HAUNT OF MURDER, A (15 page)
Read HAUNT OF MURDER, A Online
Authors: P. C. Doherty
‘Don’t!’ he said. ‘Let them go. They’ll only fortify the Salt Tower and wreak havoc on our attack.’
Sir John agreed. The troops were ordered to pause and they stood, sweating, chests heaving, peering into the darkness. Adam appeared, sword belt clasped round him. Sir John told him to take a few archers forward, and they flitted into the trees. The occasional scream followed their departure.
‘The archers must be finishing off the wounded,’ Sir John growled. ‘It’s just as well and saves us a few hangings.’
Adam appeared, a smile on his face, the blade of his sword bloody.
‘Sir John, Master Ralph, they have gone. Fleeing across the heath back into Devil’s Spinney.’
The Constable told his men to stand at ease. Followed by Ralph and his archers, he crossed the overgrown orchard and garden. Here and there a corpse sprawled in a pool of spreading blood, eyes open, mouths gaping.
‘There are no wounded,’ Adam remarked. ‘It will teach them a lesson.’
Ralph hid a tremor of unease: killing when the blood was hot, in battle, sword against sword, he understood but this callous slaughter of injured men turned his stomach. Sir John, however, had no qualms. He turned one or two corpses over and roared at an archer to bring a torch. He then scrutinised the bodies.
‘Thanks be to God,’ he muttered. ‘They are not local men.’
‘But there must have been people from Maldon among them,’ Adam declared. ‘To lead them across the moat and down to …’
Sir John got up, took off his helmet and threw it on the ground. ‘It’s like wearing a chamber pot!’ he cursed. ‘Those men could be outlaws, or rebels who have moved south looking for a fight, stirring up the local people. Get Father Aylred,’ he called out to an archer. ‘And Vavasour. Rouse them now!’
They went into the Salt Tower. In the light of the sconce torch, Ralph saw bloodstains on the steps where the attackers had dragged away their wounded. In the room which contained the large door window lay the corpses of the two archers who had been on guard duty here. The shutters were open. Ralph grasped a torch and stared out into the darkness. He could see the makeshift bridge the attackers had thrown over the moat. Across the heathland the cold night wind stirred the grass, the silence broken only by the haunting call of some animal on the prowl.
He went to close the shutters and became aware of pain in his right hand. He had an ugly gash across his knuckles.
‘You should get that dressed.’ Sir John came forward. ‘Ask Theobald Vavasour to take a look.’
Adam accompanied him out of the Salt Tower. The physician and Father Aylred were already moving among the corpses.
‘It’s nothing,’ Ralph whispered. ‘I can dress it myself.’
‘Nonsense.’ Adam seized him by the arm. ‘Marisa can do it. She’s up anyway and she’ll want to know the news.’
Ravenscroft was now bustling. Women and children came out to see what had happened as Adam led Ralph across into Midnight Tower.
The altar still stood there, the chalice and paten on a chair, the altar cloths neatly piled.
‘What happened?’ Adam asked.
‘Oh, Father Aylred thinks the place is haunted.’
Ralph was more aware of how painful his hand had become.
‘He celebrated a Mass.’
‘And what happened?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all. Adam, I am sorry, but my hand hurts.’
Ralph followed Adam up the steps.
Marisa was waiting in their chamber: a large, oval-shaped room, comfortably furnished. Cloths and tapestries hung on the walls. In the centre was a large four-poster bed with blue and gold fringed curtains neatly tied back, the bolsters white and crisp. Everything was neat and tidy. Two braziers stood in the centre of the room. Beneath their metal caps the charcoal spluttered and sparked on the fragrant herbs Marisa had sprinkled there. She was sitting in the window seat clutching a dagger.
‘Don’t be foolish,’ her husband laughed. ‘The attack is over.’
Marisa threw the dagger down and raced across the room, wrapping her arms round Adam’s neck. She forgot all modesty and kissed him full on the lips.
Adam gently extricated himself. ‘If it hadn’t been for Ralph the castle would have been overrun. His hand is cut.’
Marisa immediately tended to it, telling her husband to fill the water bowl from the lavarium. She made Ralph sit on the edge of the bed and cleaned the wound with a rag.
‘It’s not too deep,’ she said. ‘Adam, bring me some of the
salve Theobald gave us. I don’t know what is in this.’ Marisa gently rubbed the grease on the cut, making it smart. ‘But it will keep the wound from festering.’ Helped by Adam, she took a piece of linen and bound the wound carefully.
salve Theobald gave us. I don’t know what is in this.’ Marisa gently rubbed the grease on the cut, making it smart. ‘But it will keep the wound from festering.’ Helped by Adam, she took a piece of linen and bound the wound carefully.
Ralph felt self-conscious. This was the nearest he had been to any woman since Beatrice had died. He could smell the perfume Beatrice had worn and he remembered he had given it all to Marisa shortly after Beatrice’s death.
‘You should rest, Ralph.’
Ralph stared across the chamber. On a small table beneath the crucifix were other jars of unguents and creams. Marisa followed his gaze.
‘I am sorry, Ralph,’ she whispered. ‘They must bring back memories.’
‘No, no, I’m glad I gave them to you.’ He grinned at Adam. ‘You are a very lucky man.’
‘And you are a very sad one.’
Ralph shrugged. ‘But not for long.’
‘Why is that?’
‘I’ll be gone soon.’ Ralph lifted his bandaged hand. ‘And don’t take offence, Adam, but I’ll be going alone. Ravenscroft has too many memories. It’s like being pricked time and again by a dagger.’ He got to his feet.
‘And Brythnoth’s cross?’ Adam asked.
Ralph shrugged. ‘I’ll give you the manuscripts. You find it.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Cambridge or Oxford.’ Ralph thanked Marisa, bade them good night and left.
He found Father Aylred in the vestibule collecting the chalice, paten and altar cloths. The priest looked more composed though he was still white-faced with dark rings under his eyes.
‘A sad night, eh, Ralph? Such foolishness. So many souls sent unshriven into the darkness.’
‘How many were killed?’ Ralph asked.
‘Five of the garrison and eleven assailants. One was in the moat, apparently too wounded for his friends to carry. The poor man died like a dog.’ He saw the bandage on Ralph’s hand. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Just a cut, Father. Do you need any help?’
The priest shook his head. ‘No, there’ll not be much sleep tonight at Ravenscroft and these cannot stay here. You are going to leave, aren’t you, Ralph?’
‘Yes, Father, I am, as soon as I can. I think Sir John will release me from my indentures.’
‘It’s well that you go, Ralph. There’s terrible evil here.’
‘Who brought it, Father?’
‘I don’t know.’ The priest sat down on the bench, placing the altar cloths in his lap. ‘Ravenscroft, until recently, was a quiet, happy place.’ He waved his hand. ‘True, this place was supposed to be haunted. But in a castle as old as Ravenscroft I suppose there’ll always be unquiet spirits.’
‘So what happened here during Mass?’ Ralph asked curiously.
‘I don’t know. But I can hazard a guess. There’s human weakness and misery, but real malice, planned evil is something different. It calls up the Lords of Hell. That’s what I felt. Not just the unquiet and troubled souls which may still lurk in the shadows but a real malignant presence. I ask myself, what would bring that here?’
‘And what answer did you get?’
‘Like is attracted to like, Ralph. One of us in this castle, as you know, has become a killer. Such evil would attract the attention of Hell.’ He sketched a blessing. ‘What happened tonight is nothing to what might be planned. Tread carefully!’
Ralph went out across to the Lion Tower and climbed to his own room. He unlocked the door and went in. He lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, recalling the night’s events and Father Aylred’s sombre words. He looked at the bandage on his hand and smiled, sniffed at it and then gasped.
He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. Other words, scraps of conversation came jumbling back. Ralph felt the sweat break out on his skin. No, it couldn’t be. He forgot his sore hand and went across to the table. Smoothing a piece of parchment, he listed the victims, those who had been killed since this terrible business had begun. For a while he studied it then, throwing his quill down, Ralph put his face in his hands and wept softly.
He sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. Other words, scraps of conversation came jumbling back. Ralph felt the sweat break out on his skin. No, it couldn’t be. He forgot his sore hand and went across to the table. Smoothing a piece of parchment, he listed the victims, those who had been killed since this terrible business had begun. For a while he studied it then, throwing his quill down, Ralph put his face in his hands and wept softly.
Beatrice was alarmed. The fall from the parapet had shattered one world, now the Mass in Midnight Tower was causing further changes. The strange coppery light was strengthening to a fiery glow. The silver discs were more radiant. The sky had turned a strange blue-gold colour, and the golden spheres were ever present in and around Ravenscroft. She herself felt stronger. She despised Crispin and Clothilde whom she glimpsed with the Minstrel Man in different parts of the castle. They were now subdued, plotting among themselves. Black Malkyn was calmer, while Lady Johanna had disappeared. No more did she haunt and wail in the cellar beneath Midnight Tower.
‘She has travelled on,’ Brother Antony explained as they stood on the green after the Mass.
‘Why?’ Beatrice asked.
‘She wanted to let go. She broke free from her prison and is now allowed to travel on.’
‘And these shapes and shades? Will they always remain?’
Brother Antony shook his head. ‘As time goes by they will grow fainter, like echoes in a room, before disappearing altogether.’
‘And what about the others? Black Malkyn. That unfortunate at the crossroads.’
‘Slowly, surely their wills will edge towards a conclusion. So when they want to, their journey will begin.’
‘And me?’ Beatrice laughed. She glanced over her shoulder across the bailey. She wanted to make sure Ralph was well.
‘Only you can answer that, Beatrice Arrowner. What do you yourself want?’
Beatrice stared around. All the familiar sights were here, the tubs and buckets, the bench near the wall, its legs overgrown by weeds; the barbican, the road down to Maldon. Beatrice guiltily remembered her aunt and uncle.
‘I must go and see them,’ she said.
‘Why?’ Brother Antony asked.
‘I don’t know. But I realise I must leave them.’
‘And Ralph?’
‘I shall always love him. Whatever journey I make, I shall always wait for him.’
Brother Antony smiled. ‘And that is good, Beatrice. When Ralph begins his journey, the more you want him, the faster he will travel.’
‘And where will we travel to?’
‘You know that, Beatrice. To God, and God is eternal. The journey will be marvellous. Do you want to go, Beatrice?’
‘I want to say farewell.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘But why can’t I help?’
‘Since your death, Beatrice Arrowner, you have done great good.’
She stared, puzzled. The castle had disappeared. They were standing on the edge of a most beautiful valley. A brook gurgled, the sunlight danced, the air was thick with the fragrance of wild roses. Brother Antony touched her face. She was aware only of his eyes.
‘What do you mean, I did good?’
‘Elizabeth Lockyer,’ he replied. ‘The old begger man out on the heath. The comfort you gave Etheldreda at the crossroads. The poor Moon people, even Goodman Winthrop. As you will in life, so in death, Beatrice. Before you travel, you shall receive your reward.’
Beatrice stamped her foot. ‘Why can’t I help Ralph now? I
can travel where I wish. I can listen to conversations. I can find the assassin.’
can travel where I wish. I can listen to conversations. I can find the assassin.’
‘Could you, Beatrice? Could you really?’ Brother Antony smiled. ‘Can you enter someone else’s soul and discover their dark designs? Do you not remember the Gospels? Only God sees the things done in secret. That does not mean justice is frustrated, it will be done.’
‘Will it?’ Beatrice asked.
‘Oh yes. The Minstrel Man will know that justice is near. He has gone to Ravenscroft to collect his own.’ Brother Antony walked away and disappeared.
‘Beatrice! Beatrice!’ Crispin and Clothilde were before her, hands together, their angelic faces troubled and anxious. ‘Don’t you want to talk to us any more? Aren’t we friends?’
‘You are one and the same,’ Beatrice replied. ‘You do not wish me well.’
A strange whistling rent the air. The Minstrel Man was swaggering towards her, thumbs tucked in his belt. He moved slowly, like a cat ready to spring. His slightly slanted eyes were full of mockery. He stopped and sniffed the air like some hunting dog.
‘Don’t you smell it, Beatrice Arrowner? The iron tang of blood?’
‘Leave me alone.’ Beatrice stepped back. ‘In God’s name, leave me alone!’
Crispin and Clothilde separated. The Minstrel Man gave the most mocking bow.
‘Then be on your way, Beatrice Arrowner, though the day is not yet finished.’
Beatrice hastened out along the trackway. The hedges and grass loomed dark against the coppery light. Figures flitted across the path and, when she turned, she was sure those two great hounds of the Minstrel Man were loping silently behind her. Sometimes her concentration failed. Visions and phantasms sprang up before her: stretches of desert; freezing lakes of ice; trees alight with fire; a low sky with stars that
were bright and close. Strange voices spoke, whispers of conversation. Jagged lightning cracked and flashed above Devil’s Spinney. Horsemen, with flapping banners and billowing cloaks, rode by her. Beatrice stopped. The trackway had ended; beneath her was a raging inferno.
were bright and close. Strange voices spoke, whispers of conversation. Jagged lightning cracked and flashed above Devil’s Spinney. Horsemen, with flapping banners and billowing cloaks, rode by her. Beatrice stopped. The trackway had ended; beneath her was a raging inferno.
‘I’m only young and weak,’ Beatrice prayed. ‘All I want is to see them just one more time.’
She looked again. The visions had disappeared and she was home. Aunt Catherine was baking bread. She had built up the fire to heat the ovens on either side and was now heaping the dough on spatulas of wood, ready to bake them. Uncle Robert was sitting at the table trying to mend a leather belt. Beatrice stood and relished the homely atmosphere. Uncle Robert mentioned her name. Aunt Catherine turned away, fighting back the tears. Uncle Robert got up, put his hand on his wife’s shoulder and gently kissed the back of her head.
‘I’ll stay with you,’ he said. ‘I’ll not go down to the Pot of Thyme tonight. Anyway, there’s trouble brewing. They should leave Ravenscroft alone.’
Beatrice went up to Aunt Catherine, put her arms round her neck and kissed her on both cheeks as if she was going to bed. She then did the same to Uncle Robert. Beatrice willed with all her might that they’d remember how she loved them, that she was grateful for what they had done, that she’d never forget. Aunt Catherine dropped the cloth she held and staggered slightly. Uncle Robert caught her and made her sit down on a stool at the head of the table.
‘What’s the matter, my heart?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you feel well?’
‘You know what I felt,’ her aunt replied quietly.
‘Beatrice?’
She nodded. ‘Oh, Robert, it was as if she was here, just for a few seconds. As if she had come back from the castle and was hurrying up to her chamber.’
Uncle Robert’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I felt the same.’
He glanced around but Beatrice was leaving, hastening down
the high street towards the Pot of Thyme. One look in the long, shadow-filled garden which ran round the back of the tavern told her Uncle Robert was not being fanciful. The place was full of men and these were not local peasants. They had travelled far; they were dressed in weather-stained doublets with cowls and hoods pulled over their heads. Many of them were well armed with bows and arrows, swords, daggers, clubs, billhooks and hauberks. They carried a black banner tied to a pole. Beatrice recalled the stories from her former life. How the southern shires were full of secret armies, of landless peasants waiting to raise the black banner of revolt and storm the King’s s castles. An attack upon Ravenscroft must be imminent. But what could she do? How could she warn Ralph?
the high street towards the Pot of Thyme. One look in the long, shadow-filled garden which ran round the back of the tavern told her Uncle Robert was not being fanciful. The place was full of men and these were not local peasants. They had travelled far; they were dressed in weather-stained doublets with cowls and hoods pulled over their heads. Many of them were well armed with bows and arrows, swords, daggers, clubs, billhooks and hauberks. They carried a black banner tied to a pole. Beatrice recalled the stories from her former life. How the southern shires were full of secret armies, of landless peasants waiting to raise the black banner of revolt and storm the King’s s castles. An attack upon Ravenscroft must be imminent. But what could she do? How could she warn Ralph?
In a trice Beatrice was running out of Maldon, taking the trackway to Ravenscroft. She seemed to move as if in one of her dreams, her feet hardly touching the ground, carried forward by her own will and her deep anxiety for Ralph. The towers and turrets of Ravenscroft came into sight but the track was blocked by the Minstrel Man with his ghastly-looking sumpter pony and, on either side, Crispin and Clothilde standing so coyly. Beatrice tried to go round them but they moved with her, stopping her.
Why can’t I go through? thought Beatrice. I am a spirit.
She moved into the field but they moved too. Beatrice recalled Brother Antony’s words: ‘As in life so in death’. She walked purposefully towards them.
‘Out of my way!’ she commanded.
‘Why, Beatrice, we’ve only come to talk.’ The Minstrel Man seemed taller, darker, more threatening.
‘What are you going to do?’ Beatrice mocked. ‘Kill me?’
The Minstrel Man was staring at her. Now he had the face of a wolf. His eyes never left hers. She felt a blast of fiery heat which weakened her determination.
‘Let me pass!’
‘If you’d only stay awhile.’ Clothilde came towards her, hips swaying. ‘Ralph is in danger.’
‘I know that! Get out of my way!’
‘We can still help.’ Crispin spoke. ‘We can intervene.’
Clothilde picked up the refrain. ‘We can intervene and save him. We know the great danger which threatens Ravenscroft, both from within and without.’
Beatrice was certain that whatever these offered would be wrong. She was weary of their games and tricks.
‘Where are Robin and Isabella?’ she taunted. ‘Or have you tired of them?’
The Minstrel Man clicked his tongue in disapproval. Beatrice took a step forward. A hot wind sprang up like a sudden gale, pressing her back.
‘Beatrice Arrowner!’ Brother Antony was standing behind them. He held his hands out. ‘Do you want to come forward?’
‘I can’t.’ She kept her eyes on those of the Minstrel Man. ‘But I want to come.’
The Minstrel Man glanced over his shoulder. He snarled something at Brother Antony who replied in a tongue Beatrice couldn’t understand.
‘Let her go,’ Brother Antony ordered.
The air was full of dancing lights. The Minstrel Man made a gesture as if wafting away some irritating flies but Beatrice walked forward. She was through them and in her haste to reach the castle she even ignored Brother Antony.
Darkness had fallen but Ralph was not in his chamber. Beatrice was aware of only one thought. He must be in danger, she had to help. She went to Midnight Tower, the scene of Father Aylred’s Mass, but it was empty. She became confused: the Mass had taken place at night but when she’d been in Maldon, darkness hadn’t fallen. Was this strange world she lived in beginning to break up? Had time itself become disjointed, like numbers out of place? Beatrice walked to the Salt Tower and climbed up to the second floor. She stared in horror. The chamber was filling with men coming quietly through the window door. Two archers lay dead on the ground,
their souls had already gone. Beatrice fled the tower, across the overgrown garden to where Ralph was sitting beneath a tree. She tried desperately to speak to him, to warn him of what was coming. She did not know whether it was her or mere chance but Ralph noticed a light in the tower. Beatrice watched the unfolding drama: the attackers sallying out, Ralph’s cry, the brave defence by the captain of the guard and the consequent slaughter. All the time Beatrice stayed close to Ralph as if, by her very presence, she could protect him from all hurt. She was aware of the screams of the dying, the silver discs, golden spheres, the wraiths and those ghostly soldiers, all gathering on the battleground to meet the souls of the fallen. But she had only one thought, the protection of Ralph. She was with him when he was taken to Adam and Marisa’s chamber and when he threw his quill down and began to sob. She tried to comfort him, to understand what had happened but she could not. She had to accept the truth of Brother Antony’s words. She could observe, she could react but she could not enter the heart and mind of even the man she loved so much.
their souls had already gone. Beatrice fled the tower, across the overgrown garden to where Ralph was sitting beneath a tree. She tried desperately to speak to him, to warn him of what was coming. She did not know whether it was her or mere chance but Ralph noticed a light in the tower. Beatrice watched the unfolding drama: the attackers sallying out, Ralph’s cry, the brave defence by the captain of the guard and the consequent slaughter. All the time Beatrice stayed close to Ralph as if, by her very presence, she could protect him from all hurt. She was aware of the screams of the dying, the silver discs, golden spheres, the wraiths and those ghostly soldiers, all gathering on the battleground to meet the souls of the fallen. But she had only one thought, the protection of Ralph. She was with him when he was taken to Adam and Marisa’s chamber and when he threw his quill down and began to sob. She tried to comfort him, to understand what had happened but she could not. She had to accept the truth of Brother Antony’s words. She could observe, she could react but she could not enter the heart and mind of even the man she loved so much.
The next morning Ralph dressed and went down to the hall to break his fast. Then he wrote a quick note and handed it to the captain of the guard drilling his men on the green outside the keep. The garrison were in good heart after their victory the previous night. The soldier looked puzzled but Ralph refused to answer his questions.
‘Just give that to Sir John. Beg him, and I mean beg him, to do exactly what I have asked.’
Ralph went up into Midnight Tower. Adam and Marisa were already preparing for the day’s work. Marisa was dressed; she said she intended to go into Maldon to see what was happening there.
‘Is that safe?’ Ralph asked. ‘I’d much prefer you to come with me.’
‘Where are you going?’ Adam, sitting on the edge of the bed, paused in pulling his boots on.
‘I want you to come to Devil’s Spinney with me. Brythnoth’s cross is there.’
Both Adam and Marisa looked at him as if he had lost his wits.
‘Are you sure?’ Adam finished pulling his boots on. ‘You didn’t receive a knock on the head last night?’
‘I know Brythnoth’s cross is in the spinney. I want you to help me find it.’ Ralph moved to the door. ‘Are you coming or aren’t you?’
‘We’re coming,’ they chorused.
Adam wrapped on his war belt, picked up a small arbalest from the corner. ‘Just in case some of our visitors from last night are hiding in the spinney, though I suspect they are now over the hills and miles away.’
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