The Gallows Curse

by Karen Maitland

  They were approaching the stables and Elena's stomach tightened, but Master Raffaele strode on past and entered the small, dusty inner courtyard leading to the great house. Elena was following so closely behind him that when he stopped and turned, she almost fell into his arms. He stared down at her, then reached out his great hand towards her. She flinched back, but he merely tugged the rag mask from her face.

  'Brush the dust from your kirtle, girl. The Lady Anne wishes to see you.'

  Elena stared at him in horror. 'Master Raffaele . . . the wine, I didn't mean ... it was an accident... I swear.'

  He frowned at her as if she was babbling in a tongue he didn't recognize.

  'Wine? This has nothing to do with wine.'

  The expression in his hard brown eyes suddenly softened. He squeezed her shoulder and she shrank under his grasp. He spoke more gently.

  'No need to be frightened. The mistress is pleased with what she hears of you, a good modest girl, mannerly. She's a mind to take you into the house, as one of her tiring maids.'

  Elena gaped at him. She couldn't believe that the Lady Anne even knew of her existence. She had seen her often, but Lady Anne had never spoken to her. Why would she? Any instructions she had to give to a villein would be passed on through the steward, reeve or bailiff. And Elena mostly worked in the fields, as her own mother had done and her grandmother before that.

  The closest Elena had ever come to the house was the kitchens outside in the courtyard where she was sent to take herbs and vegetables for the cooks. She hated going there, a great noisy place with people flashing knives and rushing about bellowing orders. Worst of all was the stifling heat from the fires, and the smoke, steam and burning fat so thick in the air that it made your eyes sting and water before you'd even set foot through the door. She always imagined that the torments of hell would be just like the manor kitchens. Holy Virgin, surely they weren't going to make her work in there?

  She stared down at a daisy struggling to grow in the dust between the cobbles. 'How . . . how does she . . . Lady Anne know me?'

  'I knew she was looking for a new tiring maid, since that foolish girl got herself with child.' He smiled. 'I've been keeping an eye on you. I think you'll do very well.'

  Lady Anne was standing at the window of the chamber, her greying hair covered by the soft folds of a linen wimple. The afternoon light streaming in cruelly exposed the dull flaking skin and sharp bones of her face. She was not yet in her sixtieth year, but to Elena she looked ancient, older even than her grandmother, which she probably was. Deep lines were gouged around her eyes and mouth from years of anxiety, and little wonder, Elena's mother said, for the poor soul had been a widow for nigh on twenty years. Cecily knew all about the sorrows of widowhood, for hadn't her own husband died of the marsh fever before Elena was even weaned?

  Elena glanced only briefly at Lady Anne as she dropped a wobbly curtsy, for she was far more fascinated by the room than by its occupant. The chamber was vast in comparison to cottages in the village, with high ceilings and heavy tapestries. Heavy carved wooden chairs and even bigger chests stood against walls. The wooden floor was not strewn with rushes but with several rugs gleaming like water in the sun. Elena had never seen silk before. She longed to run her hands over them and trace the intricate patterns of blue, red and yellow flowers which spiralled into one another till you could not see where one ended and another began. They were not like any flowers that grew in the meadows of Gastmere.

  A large bed stood in the far corner. It was hung with drapes which were pulled back into graceful loops to reveal a richly embroidered bedcovering. Elena guessed it to be where Sir Gerard, Lady Anne's son, slept when he was at home, for surely such a magnificent bed could only belong to the lord of the manor? The bed looked as wide as the entire room in which Elena and her mother lived, cooked and slept. Rumour in Gastmere was that Sir Gerard had recently been laid low with the fever. A wicked thought popped up in Elena's head that she too would declare herself sick, if she had a bed like that to lie in all day. She hastily crossed herself to ward off" the evil she had tempted.

  Like his father before him, Gerard had been away fighting for many years, first for King Richard in the Holy Land and then for King John in Aquitaine. Cecily said it was a wanton shame for an only son to leave his poor mother with the burden of running manor and village. But all the village women and not a few of the men were forced to concede that in her son's absence Lady Anne ruled the manor as well as ever her husband had done — better, in fact, some whispered. 'She's the spirit and tenacity of a sow-badger,' Elena's mother confided to Marion, and Cecily was not known as a woman who scattered her compliments freely.

  From outside the open casement came the distant hum of voices, the clatters and bangs of dozens of people going about their work, but inside the chamber only the buzzing of bluebottles which had wandered in through the open casement broke the silence. Elena shifted uneasily, suddenly aware that Lady Anne's gaze had not left her since she entered.

  'M'lady?' Master Raffaele prompted.

  Anne jerked, then seemed to realize she should speak. 'Master Raffaele tells me that you are a good girl. You say your prayers each day?'

  Elena glanced at Master Raffaele, unsure if this was a statement or a question. But Lady Anne did not wait for an answer.

  'How old are you, my child?'

  'Fifteen summers, m'lady.'

  'So young,' Lady Anne sighed. 'And you are unwed? A maid still?'

  Yes, m'lady.' Elena had uttered the words before she realized she was lying, well, half lying. After last night with Athan she could hardly call herself a maid any more, but it wasn't a lie that could matter to anyone except herself. She blushed at the memory. It had been the very first time she'd made love to him, to anyone. Surely no one had ever adored a man as fiercely as she loved Athan? She had not known that her body could give her such pleasure, but almost better than that moment of passion had been the warmth and comfort afterwards of lying in his arms under the stars and wanting him never to let her go. She was Athan's wife now, in all the ways that really mattered.

  'But I hope to wed as soon as . . . when the priests return and the churches are opened again.'

  'Of course you do, child. Every woman hopes to wed and why should you not? You're young and comely, such pretty red hair. I'm sure a husband can be found for you in time. But in the meantime, Master Raffaele tells me you want to work for me in the house. Good.'

  There was something strange about Lady Anne's smile, as if she was forcing herself into a cheerfulness that she did not feel.

  Your duties will not be onerous. After your labours in the fields, I doubt you will even think them work at all. And of course, we must find you a pretty kirtle to wear, one more suited to your new station. You'd like that, I dare say. But time enough for that, you must be hungry and thirsty after the threshing. Come and eat, we can discuss your duties when you are refreshed.'

  Elena looked around her. The long table was bare save for a long band of half-finished gold stitch-work and a pair of small silver scissors such as might be used to cut threads. Lady Anne motioned to a large chest in the far corner of the chamber. It was covered with a white cloth on which had been placed a tiny wooden dish of salt, together with a pitcher, and a platter whose contents were protected by a wicker cover from buzzing flies. A low stool had been drawn up next to the chest.

  Elena hesitated. She was ravenously hungry, but she couldn't understand why she was being offered food. Was this some kind of test of her table manners? She'd never eaten in the hall, but she knew from those who had waited at table here that the manor had a whole mountain of rules to be learned — not to scratch your head at the table; not to belch; not to dip your fingers too deep in the shared dish.

  These were not rules observed by the men and women with whom she shared her midday bite or her supper. What if she made some dreadful mistake — would she be bundled out in disgrace?

  She felt a hand take hold of her elbow an
d Master Raffaele guided her gently but firmly across the room and seated her on the stool. Flapping his hand to drive away several flies, he lifted the wicker cover to reveal a hunk of bread and slices of cold mutton. Raffaele poured a measure of ale into the beaker and set it beside the bread. Elena glanced up at him, on the verge of saying she wasn't hungry.

  As if he knew what she was going to say, he shook his head and murmured in a low voice, 'You must at least taste each thing set before you or Lady Anne will take it as a great insult.'

  'But if I do it wrong . . .' she whispered.

  'Break the bread, dip it in the salt and bite a piece off. Then take a morsel or two of the mutton, and when you have swallowed it and your mouth is empty, drink from the beaker.' He smiled encouragingly. 'That's not difficult, is it?'

  Slowly and carefully, Elena did exactly as she was told, trying to eat as daintily as she could and not drop a crumb or spill a drop. It was hard, for as soon as she tasted the food, it made her more hungry than ever and she longed to stuff her mouth with the dough-soft wheaten bread and sweet herbed mutton, which seemed to deserve far grander words than mere bread or mutton, for they bore little resemblance to the coarse, hard ravel bread and tough salt-meat she was accustomed to eating. Although she promised herself she would only take one bite, she devoured every scrap of the food as if she hadn't eaten for weeks.

  She drained the beaker and rose, dropping a half-bob. 'Thank you, m'lady.'

  It was as if Lady Anne had been holding her breath, for she answered with a great sigh and sank into a chair, gripping the sides so tightly that the knuckles on her hands turned white.

  "You've done well . . . but I am weary. This insufferable heat ... go home now and come back tomorrow at Prime. My maid, Hilda, will show you your duties.'

  Master Raffaele nodded and led Elena out of the chamber as far as the set of steps on the outside of the building leading from the hall down into the courtyard. She looked up at him anxiously, trying to judge if her sudden dismissal had been a sign of displeasure.

  You did well,' he echoed. But as she turned to go, he grasped her shoulder, pulling her back round to face him again.

  'If ever you have need of me . . .' He hesitated. 'I am . . . fond of you, Elena. I would protect you as my own sister or daughter, should you ever find yourself in need of such care.'

  There was such a hungry expression in his eyes that Elena felt a shiver of fear. Young girls sense when an older man desires them, far more readily than if it is a boy of their own age. And where love is not returned, which it seldom is, such girls cruelly mock the poor man. But it was not in Elena's nature to mock, and so she did the only other thing she could, she convinced herself it was not so. She lowered her gaze, wriggling out from under his hand even as she stammered her thanks. She did not look back as she ran lightly down the stone steps, even though she was sure he was watching her.

  As soon as she was out of sight, fear turned to anger at herself for being afraid. How dare they test her to see if her table manners were good enough to wait on them? What did they think, that the villagers troughed their food from the floor like a pack of hounds? As if she'd ever have need of Master Raffaele as father or brother! She'd managed for years without either and besides, if she needed help, she had Athan now.

  Athan! She must find him and tell him the news. Her indignation rapidly turned to excitement and she hugged herself in delight. She had been chosen to serve her ladyship. That would surely mean money and gifts; Lady Anne had already mentioned a new kirtle. She'd heard that maids were given all kinds of things by their wealthy mistresses — dainty food, gloves, trinkets and even purses of money when they married. Of course Athan would wed her without any of that; what village lad expected a dowry from his bride? But if it was offered, just think what they could buy with it. What they had done last night already seemed blessed by God. Any thoughts of unease vanished as she raced like a small child across the courtyard and down the track, bubbling over with the joy and excitement of the day.

  Raffe stood at the top of the stairs looking down at Elena as she ran out through the gate, lifting her skirts high like a little girl. Her long thick plaits, bouncing against her tiny waist, flamed red-gold in the bright sunlight. She was by no means the most beautiful woman Raffe had ever seen. Most men would have thought her gawky and homely compared to the raven-haired succubi who had been the ruin of many a godly knight in the Holy Land, but Elena possessed something those women had never had, not even as children. It was an air of pure innocence, an expression of guilelessness in those periwinkle-blue eyes that seemed to swear on her immortal soul that she was incapable of betraying any man.

  Raffe set a goblet of hot milky posset, well laced with strong wine, on the small table next to Lady Anne. She was slumped sideways in the high-backed chair, her eyes closed, her forehead resting in her hand, but Raffe knew she wasn't sleeping. She would not permit herself to sleep tonight.

  'You should drink this, m'lady.'

  Steam rose from the goblet, carrying with it the tantalizing aroma of cloves, cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg. Raffe's stomach growled rebelliously, but food would have to wait.

  He crossed to the chest from which Elena had eaten and carefully removed the flagon, trencher and beaker that still lay on top. Then he pulled off the white cloth covering the chest, steeling himself before he opened it. The heavy lid swung back with a creak.

  Raffe stood looking down at the corpse hunched inside the chest. The body lay curled up on its side, the arms wrapped across its chest. A putrid stench was already rising from it, though Sir Gerard was barely a day dead. Fortunately it was not yet strong enough to penetrate the thick oak wood, but in this heat they could not delay burying him much longer. As if to confirm this, the flies buzzing among the rafters descended like a flock of miniature doves. Crawling over the face of the corpse, they refused this time to be deterred by the mere flapping of a hand.

  'You must make the announcement of your son's death tonight, m'lady, in the hall. Tell them we have already washed and prepared the body, so that no one examines it.'

  'No!' Anne wailed, 'I need more time.'

  Raffe turned away, unable to bear the anguish on her face, but he could not afford to spare her feelings.

  'He must be buried tomorrow, m'lady. Leave it another day and the body will start to bloat in the heat. I'll give orders that they're to work through the night to prepare the coffin and the grave.'

  Anne raised her head. 'Where?' she demanded savagely. 'Where am I to bury my son? With the church locked, he cannot be laid in the family vault. What would you have me do, bury him under the midden?'

  'The prison chamber beneath the undercroft. I went to examine it this morning.'

  'The undercroft!' Anne blazed angrily. You think I want my son dumped among the stinking bundles of dried fish and barrels of pickled pork?'

  Raffe slammed his great fist against the wall. 'God's teeth, woman, do you think that I. . .' he bellowed, but with a great effort managed to stop himself before he finished his utterance.

  The wars had taught him that the men thrown into the hastily dug mass graves were the lucky ones. At least their humiliation was over. The severed heads staring sightless from the ramparts and the rotting corpses of mutilated men dangling from the walls soon taught you that even the meanest burial affords a dignity that is beyond price.

  Raffe took a deep breath and tried to speak gently. 'That part of the prison chamber shall be walled up after the coffin is placed there. I'll do it myself. Then Sir Gerard may lay undisturbed until the Interdict is lifted and the coffin can be interred in the church.'

  Lady Anne's head sank again into her hand.

  'Why . . . why was he taken now?' she whispered.

  Raffe turned his face away. Hadn't he screamed that very question into the hell-black heavens all night long, and received no more answer than she had?

  'All those months and years when my son was away fighting in the Holy Lands and in Aquitaine I was dr
iven to my knees in prayer a dozen times a day for him. I felt guilty if I laughed or even slept, imagining that Gerard was lying mortally wounded on a battlefield, or being tortured by the barbarous Saracens, or even drowning in the roaring seas, his ship torn apart on the savage rocks of the French coast. And when you and Gerard finally came home, and Gerard swore to me on his knees that he would go to war no more, you cannot imagine the joy and relief I felt. My son would live to see me buried, as it should be.

  'What did I do wrong? Did I not show enough gratitude for his safe return? Did I neglect my prayers? Is God punishing me for my presumptuousness in daring to believe that my son was safe? Why has He taken him now?'

  Raffe struggled to force words from his own tightened throat. 'At least you know how your son died and where he will be buried. Many mothers in England would give all they have to know that much.'

  'Do you really think I need to be reminded of that?' Anne said bitterly. 'My own husband lies rotting in a mass grave in Acre. I know I should be grateful to have my son's corpse to grieve over. But it is no comfort. My husband died under the Cross in the Holy Wars, with all his sins absolved, but Gerard...'