Plague Land (32 page)

‘That’s absurd. I didn’t murder de Caburn.’

‘It’s not just Lord Versey.’ He took a rolled document from his belt and read aloud. ‘You are also accused of the murders of Alison and Matilda Starve . . . crow.’

‘What? I didn’t kill any of them. I’m not a murderer.’

Godfrey looked about at his companions and sniggered. What a victory for him over the small boy who had once taken his place on his mother’s knee and eaten his candied violets. All because my young hair had been soft and white, whereas his was coarse and curly.

‘Plead your innocence to the earl, in court,’ he now told me.

‘But surely I’ll be tried by a judge?’

He shrugged. ‘There’s a gaol house here, isn’t there?’

‘Yes. But—’

‘You are to be taken there.’ He seized my arm.

I tried to shake him off, but his grip was firm. ‘I will not!’ I said. ‘Get off me!’

My workers peered in through the legs of the horses, the better to see what was happening. Their faces were fearful, but also fascinated.

‘It’s the order of the earl,’ said Godfrey, now taking a length of rope and attempting to wrap it about my hands.

This time I broke free of him. ‘Then the earl is wrong,’ I said. The crowd became noisy, causing the horses to twitch and struggle against their riders. A mounted squire took a whip to the nearest man and beat him back, prompting the other villagers to flee to a safe distance.

Godfrey now rounded on me, placing a hand on his sword. ‘You are under arrest, de Lacy. Move.’

But I was a nobleman, not a villein or a beggar. He could not simply cut me down.‘I will walk to the gaol house. Do not tether me.’

As we progressed, I tried to keep my dignity, but could scarcely muster the energy to hold my eyes up from staring at the ground. A coil of bad fortune had wound itself about me in the last year, so surely I was due some slack? But no. For now I was to be locked in my own prison. Interrogated in my own court. And then, if found guilty, hanged from my own gallows. No better than a common thief.

I had not foreseen this turn of events. My legs felt unsteady and my heart thumped. It was unfair. I was innocent.

I was angry.

But more than that, I was terrified.

Mother visited me in the gaolhouse that evening, though I tried to dismiss her once she had passed over some bread and potted meat.

‘How ever did you manage to slip out and murder de Caburn?’ she whispered. ‘We had the gate locked for three whole days.’

I hissed at the foolish woman. ‘That’s because I didn’t do it, Mother.’

‘Did you swim across the moat?’

‘We don’t have a moat.’

‘Yes we do. At the back of the house.’

‘No. That’s a ditch that used to be a moat.’

‘Whatever you call it. I’m surprised you survived. That water is infested with rats. And their scent can poison the lungs, you know.’ She reached inside her pocket bag and pulled out one of her many vials of medicine. ‘Can I give you some powders to sniff? They will cleanse your passages.’

I pushed the bottle away. ‘If you want to help me, Mother, stop suggesting I’m guilty.’ I looked towards the grate in the cell door, checking whether the young squire guarding me was listening – but there was no discernible movement. Usually he stayed outside, grooming his horse.

‘Are you saying you didn’t kill de Caburn?’ Mother screwed up her eyes and knotted her forehead in confusion. The lines formed a neat criss-crossed grid in her skin.

‘Yes, Mother. I’m innocent.’

‘Why has the earl imprisoned you then? You must have done something.’

‘No I haven’t.’

She let out a slighted sigh. ‘I see. If you don’t want to confide in me, Oswald. Then I won’t say another word.’

‘That’s because there is nothing to confide!’

The squire rapped on the door, since I had raised my voice. It seemed he was not outside with his horse after all.

A long silence followed, only broken by Mother’s sorrowful puffs.

‘Why don’t you just go home, Mother?’ I said in the end.

‘But you’ll be lonely, Oswald. I wanted to cheer you up.’

‘I’d rather be on my own, thank you.’

Another sigh. ‘That cunning little Delilah would come to see you. If I permitted it.’

‘Mirabel?’

‘She’s baked you a pie, although Gilbert is furious. She used all of the saffron.’ Then she huffed. ‘But I know what you’re like. Happy to confide in such a silly girl, when you won’t say a word to your own dear mother.’

I thought of the four squires about the village, and imagined how vulnerable Mirabel would be away from the house. ‘You mustn’t let her come here, Mother. Not under any circumstances.’

‘She’s very headstrong, Oswald. Yesterday she would only clean my feet if I allowed her to wear a scarf over her nose.’

‘You must say I don’t want to see her, Mother. It’s important.’

She suddenly smiled and tapped me on the knee. ‘I agree. I wouldn’t want to see the girl either. She’s very dreary.’ Then she frowned. ‘But what about this foolish pie she’s made you?’

‘Eat it yourselves.’

Mother stood up to leave. ‘Is there anything more I can do for you, Oswald?’ As if she had spent the last hour comforting me.

‘Just get word to Brother Peter at the convent. It’s important he knows I’ve been arrested.’ She hurried away, full of promises and with the glass bottles of her mobile apothecary chinking against one another in her pouch.

It seemed she would do as I asked, but after two further days spent in near solitary confinement, I began to wonder.

The days rolled into one another. My only visitor, apart from Gilbert, was Joan Bath, who insisted upon sweeping out the cell and giving me a washed blanket. I was surprised to see her, since I had not treated the woman fairly. She accepted my gratitude rather suspiciously, arguing that nobody had cleaned the room since her imprisonment, so she didn’t like to think of me sleeping in her dirt and dust. She also brought some lavender and sage, which she suggested I rub occasionally to allay the stink of the cell – caused by the primitive latrine that emptied through a hole in the wall into a pit below the only window.

I tried to glean some news from Joan, but she was hurried away by the squire, who then negotiated an arrangement between the two of them. I could hear the whole conversation and noted Joan settled on twice the price he initially offered. At least somebody was profiting from my misfortune.

For three days I slept upon the hard wooden bed, with lice crawling at my back and ankles. But on the fifth day of my imprisonment my prayers were finally answered. Flustered and red about the face, Peter burst into my cell with news that the royal judge would be in Somershill by the following morning. He gave the squire some pennies to spend at the tavern and to leave us alone for an hour. We were then bolted into the room, with a bench jammed against the door in case we somehow managed to pick the lock.

Peter watched the squire go and then hugged me. ‘Why didn’t you get word to me, Oswald? As soon as you were taken into custody?’

‘I tried. Mother promised to send a message to you.’

He huffed indignantly. ‘That old nanny goat couldn’t promise to remember her own name.’ He checked the window again to make certain nobody was spying on us from outside, even though the pile of night soil from the latrine would deter even the most fervent of eavesdroppers.

‘Who told you I was here?’ I asked.

‘The earl’s men came to the convent looking for Clemence. They believe she’s your accomplice, Oswald. Only the sanctuary of the convent has saved her from arrest.’

‘My accomplice?’

‘Yes. They think she sent a letter to de Caburn, requesting he visit her at the convent. They believe it was a trap devised by the two of you. She lured him into the forest, where you then murdered him.’

‘But I didn’t leave Somershill for three days, Brother Peter. I have witnesses.’

Peter pulled the flask from his belt pouch and took a gulp. It was brandy. ‘I know that, you foolish boy. I don’t suspect you.’

I felt panic rising. ‘What about Clemence? Could she have done it?’

‘She can barely walk, Oswald. She had to be—’ He hesitated and shook his head. ‘No. I won’t speak of it.’

‘But she has Humbert with her. He would do anything Clemence asked of him.’

He nodded. ‘I wondered the same, so I confronted the boy. He insists upon his innocence.’ He offered me the flask, but I refused. ‘It’s hard to know whether or not to believe him. The boy is as blank as a lump of limestone.’

‘You know I’m accused of the Starvecrow murders as well?’

Peter sighed. ‘Yes. That’s Cornwall’s doing. He’s taken the opportunity to feed the earl all sorts of lies about you. And unfortunately there are coincidences that link you to both girls.’

‘Such as?’

‘For one thing, Alison Starvecrow came to speak with you on the day she disappeared.’

‘But I didn’t see her.’

Peter cleared his throat. ‘We both know that. But others believe you granted her an audience. Only you didn’t like what she had to tell you.’

I almost laughed. ‘Of course. This great secret. Which nobody seems to know, apart from a dead girl.’

Peter threw up his hands. ‘There’s no great secret, Oswald. You know how a village girl’s mind works. She probably wanted to accuse you of dancing naked with devils or making love to goats. In the hope you’d give her a penny to go away.’

‘And Matilda? Why am I suspected of her murder?’

‘You were the last person to visit her.’

‘No. Joan Bath was there when I left the house.’

‘We’ve discussed Joan Bath before, haven’t we Oswald? And then there was the issue with Matilda’s body. You found her headless corpse but did not alert anybody.’

‘But Gilbert was there as well. He can vouch for my innocence.’

‘He’s your valet, Oswald. People will accuse him of saying whatever you demand of him.’

I put my head in my hands. The skin of my forehead was damp, and my fingers smelt stale and greasy. I had never spent so long in such a filthy place. ‘We could tell the earl the truth.’

‘What truth?’

‘That we found de Caburn and Cornwall in the forest. That they were about to rape and murder Mirabel.’

He sighed. ‘It’s still too much of a risk, Oswald. The accusation might rebound and send you even more quickly to the gallows.’

Gallows
. Such a word. I felt sick and had to put my head between my knees. Peter comforted me and held my hand, but then the squire began banging on the door. We hadn’t noticed him return from the tavern.

‘Time to leave, priest,’ he shouted through the grate.

Peter whispered into my ear. ‘Listen to me, Oswald. You mustn’t worry. I have an idea to save you.’

The squire had opened the door by now and was motioning for Brother Peter to leave. His words were slurred after his hurried bout of drinking. ‘Come on. Get out of here, now. You’ve had your time.’

Peter waved him away and again whispered in my ear. ‘I’ll see you in court tomorrow, Oswald. Do not contradict anything I say. Do you understand?’ I nodded pathetically. ‘Promise me. Your life will depend upon it.’

I found it difficult to sleep that night – my dreams were strange and terrifying. I was not in the filthy cottage, waiting to die of the Plague. Instead I had become two persons within one body. One soul was good. But the other was an aberration. A monster, responsible for murdering my own half-sisters and de Caburn.

There had been such poor souls in the infirmary. Crouched in corners, speaking to company that didn’t exist.

I woke from my doze with a start, as if somebody had come into the room and grabbed me by the foot. But nothing was there, except shadows against the walls – flitting shapes that could have been the ghosts of long-gone prisoners, leaching out from the stone. I returned to a fitful sleep, but woke again – this time hearing my name in a whisper. Now I would not even open my eyes – not until something small and hard hit my head. Looking out from underneath my covers, I saw a pair of small hands at the bars of the window.