A Haunt of Murder

Chapter 4

Ralph stared down at the two corpses laid out in their makeshift coffins on trestles beneath the steps leading up to the keep. Theobald Vavasour had removed the crossbow quarrel from Beardsmore’s head and dressed the wound. Ralph felt a deep sadness. This young soldier, so full of life and energy, so determined to bring the killer of his lover to justice, now nothing more than a heap of dead flesh. In the coffin next to him lay the body of young Fulk, his face a whitish-blue. Despite all the efforts of the physician, his eyes would not remain closed; his face was bloated, his corpse soggy with water. Father Aylred had given both the last rites but it was obvious the priest was at the end of his tether. He forgot words and his hands shook so much that Ralph had to help him administer the holy oils. Sir John eventually sent him back to his chamber to rest then despatched Theobald to make sure he was all right.

Sir John scuffed the grass with his boot. ‘Adam, when you go down to Maldon, you’d best take Fulk’s corpse with you.’

‘How was he killed?’ Adam asked.

Ralph turned the sodden corpse over, displaying the bloodclotted hair. ‘A blow to the back of the head.’

‘And you, Ralph, are you all right?’

‘I’ve washed and changed yet again.’ Ralph tried to put a brave face on it. ‘I feel a little queasy from the moat water I’ve drunk but otherwise I’ll survive.’ He drew closer to them. ‘Sir John, the assassin killed Beardsmore but he was trying to kill me. It should be easy to find out where everyone was.’

‘I’ve done so already,’ the Constable replied. ‘Adam here helped me. Father Aylred was in the chapel, or claims he was. He had smashed an offertory cruet and was clearing up the mess.’

‘But I left the chapel just before meeting Beardsmore,’ said Ralph. ‘I never saw him there.’

‘That’s where he claims he was and I’ve seen the broken glass.’

‘And Theobald?’

‘In his chamber, poring over a book on alchemy.’

Ralph held his gaze.

‘I know. I know,’ Sir John murmured. ‘I was walking round the castle talking to this person and that. Lady Anne was in her chamber.’

‘And you, Adam?’

His friend stretched out his hands, the fingers covered in ink. ‘I was in the chancery office, Marisa was there with me. If you go up there now you’ll find the documents and manuscripts littering my table. I spilled some ink when the alarm was raised.’

‘That was one of the guards,’ Sir John informed them. ‘He was sunning himself and, by chance, looked over the wall. Beardsmore was down. He thought your assailant was outside the castle.’

‘Well,’ Adam sighed, ‘at least we know Fulk did come here.’

Ralph walked away from the coffins. ‘I suspect that the person Fulk met told him to leave.’ He smacked the heel of his hand against his forehead. ‘No, no, he didn’t do that! Sir John, Adam, come with me!’

They walked round the keep, through the orchard and across the overgrown garden to the Salt Tower. A deserted, derelict place. Brambles and gorse sprouted through the gravelled path stretching up to the walls of the tower, almost blocking the door leading into it. They pushed through the briars which caught at their leggings and boots.

Ralph put a hand to the door and it swung open. ‘It should be locked!’ Sir John exclaimed. ‘The tower is unsafe.’

Ralph crouched down and peered at the lock. ‘It’s been forced. The lock is rusty and so is the catch. It wouldn’t take much force.’

Inside, it smelled of mildew and damp. Great cobwebs stretched like nets in the corners. The stairwell was dirty, the steps up crumbling and covered in dust. Ralph looked for any mark or sign.

‘Someone has been here, the dust has been disturbed.’

‘Is it safe?’ Adam asked.

‘We’ll find out.’

Ralph began to climb. He reached the first landing and pushed open the door to a chamber. At the far end was the broad shuttered window door he had glimpsed on the other side of the moat, about four feet high. The chamber itself was shabby and grim. The plaster had fallen off the wall and the room stank of the rotten rushes left lying there. He walked across, lifted the bar to the shutters and swung them open, welcoming the rush of clean air. Below him the moat glinted. Ralph stared across the heathland.

‘I think this is where the assassin brought Phoebe’s corpse wrapped in a canvas sheet. He lowered it on to the muddy bank below, crossed the moat, left the corpse in Devil’s Spinney and returned by the same route. It was quite easily done.’ He peered down. ‘He probably used a pole or spear to close the door behind him when he was on the bank. He’d leave the spear thrust into the mud until he returned and use it to open the shutters again. Look at the walls, Sir John, there are enough gaps and rents; it would be as easy as climbing a ladder.’

‘And the same for Fulk?’ Adam asked.

‘I suspect so. The assassin probably lured the young man here with the prospect of silver and gold.’ Ralph pulled the shutter closed. ‘A swift blow to the head and again he’d lower the corpse, throw it into the moat and climb back.’

‘Your troubles haven’t dimmed your wits,’ Adam smiled. ‘I agree, Sir John.’ He stared round the shabby room. ‘This place has seen terrible murders.’ He walked round, staring at the floor.

‘I don’t think you’ll find anything,’ said Ralph. ‘Our killer is too sly and cunning for that.’

‘But wouldn’t all this be noticed?’ Sir John snapped, shuffling his feet, plucking at his war belt in his agitation. His happy, humdrum existence had been shattered by bloody murder and he knew he would face harsh questioning from the King’s men when they arrived.

Ralph shook his head. ‘This is a deserted part of the castle. Until yesterday no guards walked the parapet except some sleepy-eyed sentry, and he’d make himself as comfortable as possible. No, the killer had it all his own way.’ Ralph gestured at the window door. ‘I’d advise you to have those shutters barred and padlocked. If the castle is ever attacked, that’s our weakest point.’ He walked towards the door.

‘Where to now?’ Adam asked.

Ralph didn’t answer, more intent on climbing the spiral staircase, studying each step as he went. The chamber at the top had no door. He walked in and went across to the two windows, one facing him, the other to the side. The room was similar to the one he had left, dirty and squalid. The bars on the shutter lifted easily and he noticed that the hinges had been recently oiled. He opened one shutter and stared down at the spot where he and Beardsmore had been standing. Then he moved across to the shutter in the right wall of this box-like chamber. He opened it and looked out on a good view of the moat right along the castle wall.

‘This is where Beardsmore’s assassin stood,’ he declared. ‘He fired first from the facing window and, when I fled, moved across to the side which provides a view from the flank of the tower.’

Sir John looked through both windows, the wind whipping his white hair, making his eyes water.

‘I’ve sent a sentry out.’ He turned and leaned against the wall. ‘Including the quarrel which killed Beardsmore, at least five crossbow bolts were loosed.’

Ralph stared out of the window. He had liked Beardsmore and felt guilty at the suspicions of him he had nursed earlier, but at the same time the sergeant-at-arms’ death seemed to have calmed his grief for Beatrice. Instead he felt an implacable desire to bring her killer to justice. He had seen a man hang once and had hated it, but he quietly conceded that he’d stand and enjoy this assassin have the life throttled out of him! Someone in this castle had watched him meet Beardsmore at the gatehouse and walk round the moat; he’d feared that Beardsmore would either find out how Phoebe’s corpse was removed or discover the whereabouts of poor Fulk’s corpse.

‘Yes, that’s it!’ he exclaimed.

‘What is?’ Adam asked.

‘The assassin meant to kill both Beardsmore and myself.’

‘Why?’ Sir John asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Ralph replied cautiously. ‘But I tell you, Sir John, this castle should be put on a war footing. Every tower, every gateway should have a sentry not only to guard the approaches but to watch who goes where. We should also be very careful about being alone and what we eat or drink.’

‘Sir John Grasse! Sir John Grasse!’ a voice bellowed from the bottom of the staircase.

‘Oh Lord save us! What now?’

‘Sir John, followed by his two clerks, clambered down the stairs. The captain of the guard was there, helmet under his arm.

‘Sir John, it’s the prisoner, the woman Eleanora.’

‘Oh, don’t say she’s escaped.’

‘No, sir, she’s dead!’

They ran through the overgrown garden and bailey, across the green to Bowyer Tower. The door to the cell was open. Eleanora was sprawled on the floor, mouth gaping, eyes staring; her body was twisted like a piece of cloth, wrung and tossed aside. Father Aylred was sitting on the bed rocking gently backwards and forwards, singing under his breath. Theobald knelt by the corpse. He shook his head as Sir John came in.

‘Dead, Sir John. Poisoned.’

‘What?’ Sir John turned to the captain of the guard.

‘Sir, she ate what we ate and drank!’

Ralph crossed to the little table where a platter lay containing the remains of some food.

‘I’ve tested those already,’ Theobald said. ‘Indeed, when I came in two rats were finishing it off and they seemed none the worse.’

‘There are poisons enough in the castle,’ Sir John remarked.

‘Used to destroy vermin.’ He looked at Theobald. ‘And of course you have a fine collection of elixirs, haven’t you?’

Theobald would have retorted heatedly but Ralph intervened.

‘What is important,’ he said, ‘is how the wench died. You say the food is not tainted?’

‘Yes!’ Theobald snapped.

Ralph turned to the archers standing in the doorway. ‘Did any of you come into the cell?’

‘We kept well away from her,’ one of them replied.

‘And no one came down to visit her?’

‘No.’ The archer shook his head. ‘The Constable’s orders were quite clear. She was to be kept comfortable and not disturbed. The only time I came in here was to empty that.’ The archer pointed to a chamber pot peeping out from beneath the bed. ‘I put in some saltpetre to hide the smell. Apart from that, we left her alone.’

‘When did she last eat?’

‘Oh, about ten of the clock.’

‘Three hours ago.’ Ralph stared up at the grille in the wall which looked out on to the castle bailey. ‘So how did you find her?’

‘The corpse was cold,’ Theobald interjected. ‘She must have been dead for at least two hours.’

‘As I said,’ the archer replied, ‘we left her in peace. I remembered the chamber pot, looked through the bars and saw her lying there.’

‘How on earth did this happen?’ Sir John demanded. ‘Here’s a young woman in her cell. The food and drink are not tainted and yet she’s found poisoned by some noxious substance.’

Ralph knelt beside the corpse and put his fingers into the half-open mouth. It was slightly warm. He felt along the gums, the cracked teeth. He felt something half-chewed and pulled it out. Keeping it on the end of his finger, he went to the window. He sniffed, rubbed his finger along the wall and poured some water from the jug over his hands.

‘What is it?’ Sir John demanded.

‘I’m no physician or leech, Sir John. But I think I’ve just examined the last thing she ate. A sweetmeat, marchpane possibly.’

‘But she was never given any!’ the guard exclaimed.

Ralph stared up at the grille. ‘Someone in this castle approached that window. He secured Eleanora’s confidence and dropped a piece of marchpane or something through the bars. Eleanora would relish that. More importantly, she must have trusted the person who gave it to her.’

‘But who in the castle knew her?’ Adam asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Ralph replied wearily. ‘I really don’t. Sir John, you’d best get the corpse removed.’

Sir John stamped out of the cell, shouting orders. Ralph followed and went back to his own chamber. He unlocked the door and went in. Everything was as he had left it. He sniffed at the jug of wine and examined the cup before going to sit at his table. He pulled across a scrubbed sheet of vellum, opened the inkpot, sharpened a quill and wrote out a list of names. He included his own among them.

‘I’m so confused,’ he muttered. ‘I could even half convince myself that I’ve done something wrong.’

He studied the names. Any one of them could have been lurking in that tower the night Beatrice died. And Phoebe? A blow to the back of the head. Yes, they could all do that. And what about the attack on him in Devil’s Spinney? That would take some strength. He’d been knocked half unconscious and he recalled being dragged through the grass. The Constable was a strong man. So was Adam. But Theobald and Aylred?

‘Yes?’ he said aloud. ‘They would have the strength.’

And the attack on Fulk? He closed his eyes. He could imagine the miller’s son being taken to the Salt Tower, up the steps to that shabby chamber. Fulk would be full of himself, eager to get his hands on the silver to buy his silence. A blow to the back of the head would end all that. And this morning, the attack on Beardsmore? Both Theobald and Father Aylred had done military service. Any of the men on the council could load three or four arbalests and fire them. But Eleanora’s death? Whom would she trust?

Ralph put his head in his hands. Where could he start? He recalled the arbalest and the number of quarrels that had been loosed. He should check the armoury. Everyone owned a crossbow, his own stood over in the corner of the room, but four, even five? What about Lady Anne? She was a tall, sinewy woman. She was capable and strong enough for these secret attacks and no stranger to a crossbow. Marisa, too, could not be discounted.

Ralph put on his war belt and left his chamber. He first visited the armoury. The archer guarding the stores shook his head and scratched a weather-beaten cheek.

‘You can see for yourself, Master Clerk, if you want, though Sir John’s already done it. We have the same number of arbalests as we had this time last week. No one has taken either crossbow or bolts.’

‘You are sure?’

‘As I am that I am talking to you, sir. Even if the Constable himself came and asked for four or five crossbows, questions would be asked.’

Ralph then visited Father Aylred in his chamber above the chapel. Despite his warnings, the door was off the latch, the priest was asleep on his bed, a half-filled wine cup beside him. Next he went in search of Theobald whom he found busy in his chamber. Ralph always marvelled at how untidy the physician’s room was. On hooks in the walls hung garish cloths depicting strange symbols which, Theobald had explained, were the signs of the zodiac. An astrolobe stood on a table, dried frogs, toads and rats hung from more hooks. Bottles and jars littered the desk and shelves; manuscripts and documents lay strewn about. The physician was kneeling on the floor sniffing at a jar which gave off a foul odour.

‘You should keep your door locked, Master Vavasour.’

The physician didn’t even bother to turn round.

‘If I am going to die, Master Ralph, I am going to die. Come in.’ He got to his feet, wiping his fingers on his dirty robe. ‘Do you know, you are the only person who comes in here and never complains about the smell. So, what do you want?’

Ralph stared round the chamber. ‘What are these potions and strange odours?’

Theobald sucked on his teeth. ‘You are too young to remember the plague, Ralph, the great pestilence. However, in my journeys, I met a Greek who studied at Montpellier and Salerno.’ He moved to the window and opened a shutter. ‘I lost both my parents, my brothers and my sisters to the plague. All died within a week. I vowed, one day, I’d find a cure.’

‘For the pestilence?’ Ralph exclaimed. ‘Impossible!’

‘That’s what everyone says, except the Greek. He’d studied with the Arabs and claimed the pestilence was carried by the black rat. Remove the dirt, kill the rats and the pestilence would die with them. He also said something else: that if you took milk, let it go sour then mixed it with dried moss you could produce a powder, odiferous and unpalatable but, give it to a plague victim, and he could be cured.’

‘So, why don’t you do it?’ Ralph teased.

‘I have, with varying degress of success. And it set me wondering. Do powders from dead dried things protect the living?’

Ralph moved the astrolobe and sat down on a stool. ‘And have you experimented?’

‘On sick animals, yes. Sometimes they live, sometimes they die. I have to be careful, that’s why I stay at Ravenscroft. It’s easy for someone to point a finger and shout witch or warlock. Sir John Grasse protects me. I’m no witch.’ He pointed to the stark black crucifix pinned to the wall just inside the door. ‘I serve the Lord Jesus in my own way. I fashioned that cross myself from some oak I took out of Devil’s Spinney. It’s a constant reminder to visitors, to reflect before they accuse.’

Ralph studied the little physician. He had always considered Theobald Vavasour a grey man in looks as well as character. Now he regretted his arrogant judgement. Theobald was intent on finding his own treasure, the secrets of alchemy and medicine, as he was Brythnoth’s cross.

‘But you haven’t come here to discuss physic, have you?’

‘Yes and no,’ Ralph replied.

‘The poisoning?’

‘The poisoning,’ Ralph nodded. ‘What would kill so quickly?’

Theobald spread his hands. ‘Look at this chamber, Ralph. If you’ve come to find evidence then put the chains on my wrists and call the guards. I have henbane, foxglove, belladonna, as well as two types of arsenic, red and white. Sometimes I lock my door, sometimes I don’t. Anyone could come in here and take something from my jars. Anyone could go down to the castle’s stores, too, and find poison for rats and vermin in the corners. Any of the poisons I have mentioned could have killed that young woman,’ he snapped his fingers, ‘in a few heartbeats.’

‘So quickly?’

‘Master Clerk, forget the troubadours’ tales. Poison in sufficient quantities will kill speedily.’ He sniffed, doffed his skull cap and placed it on the floor beside him. ‘And you suspect me?’

‘Somebody had the young woman’s trust,’ Ralph replied.

Theobald sighed. ‘I see, and of course everyone trusts a physician, eh, Ralph?’ He shook his head. ‘I swear on my parents’ graves I never spoke to that young woman.’

Ralph studied him.

‘I speak the truth,’ Theobald said. ‘And, do you know, Ralph, I feel calm. I’ve lived my life.’ He shrugged and got to his feet. ‘If I have to die then perhaps Ravenscroft is the friendliest place to end my days.’

Ralph thanked him and left.

Down in the castle bailey two of the coffins had been lifted on to a cart to be taken to the village. Beardsmore’s was being carried up to the chapel. Sir John had placed a black pall over it. Ralph walked on to the green and paused. It seemed an age since he had sat beside Beatrice on that lovely sunny afternoon before the shadows came racing in. He felt a deep sense of sorrow and found himself walking towards the steps to the parapet walk from which Beatrice had fallen. Two sentries now stood on guard at either end. Ralph stopped in the centre and stared across at Devil’s Spinney.

‘It’s the treasure,’ he whispered, the wind catching his words. ‘Brythnoth’s cross caused all this.’

He thought of his visit to Theobald’s room. The cross! The black cross nailed to the wall! Theobald claimed he had fashioned it from an oak in the spinney. Ralph laughed. It was so easy! A child-like solution to a complex riddle, virtually staring at him from the wall of the physician’s chamber. Cerdic’s cryptic message, ‘On an altar to your God and mine.’ Pagan altars were supposed to be drenched in human gore; what had they to do with the crisp linen cloths where the Mass was celebrated? But Cerdic had not been talking about a marble slab or some blood-soaked plinth of stone. He had been taunting the Danes. They did have one thing in common: Christ had died on the wood of the cross while pagan priests often hung their sacrificial victims from the branches of oak trees.

Ralph controlled his excitement and stared out over the silent greenness. He could visualise Cerdic fleeing from the battle, coming here, to the makeshift stockade Brythnoth had set up. It was probably deserted, not a place to hide a precious treasure, so Cerdic had turned, fleeing to the spinney. Was the copse of trees the same in his day? Ralph frowned in thought. He had never noticed any forest clearance. As a boy he had climbed some of the great oaks; two or three of them had hollow trunks. Cerdic must have gone there. Oak trees survived for hundreds of years. Brythnoth’s cross was in Devil’s Spinney!

Ralph heard his name being called and looked down. Father Aylred was gazing up at him.

‘Ralph,’ he called. ‘If I say a Mass in Midnight Tower would you be my altar boy?’

Ralph nodded and, nursing his secret, hurried down the steps.

‘When will you say the Mass?’

Father Aylred looked calm, more composed. ‘Soon,’ he replied. ‘What were you doing up on the parapet, Ralph?’ He stepped closer. ‘What’s wrong? Your face is pale, your eyes are bright. Do you know who the killer is?’

‘Not yet, Father, but God does!’