face down. See, that way only the silver will catch the light of any lantern and that's what they'll remember.

'Now, you carry on down this street, then the first street you come to on the right, you go up there. The inn's towards the far end, but you'll not miss it. Look for the carved mermaid with a dried bush tied to its tail, that's it. Go into the courtyard round the back, and you'll see wooden steps. Chamber's at the top.'

'Aren't you coming with me?' Elena asked in alarm.

Talbot rubbed the bristles on his chin; Elena could hear them rasping against his rough hand. 'You're supposed to pass as one of the Hebrews. Their women don't walk with Christian men and no one's ever likely to mistake me for a Jew. For one thing, their men don't cut their beards. Go on now, and you do it soon as you get in there, very first chance you get, afore you lose your nerve.'

The brief moment of resolve Elena had felt in Ma's chamber had long since evaporated.

'I can't, Talbot. I'll fail, I know I will. I'm not strong enough. You could do it, please . . . please,' she begged. You've killed men before.'

'Aye, and so have you.' Talbot put a hand on her shoulder.

'It's got to be you that does it. That cunning woman said it was for the mandrake. If I do it, it'll not lift the curse.'

He bent his head close to hers. His hot breath smelled of raw onions. He pinched her cheek and there was almost a note of sympathy in his voice.

'You seen the other girls, the way they sidle up to a man and run their hand over his shoulder. Then they open their lips just a little and make to kiss him. Girl does that to a man and all his defences leave him. That's what you got to do to Osborn. Then, just as he bends forward to kiss you, you stick the dagger in and run straight for the door.

'Now, go on. Sooner you do it, sooner it'll be over and the safer we'll all be. Remember, lass, if he finds out you killed his brother, he'll not show you any mercy. He'll do things to you you can't even imagine, terrible cruel things. If you want to live, he has to die now, tonight, afore he's the one that's coming for you.'

He pushed her out into the street. Turning, she could just make out his dark outline standing in the shadows watching her, but only because she knew he was there. She shivered and walked slowly up the street.

The leet of Mancroft appeared to be no different from the rest of the town. The shutters on the shops were fastened for the night and the market squares were empty save for dogs and cats scavenging among the bones and rubbish that clogged the open ditches. A few men passed her, and she remembered to lower her face, pulling her hood down. Most of the men were clean-shaven, but she could not help glancing curiously at those with long beards, though unlike the Christian men, the Jews averted their eyes from her.

She turned right as Talbot instructed. The street was much narrower here. The doors and shutters of the houses were tightly fastened and only the faintest chink of candlelight glowed through knot-holes here or there. The street seemed even darker than the thin ribbon of blue-black sky above. She felt trapped, caged like a beast driven into a tunnel. A black shadow was rolling up the street behind her like a huge wave, obliterating every spark of light. She began to run, not knowing what she was running from except that she knew she had to reach the end of the street before it touched her.

She had burst out from between the houses and had run into the wide open market square before she could force herself to stop. She doubled forward, panting, grasping her side as a sharp cramp seized her. An old man hurried up to her, his wispy grey beard rising and falling in the wind as if it breathed on its own. He glanced at her neck, and she realized he was looking at the silver amulet.

'Has someone hurt you, my daughter?' His eyes showed concern, but there was weariness in his voice as if it was a question he had been forced to ask many times.

She shook her head.

He frowned. 'Let me take you to your home. A young woman should not be walking alone at night. We are not safe in the streets of our own town any more.'

He peered at her more closely. 'Perhaps I know your family? Your father's name, what is it?'

She turned and hurried back the way she had come.

Your amulet, daughter,' she heard the old man call behind her, 'you should cover it on the streets. The goyim, they will see it.'

As soon as she re-entered the street, she heard the music. It must have been playing when she ran past, but only now was she conscious of it spilling out into the street with a babble of laughter and noise. She glanced up. A carved wooden figure swayed above her in the wind. A lantern had been hung so as to illuminate the mermaid, but the shadows it cast only served to make the creature more fearsome. Her tail and body were covered all over in green scales, even her menacing, pendulous breasts. Each of the wild tangled locks of her hair ended in the head of a writhing sea serpent. But it was her face that was most hideous with its black, hollowed- out eyes like a corpse's left for the crows to pick at, and lips drawn back in a terrible smile to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth.

Elena could hardly tear her gaze away, but finally she edged away from the mermaid and into a courtyard behind the inn. A narrow flight of wooden steps rose from among a clutter of small shacks and lean-tos. Elena glanced upwards to the narrow walkway above. A thin arrow of candlelight shafted through the shutter of the single chamber beyond. He was already there, waiting for her.

Elena drew back as a girl emerged from behind the inn. She crossed the courtyard, two empty flagons trailing in her hands, and disappeared inside one of the wooden huts. She emerged a few moments later, balancing the brimming flagons on her hips, in the way a woman might carry young children, as she crossed back to the inn. As soon as she disappeared through the door, Elena ran for the stairs, knowing that once she had served her customers the girl might well return to fetch more ale.

Elena made her way Softly up the steep wooden steps, trying not to let them creak. Her heart was drumming in her temples and her legs were trembling so much she had to cling to the rail to hold herself upright. She should have used the mandrake. If she had seen herself do it, then she would know that she could, but she'd been too afraid to use it. With Raoul and Hugh, she hadn't known that she would see herself killing them, but she couldn't bring herself to use the mandrake, knowing what she would see and then have to live through it all again. Besides, she'd tried to convince herself that this moment would never actually come. She was sure she would wake and once again find that this was only a dream.

Outside the low door of the chamber she paused, listening. Below and far away music and raucous laughter trickled out from the inn, but from behind this door was only a chilling silence. She felt for the dagger, grasping the hilt firmly. You've killed two men. You've killed Osborn's brother and that was easy. You can do this. You're already a murderer, so what does one more death matter? Think of your son. Think of Athan dangling from a rope. Think of what Osborn will do to you. She raised her left hand and knocked.





Raffe picked his way across the rickety wooden bridge, pausing for a moment to stare down at the dark water racing under the supports. Beyond the river was a little cluster of houses, and scattered between them the ruby glow of a dozen cooking fires. The tanners' homes and workshops were built well away from the castle so that the wealthier inhabitants of Norwich didn't have to endure the gut-heaving stench. Even a blind and deaf man would have no trouble at all finding the tanners' cottages; all he had to do was follow the stink of fermenting dog dung and rancid fat.

And it was for this very reason that Raffe had found lodgings in this quarter for Martin, or whatever his real name was, for few people, save the tanners themselves, ventured here unless they had pressing business. Any of John's men on the lookout for French spies would hang around the inns in the centre of the city, watching for those who were asking too many questions or seemed not to know the streets, but who would think of looking among the hovels of the tanners?

Around each of the tiny one-roomed cottages lay large open courtyards. The flames of the cooking fires in the pits guttered in the darkness. Women waved the stinging smoke from their eyes as they bent to stir their supper pots, while their half-naked children played perilous games of hide-and- seek between the great vats of lime and soaking hides.

Raffe counted the courtyards as he walked, one, two, three, then turn left, two more then. . . . He stopped so abruptly he almost lurched backwards into the wooden hut behind him. For a moment, he thought he must have taken a wrong turn, but then he recognized the solitary apple tree in the yard. A length of rope still girdled the trunk where the owner's great lolloping hound had been tethered.

But there was no fire glowing in this yard. No tallow rushes burning in the cottage window. The door swung open, leaning drunkenly sideways, one of the leather hinges torn away. The vats were overturned, their deadly soup of fat and lime leaving a huge glowing white stain on the mud of the yard. Skins had been chopped from their frames and trampled into the mud, and the stretching frames themselves had been hacked to kindling. Not a single pot or stick of furniture that was able to be smashed or broken had been left upright or intact.

Seeing the light of a fire in the nearby yard, Raffe hurried across. A woman was ladling a watery pottage into a wooden bowl. She caught sight of Raffe and, dropping the ladle, hurried inside yelling. At once two burly youths emerged, jamming themselves in the narrow doorway as they both struggled to get through it at the same time.

They advanced on Raffe, one holding a long iron rod, the other a hefty wooden paddle. Raffe raised his hands to show he was not reaching for any weapon, but he stood his ground.

'What d'you want?' growled the youth holding the iron bar.

Raffe, still keeping his hands where they could see them, nodded to the wrecked courtyard. 'I came looking for a friend, but the cottage is empty.'

'Friend, is it? Which friend?'

Raffe took a gamble. 'The tanner's wife. She is kin to my. .

He fumbled in his mind for a non-blood relation, but the young man didn't wait for him to finish.

'She's got a lot of kin all of a sudden.'

'What happened here?' Raffe asked. 'Was there an accident?'

The youth took another menacing step towards him. 'Weren't no accident. Soldiers from the castle came just afore dawn. First we knew of it was the hound barking and the sounds of them smashing their way through the door. Giles was roaring and Margery screaming fit to cut through stone.'

Raffe's heart was hammering in his chest so loudly he thought the two men must surely hear it. 'Did they arrest them?'

'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.

'You're a very handsome man.'

Osborn gaped at her in amazement. She quickly bent forward and pressed her lips to his forehead, running her fingers softly over the back of his neck. He pulled his head away.

'God's Blood, what are you doing, girl? I didn't come here to whore. I came here to learn about my brother's killer.'

'But. . . but I can't resist you,' she stammered unconvincingly, trying again to kiss his face. He pushed her away, then stared at her.

'I do know you! Of all the brazen tricks. You're my runaway villein, the girl that listens at doors. The moment Lady Anne told me you worked as her maid, I realized it was you I'd seen running away. So you've come here thinking to blackmail me, have you? You think I will pay you to keep silent about what you heard. Do you really imagine the king is going to take the word of a runaway villein, a baby killer, over that of a loyal, trusted lord of England? I'll make you wish you'd hung on my gallows before I've finished . . .'

He tried to struggle to his feet, but she was standing too close to him. His sword slid to the floor with a clatter. He bent forward to recover it and as he did so, she pulled the dagger from the pocket in her cloak and stabbed it as hard as she could into his back.

Osborn yelled in shock and agony, slumping to his knees on the wooden boards. He groped behind him, trying to grasp the dagger hilt that was still sticking out from his flesh. At the same time his other hand grabbed Elena's skirts and held on.

She struggled to pull her skirt free, but his grip was too tight. Seizing a handful of his hair, she yanked his head back as hard as she could. It was enough to make his grip slacken momentarily. She managed to free her skirts and ran to the door. She fumbled desperately with the latch, but her hands were slippery with his blood.

Osborn finally managed to grasp the dagger hilt. With a groan of pain, he wrenched it out and lumbered to his feet, her dagger gripped in his hand. He lunged at her, but just as he did so, the latch gave and the door swung open. She tumbled out, half falling down the stairs in her blind panic to get away.

As Elena fled across the courtyard, Osborn was shouting for help and staggering down the steps. The serving wench was crossing the yard with two flagons in her hand. She stopped in mid-stride, staring up in alarm at Osborn, who was still clutching the bloody knife. Elena crashed into her, sending the girl reeling backwards, her flagons smashing on the cobbles. Above the sound of music and laughter pouring out from the inn, Elena could hear Osborn bellowing at her to stop. But she didn't wait to see him reach the bottom of the stairs. She fled into the night.





Raffe yanked at the bell rope and hammered furiously on the door of the brothel. The small shutter opened and a face peered out through the stout metal grill. The face did not belong to Talbot, but to the woman they called Luce.

'Someone's certainly got a fire in his breeches tonight,' she scolded. 'You worried it'll fall limp afore you hit the target?' Then her face broke into her usual generous smile. 'Why, if it isn't the Bul. . . Master Raffaele,' she hastily corrected herself.

Raffe had never bothered to use a false name at the stew. What would be the point? When you stand out so much from the crowd, any attempt at disguise is useless. Luce unfastened the door and swung it wide before closing it behind him. He followed her into the guest hall where, as usual, platters of meats and flagons of wine and ale stood ready for the customers, for as Ma was fond of saying, 'A man needs good red meat if he's to hold his end up.'

Luce turned and winked, arching her back so as to push her plump breasts forward in the manner that had become second nature to her.

'What's your pleasure this evening, Master Raffe? Name the girl you fancy and I'll see if she's free to serve you.' She ran her strawberry-red tongue slowly over her upper lip. It was a gesture as habitual to her as a serving maid's curtsy.

'I need to see Talbot, it's urgent.'

She laughed. 'He will be flattered. He doesn't get many customers asking for his services.'

Then, seeing the strained expression on Raffe's face, she seemed to realize this was no joking matter. She dropped her seductive tone and became in the instant serious.

'Talbot's not here, Master Raffe. That's why Ma set me to mind the door, but she said he'd not be long'

She'd scarcely got the words out before there was a series of raps on the wooden door.

'That'll be Talbot now,' she said. 'I know his knock, never uses the bell, he doesn't.'

She ran to answer the summons as Raffe paced impatiently up and down the long chamber. Talbot started as he saw him. Luce looked from one man to the other, a puzzled frown wrinkling her forehead.

'Go on back to your quarters now, Luce, there's a good girl,' Talbot ordered, still not taking his eyes off Raffe.

'Might have known it,' she said lightly. 'Do what a man asks and then . . .' Her voice faltered in the tension of the hall.

Talbot picked up half a pie and a flagon of wine at random and thrust them at Luce. 'Here, take them.'

Luce beamed at the unexpected treat.

'But no one's to know Master Raffe is here, you understand, my girl?'

'Course I do. Like Ma always says, act like a rose — smell sweet, open your petals and stay dumb. Oh, and scratch them bloody if they try to pluck you without paying'

'Get!' Talbot jerked his head towards the door and Luce didn't wait to be told twice.

As soon as the door had closed behind her, Raffe turned to Talbot. 'John's spy. . . it's too late. The couple he was staying with have been arrested, taken to the castle. The bastard led the soldiers straight to them, which means word will already be on the way to John.'

Talbot turned sharply, accidentally catching a platter with his arm and sending it clattering to the floor. 'God's thundering fart, what possessed you to come here? If they've set a man to tail you . . .'

'They haven't!' Raffe said with a certainty he didn't feel. 'I looped back several times and kept watch to see if any were trailing me. Besides, Martin doesn't know I'm back in Norwich. If he's discovered who I am by now, he'll be expecting to find me at the manor. They'll have sent men there to arrest me and I plan to be well away from here by the time they find they've been dispatched on a fool's errand.

'I'm leaving tonight and I'm taking Elena with me. If Osborn learns Hugh came here the evening he was killed, he'll personally search this place from top to bottom, and even with her dyed hair, he'll recognize Elena at once. Hugh wouldn't condescend to notice anyone beneath his rank, but Osborn misses nothing. I have to get her away before he comes. So where is she? In Ma's chamber?'

Talbot grimaced. 'The girl's not here.'

'Don't lie to me, Talbot. I know Ma wants her money's worth, but even she must see that Elena's no good to her now. She can't risk keeping her here. Osborn will arrest Ma and you too, if he learns that you've been hiding a fugitive.'

'I doubt that he'll be in a position to, my darling.'

Raffe spun on his heel to find Ma standing in the doorway behind him.

She advanced a few steps into the room. 'Osborn won't arrest us, because Elena is seeing to that as we speak.'

Raffe stared from Ma to Talbot and back again. 'I ... I don't understand. What do you mean — seeing to that?'

'She's gone to kill him,' Ma said in the same calm tone in which she might have announced that Elena had gone to fetch a pail of water.

Raffe felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He was certain he must have misheard her.

'The cunning woman from your village came here to see Elena,' Ma said.

'Gytha?'

'That's the one. Apparently, some months ago back in the village, Gytha gave Elena a mandrake and now she's come looking for payment. Evidently there's bad blood between Osborn's family and hers. Osborn's father falsely accused Gytha's grandmother of poisoning his wife, then had her executed. Not unreasonably, she cursed him and his descendants. Now Gytha wants Elena to kill Osborn to avenge her grandmother.' Ma smiled. "You needn't look so horrified, my darling, Elena will do it all right. After all, she's killed two men before. She's the strength and resolve of a dozen men when her blood is up.'

'But she hasn't killed anyone!' Raffe put his head in his hands and groaned. 'I've proof that she didn't murder Raoul or Hugh. She's no more capable of killing a man than a sparrow is of killing a hawk. You've sent a girl... a child . . . after a battle-hardened knight. At the very least, he'll recognize her. What the hell have you done, you malicious old hag?'

He lunged at Ma, but Talbot stepped between them. His great fist slammed into Raffe's jaw. Raffe staggered backwards, crashing into one of the benches, and fell, sprawling across it.

His head reeling from the blow, he was only dimly aware of the clanging of the bell. Ma hurried across the room.

'Get him upstairs to my chamber, Talbot, and keep him quiet. Knock him out cold if you have to.'

As she pulled some steps into place so that she could peer out of the grid in the door, Talbot heaved Raffe to his feet. And Raffe, feeling the floor tilting alarmingly beneath his feet, allowed himself to be half dragged towards the staircase to Ma's room.