The Gallows Curse (70 page)

    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.'

    
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

    '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.