'Over here!' the gatekeeper shouted.
Elena could hear the hounds snuffling and barking above her. A few yards away a duck, unnerved by the dogs, flapped in fright along the surface of the ditch.
'Keep those hounds on the leash, damn you!' Raffaele yelled.
'But they've found something,' Walter protested.
'Water rats, that's all. I told you, I saw the thief head off towards the village. Now you take those mangy hounds and track him down. And if you come back without him, by God's teeth, I'll flay the hide off you myself for leaving that gate unfastened.'
'It was secure. I checked it myself, like always,' poor Walter protested. 'I swear by my right hand, I didn't leave it unbarred.'
'Find him,' Raffaele roared, 'or I'll keep you to your oath and take your hand, and the same goes for each and every one of you idle bastards.'
The men did not need telling twice; pulling their reluctant hounds away from the ditch, they set off hastily in the direction of the village, with Raffaele's curses and threats chasing them till they were out of hearing.
When the sound of the barking had died away, Raffaele came to the edge of the ditch and softly called out to Elena.
She struggled to clamber out, holding up her hand for him to help her. But instead of pulling her out, he took off his boots, tied them by the laces around his neck, and slipped into the ditch beside her. He hauled her towards him, but she was so numb with cold and fear she could hardly stand.
'I've friends waiting for us where the ditch meets the river, but they'll not wait past first light. We have to hurry,' he added, looking anxiously towards the marshes. 'Best keep to the ditch. They think the gate was opened by the thief, but if someone thinks to check the prisoner hole and they find it empty, they'll send the hounds after you. With luck the water'll throw them off the scent. Come on, we must be well away before they realize you're gone.'
Elena shivered and tried to wade forward, but her feet had sunk deep into thick mud at the bottom of the ditch and her long skirts were dragging her back. 'I can't,' she moaned.
'You'd rather face the hangman's noose? You'll be a long time dancing on that rope for I doubt even your own mother would pull on your legs to end your suffering.' He slipped an arm around her and tugged her forward, saying more gently, 'Just to the end of the ditch, then you'll be safe.'
They waded up through the tar-black water, their feet sucked back at every step by the mud. Every now and then waterfowl would fly out of the reeds and go splashing and squawking up the ditch. Something large, soft and wet washed against Elena's legs, and she clung more tightly to Raffaele, trying to console herself that whatever creature it was, at least it wasn't moving.
Suddenly Raffaele stopped and pulled her down until they were crouching among the reeds. The wind carried the distant baying of hounds towards them.
'Damn them!' Raffaele cursed. 'I think they're doubling back, or else Osborn's sent out more of his hounds.'
They crouched, hardly daring to breathe. Were the dogs getting closer or was it the wind playing tricks? Elena gave a yelp as something scurried out of the reeds and across her head, its sharp claws digging into her face; she wildly beat it off and it fell into the water with a splash. She could hear a heart pounding, but she wasn't sure if it was her own or Raffaele's.
He glanced up at the lightening sky. 'We daren't wait. If the boatmen leave before we reach them, you and I are both dead.'
All caution abandoned, he splashed through the water as fast as the sucking mud permitted, dragging Elena with him.
Light was ghosting across the marshes, pale as buttermilk. Ahead of them they could hear the river thrashing between its banks. And, as if eager to join its bigger sister, the water around them in the ditch suddenly quickened its pace and began to buffet against the backs of their legs.
Raffaele pulled Elena towards the bank, almost flinging her against it. 'Out quickly. If you're tipped into the river, you may be swept away.'
Elena, her hands numb with cold, fought to drag her heavy sodden skirts out of the water and crawl up the bank. Her legs were trembling and she collapsed on to the top of the bank, trying to gain her breath, but Raffaele would not let her rest. Hauling her upright, he pulled her, crashing through the bushes and trees, towards the river. They burst out on to the bank and gazed wildly around. Light was just touching the far edge of the river. Already a dazzling orange rind was edging into the pale sky. The river was empty save for three swans floating serenely towards them on the glittering water.
'God's teeth, where's that blasted boat? I told them to meet me here.'
Elena caught Raffaele's arm and pointed to the bend upstream in the river, where she could just make out the shape of a long, flat craft slowly sculling away from them.
Raffaele started forward, and putting his fingers in his mouth gave three shrill whistles, but the boat had already vanished round the bend of the river. He groaned. 'I'll kill them if I ever get my hands on them, they swore . . .'
The deep, resonant baying of the hounds sounded once more through the silent dawn; they seemed to be getting closer. Elena glanced fearfully behind her, shivering in her wet clothes.
'You must go back. If you're missing they'll know it was you that released me. I can run.'
'By now Osborn will have ordered you brought up for your execution and they'll have already discovered you've gone.' Raffaele raked his fingers agitatedly through his hair. 'He'll send his men out searching for you on horseback. You'll never outrun them. We must —'
He was interrupted by a low whistle and glancing up saw the boat being sculled back towards them by two men, their faces half hidden under their hoods.
Raffaele crossed himself. 'The Holy Virgin be praised.'
As soon as the boat pulled alongside, Raffaele bundled Elena on board. He tossed a small leather purse to the elder of the two men whose face was tanned and as wrinkled as oak bark.
'Half the money you were promised. You deliver her unharmed to the house we agreed and as soon as word reaches me they've got her safe you'll get the rest.'
The man spat into the water and gave a toothless grin. 'They'll keep her snug and safe all right.'
There was something in that mocking tone that frightened Elena. In all her anxiety to get away, it had not occurred to her to ask Raffaele where he was sending her.
She half clambered back out of the boat. 'Where are they taking me?'
The men in the boat exchanged grins, but Raffaele ignored them, pushing Elena gently back in.
'To a friend of mine at Norwich, Mother Margot. She'll take you into her house. No one will think to look for you there.'
Elena breathed out in relief. Mother Margot, she would be the prioress of a nunnery. The boatman was right, she would be safe there. No one could search a nunnery, could they? She had always been a little afraid of nuns with their austere habits and even grimmer expressions, but if they could save her from Osborn and the noose .... she glanced up at the rising sun and shuddered. If Raffaele hadn't rescued her, by now she would already be strangling on a rope. Her fingers massaged her throat.
'Master Raffaele, I'll work, do anything. I'll repay the money somehow.' She touched his hand and gazed up at him with a grateful smile.
Far from being pleased, his expression suddenly changed to one of anger. 'I don't care about the money, but I told you that first day I brought you to Lady Anne that if you needed a friend you were to come to me. You should have told me about the child. I would have helped you. It didn't need to come to this. We are bound to each other, you and I. You should have trusted me, Elena.'
'But you have helped me more than I could ask. I —'
The boatman suddenly jerked upright. 'Horses coming this way, moving fast.' Before Elena realized what was happening the boatman had pushed her down flat in the bottom of the boat and was pulling a heavy, evil-smelling sail cloth over her.
'I'll come to you soon, Elena,' Raffaele whispered.
The men grunt
ed as they dug their sculls into the water. Elena felt the craft inching slowly into the centre of the river. For a moment or two it hung there, then the boat gathered pace and slid quietly away into the dawn.
Walter was not at his post in the manor gatehouse when Raffe squelched into the courtyard, and as soon as he caught sight of the group of men standing beneath the undercroft, he knew why. He hesitated, trying to decide what stance he should adopt. Anger? Surprise? But he didn't get the chance to resolve anything for at that moment Osborn spotted him.
'Aah, here is Master Raffaele now. Perhaps he might shed some light on this matter.' He stared down at Raffe's sodden, muddy clothes. 'Have you been taking a bath, Master Raffaele? In the town it is customary to remove your clothes and use clean water, but perhaps you are more accustomed to bathing with the pigs in Gastmere. Or have you been doing more to those hapless sows than simply wallowing with them?'
It was a measure of the tension in the courtyard that no one laughed.
Raffe ignored the barb. 'I was searching the ditches for the thief, in case he was hiding from the hounds there. So, have you caught the rogue?'
Osborn took a pace forward, his ash-grey eyes narrowing as he searched Raffe's face. Raffe returned his stare without flinching.
'The girl that was to be hanged,' Osborn said dangerously quietly. 'She appears to have vanished. The bailiff swears he locked her in the neck iron, removed the ladder from the pit and fastened the grid above her. He says you were witness to this.'
Raffe glanced over at the bailiff's frightened face. 'It is as he says, and then we went to the kitchens together for a mug of ale.'
'If that is so,' Osborn said, 'someone came during the night and released her. She could not have escaped from the iron or that pit unaided. But if it was in the night, how did she get out of the courtyard without our faithful watchman hearing her?'
It was Walter's turn to look fearful, as well he might. A watchman who allows a prisoner to walk unchallenged through his gates could hardly expect to escape without punishment.
Walter twisted his hood nervously in his hand. 'Girl must have slipped out when I opened the gates for the men to give chase to the thief. I swear not a flea could have escaped afore that, 'cause my hounds —'
'Ah yes, this mysterious vanishing thief who appears to have stolen . . . what was it? Ah yes, precisely nothing. It was you who raised the alarm, was it not, Master Raffaele? What exactly did you see?'
Raffe didn't hesitate. This much he had already rehearsed in his head. 'I saw someone coming round the back of the kitchen, but his face was in shadows. At first I thought him to be a servant, but as soon as he saw me, he ran for the gate, so I knew it was someone with no business at the manor. But it wasn't the girl, of that I'm certain, the figure was too tall and broad for that.'
And what made you think —' Osborn began, but he was interrupted by shrieks and bellows from the track outside.
Several of the manor's burlier servants tumbled through the open gate. They were dragging a man and a woman between them, but they were having difficulty holding the man, who was wriggling like an eel.
Raffe's heart gave a sickening lurch. Blessed Holy Virgin, let it not be Elena or the boatman.
But as the servants gave the man a violent shove forwards, Raffe saw that their prisoner was Athan who, despite his hands being lashed behind him, was putting up a furious struggle.
The two servants behind were having an easier time of it, for their captive was putting up no resistance at all. Cecily, Elena's mother, was shuffling meekly between them, her head hanging so low it seemed that if they released her she would instantly burrow into the earth and hide from the shame of it all. But neither Athan nor Cecily was responsible for the noise. All the shrieks and wails were emanating from a third figure, Athan's mother, Joan, who was scurrying behind the servants and taking every opportunity to slap, bite and kick the men holding her son.
Osborn gestured to the ground and the two prisoners were forced to their knees in the muck of the courtyard. It had the effect of immediately silencing everyone, even Joan, who stood fish-eyed behind the group, her fists pressed to her mouth, gazing at Osborn.
He took his time, pacing back and forth in front of Athan and Cecily, staring hard into their faces until both were visibly trembling. Finally he spoke.
'Elena has run away from the manor. As villeins I trust
I need not remind you how serious an offence that is in itself, but if that were not bad enough, she is a convicted murderer and under sentence of death.'
Osborn continued to pace back and forth between Athan and Cecily. As you well know, anyone, anyone who assists a convicted felon to escape puts themselves under the same sentence as the prisoner they try to aid. Nevertheless, last night someone was foolish enough to help a murderer escape justice.'
As if his words were a child's counting game, on the word justice Osborn halted abruptly in front of Athan and, without warning, seized a handful of the kneeling man's hair, yanking his head upwards. You, as the girl's lover, are the obvious suspect.'
Athan's normally rosy face was ashen. 'On my life I swear I didn't, my lord. Remember .. . remember it was us, me and my mam, who told you that Elena had done away with my son. What cause would I have to rescue her?'
Osborn pulled Athan's head back so far, Raffe thought he might snap the lad's neck. 'Don't tell me what I remember as if I'm in my dotage, boy. What I remember is that you told me nothing at all. It was your mother who did all the talking yesterday. You were besotted with this girl. I'll always love you, wasn't that what you swore —'
Joan could contain herself no longer. 'My lad thought that harlot as wicked as I did. It was his own dear bairn that evil woman murdered. Poor lad's beside himself with grief. It's as certain as a stone wall to a blind man that he'd not lift a finger to help that murdering slut. Besides,' she added with an angry lift of her chin, 'he was at home with me all night, never left the cottage till daybreak.'
Osborn snorted. You can't really imagine that I would take the word of a doting mother as proof of her son's whereabouts? You'd no doubt swear your son could spin straw into gold, if you thought it to his advantage.' But despite his words, Osborn let Athan's head drop.
He took a pace towards Cecily, standing so close to the kneeling woman that his crotch was pushing into her face.
'I take it you are the girl's mother. It was you, was it not, who screamed when sentence was pronounced yesterday, the only villager who raised any protest to her hanging? A mother would do anything to save her own daughter, wouldn't she?'
Cecily raised a tearstained face. 'I couldn't believe my own bairn . . . my own flesh and blood would do such a wicked thing. I'd . . . heard her speak of this . . . dream, same as Joan, but it's well known pregnant women are often tormented in their sleep by demons who are jealous of the babes they carry. I never thought she'd really . . .'
'So you helped her escape,' Osborn said quietly. 'That was foolish, extremely foolish, but then all women are fools for their children.'
'I didn't, my lord. I swear I didn't!' Cecily wailed. 'No woman wants to see her own bairn hang, but what could I have done to prevent it? Even if I'd had the courage to help her, how would I have got the key to unlock the pit or her irons?'
There was an instant buzzing among the servants. Osborn held up his hands for silence.
'Your daughter admitted that she was in the habit of consulting a cunning woman. Doubtless you did the same and managed to release your daughter by witchcraft.'
Cecily moaned and swayed as if she was about to faint. 'No, no!'
Raffe, with a sick feeling of dread, knew exactly where this line of questioning could end. Desperate to stop it, he broke in.
'M'lord, the cunning women have gone from the village. Wasn't it their very absence that helped to convict the girl in the first place? So where would Cecily have got help to conjure such a powerful sorcery that would have made locks fly open without a key?'
Osborn
took a step back from the sobbing woman; the expression on his coarse features was one approaching triumph.
'So, Master Raffaele, you are minded to pit wits with me, are you? If you are so certain that this is not witchcraft, then we must resume our search for mortal hands. So tell me this, who obtained the key to release the girl? Consider your answer carefully, Master Raffaele. For I promise you there shall be a hanging today, if not of the girl, then of her accomplice.'
Raffe swallowed hard, realizing too late what he'd said. He stared into those mocking grey eyes, trying to discover if Osborn already knew the truth and this whole exercise had just been a mummers' play designed to display Osborn's power and his own humiliation.
The Gallows Curse Page 16
