Nine Men Dancing

Nine

I dropped everything, including the dog, and raised my hands to claw at the arm encircling my throat. At the same time, I could hear Hercules barking like a fiend and trusted that he was attacking my assailant’s ankles just as, earlier, he had tried to bite mine. I was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe and my senses were beginning to swim. My eyes felt as though they were bulging out of their sockets, which they probably were, and although I kicked backwards with my right foot, I was unable to find a target. Then, just as unconsciousness was looming and the situation growing desperate, I was released with a suddenness that sent me sprawling to the ground.

I lay there, gasping, for a moment, rubbing my throat and waiting for my vision to clear, then heaved myself unsteadily upright and turned to confront my attacker. Backed up against a tree, vainly trying to free his right arm from the vice-like grip of Hercules’s teeth, was Lambert Miller. The dog, suspended several feet above the ground, was hanging on valiantly and refusing to be shaken off. (I had seen him perform this trick once before, the first time he had saved me from violent assault. I thanked God that I had brought him with me.)

‘All right, boy,’ I said, ‘you can let go now.’ I caught his little body round the middle, relieving the strain on his neck and stomach muscles, then helped him to unclamp his jaws. I made much of him before lowering him to the ground.

Lambert was swearing profusely and rubbing his afflicted limb. Fortunately, he was wearing a thick tunic made of that mixture of flax and wool we used to call byrrhus, and which had saved him from the worst effects of a mauling by Hercules’s teeth. Not that he could expect any congratulations from me on this account.

‘What was that for?’ I demanded hoarsely, taking a threatening step towards him (perhaps tottering step would be a fairer description – I was still feeling extremely groggy).

The miller glowered at me, rolling up his right sleeve to inspect his wounds.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I thought you were Tom Rawbone. I’d come outside for a breath of air and saw you vanishing into the trees. I didn’t notice the dog. I thought you and he were still in the alehouse. Look, chapman, you must believe me! I’ve no grudge against you. But I’ll not tolerate that lecher making Rosamund’s life a misery, now he’s decided he wants her back. She’s a wonderful girl. She deserves better than him.’

I wondered if young Mistress Bush would agree with her would-be swain, but I didn’t say so. That was for Lambert to discover. I nodded, accepting his explanation, and dropped down to sit on the ground, propping my back against a neighbouring tree trunk and lowering my head between my knees. After a moment or two, when I began to feel a little better, I raised it again and looked at him.

‘Just make sure, will you, that next time you have one of these murderous urges, you have the right man? And for heaven’s sake, make certain that you don’t actually kill anyone. Another minute and I’d have been dead meat, and you’d have been lucky to have escaped the gallows.’

It was his turn to nod as he sat down beside me.

‘I just saw red,’ he excused himself. ‘A good job it was you. If it hadn’t been for the dog …’ He broke off, shuddering, suddenly aware that my narrow squeak had also been his.

The night lay dark and tranquil all about us. Somewhere, I could hear a small, nocturnal animal rummaging in the long grasses. Hercules laid his head on my thigh and I caressed his ears. Echoes of laughter and singing reached us from the Roman Sandal.

Lambert asked abruptly, ‘Do you know where he is? Tom Rawbone, I mean.’

‘No,’ I lied. In the circumstances I felt it was justified; a small sin to prevent a possibly greater one. ‘Do you often make this sort of vicious attack on people?’

‘Of course not!’ His indignant rebuttal rang a little hollow. ‘But you saw what happened in the alehouse this evening.’

‘I saw a man trying to rectify a mistake that he now knows has cost him the best chance of happiness in this life.’

The miller scrambled to his feet, giving vent to another explosion of anger.

‘Rectify a mistake! What sort of mealy-mouthed nonsense is that? If that Jezebel hadn’t thrown Tom Rawbone over in favour of his father, he’d have married her! He cast Rosamund off like … like some old shoe! He humiliated her in front of half the village. I know. I was there. I was a witness to everything. I saw the state she was in when he’d gone. That lovely, innocent creature! I tell you, chapman, if I could have laid hands on Eris Lilywhite or Tom Rawbone at that moment, there would have been murder done!’

I, too, struggled to my feet, suddenly realizing how cold I was, sitting on the damp February ground. I also realized, to my dismay, that I was shaking, a palsy that had nothing to do with the dank night air, but seemed to be a kind of delayed reaction to my recent fright (a phenomenon I had experienced once or twice before). I drew my cloak tightly around me.

‘Murder was done,’ I pointed out. ‘Or, at least, there’s a strong probability that it was.’

‘Well, we all know the name of the killer, then, don’t we?’ my companion sneered. ‘Eris Lilywhite’s disappearance can only be laid at one person’s door.’ Lambert thought about this for a moment. ‘One family’s door,’ he amended.

‘You think another of the Rawbones could have murdered her?’ I asked. My throat still hurt, making conversation difficult, but I might not find the miller in such a talkative mood again. Guilt was making him expansive.

‘Well, apart from Nathaniel, I can’t think of any member of that family, including the housekeeper, Elvina Merryman, who’d have wanted Eris lording it over them as the mistress of Dragonswick. I wouldn’t even rule out the twins, for all they’re only fourteen years of age. Strong as oxen, the pair of them.’

‘But the body, if there is one, has never been found.’ Now I was arguing against myself.

I could just make out that Lambert was wagging his head in agreement. It was getting very dark as the moon had vanished behind yet another bank of clouds.

‘Not for want of looking, though,’ he told me. ‘The remains of the old village, the ruins of the Hall and its well were all searched, but to no avail. But you can’t look everywhere, it stands to reason. A grave dug deep in the woods will never be found, except for some freak accident, maybe years in the future. And, of course, the girl might not be dead. She might just have run away, as the Rawbones keep insisting.’

‘Do you believe that?’

The miller laughed. ‘No one believes it. No one who knew Eris Lilywhite, at any rate. What? Forgo the chance to be mistress of Dragonswick? She couldn’t do it, even if it meant being tied to a man old enough to be her father for the next ten years and more.’ He shivered as violently as I was doing inside my cloak. ‘Holy Mother! Why are we standing around here in this cold? Come into the alehouse, chapman, and I’ll buy you a stoup of ale.’

I declined. ‘I must get back to the Mistress Lilywhites’,’ I said. ‘They’ll be wondering where I am.’ I scooped up Hercules, who had been sitting patiently and protectively at my feet. ‘But, like I said, next time, miller, just make sure you have the right person before you try to throttle him to death.’

I slept soundly, after being fussed over by Maud and Theresa, and woke to a quieter, sunnier morning.

My long absence of the day before, which I was sure the younger woman had barely registered – except, perhaps, to hope that I had changed my plans and quit the district – was more than forgiven when I had been able to recount, at first hand, the evening’s events at the alehouse. This, together with details of my visit to Dragonswick Farm and my conversation with Jacquetta Rawbone, had kept them entertained until it was time for bed. My torn lip and bloody nose were bathed with a sicklewort lotion; very good for cuts and bruises, so my mother had always told me; and my hoarse voice, the reason for which I didn’t divulge, was treated with a linseed poultice. The result was that, by the next day, I was feeling much better than I could ever have anticipated.

The women and I followed the same procedure as on the previous morning, with the result that we were all three able to wash and dress in comparative privacy. While I shaved, I reflected that, come evening, there were only forty-eight hours left before it was March, and then just over a fortnight before the feast of Saint Patrick. By which time, I had faithfully promised Adela I would be home.

‘You’re very quiet, chapman,’ Theresa commented while we were eating breakfast. ‘Are you any nearer to finding out what has become of my granddaughter?’

I was forced to admit that I wasn’t. ‘But you must give me time,’ I protested. ‘There are other people I have to talk to. This morning I’m visiting Father Anselm, who has kindly invited me to share his dinner with him.’

Theresa was dismissive. ‘You won’t discover anything by talking to that old fool.’ I suspected that the priest was younger than she was. ‘He knows nothing of what goes on in this parish. Nothing of importance, anyway. Lives in a little world of his own. Sometimes I wonder if he’s quite … well … you know!’ She tapped her forehead.

Maud was up in arms immediately. ‘You know nothing of Sir Anselm, Mother! He’s been living here, in this village, for many more years than you have. He’s a good friend to all his parishioners. A man who can be trusted.’ I reflected that this was the first time I had seen Maud Lilywhite display anything akin to real emotion. Not even when discussing Eris’s disappearance and the possibility of her murder had she been roused to such a pitch of animation. She went on, ‘I should prefer it if you refrained from criticizing him in my hearing.’

Even Theresa seemed taken aback by her daughter-in-law’s vehemence. She hummed and hawed and spluttered a bit, but evidently thought better of renewing the subject. Instead, she filled her mouth with another spoonful of gruel, looked across at me and said thickly, ‘We shan’t be having the pleasure of your company at dinner, then?’ She added, ‘I still say you’re wasting your time. You won’t find out anything from Father Anselm. You should be sniffing around the rest of the Rawbones.’

‘I must do things in my own way and my own good time,’ I remonstrated, finishing my fried herring and oatmeal. I hoped it didn’t sound too much like a snub, but Theresa was beginning to irritate me.

She took it, however, in good part. ‘Oh, I know I’m an interfering old woman,’ she mocked. ‘It’s just … It’s just that I want to know what’s happened to Eris.’

There was a note of genuine pathos in her voice and I immediately felt ashamed of my spurt of annoyance. As I rose from my stool, I pressed a hand on her shoulder.

‘I’ll do my best,’ I promised. ‘But that’s all I can do. You must reconcile yourself, Dame Lilywhite, to the fact that we may never know for certain what’s become of your granddaughter.’

I left my pack at the Lilywhites’ cottage and set out with Hercules, encumbered only by my cudgel. It still being not yet half-past seven, and barely daylight, I went in the opposite direction to the village, climbing the slope past Dragonswick Farm to the wooded heights above. I was beginning to know my way by now, and had no difficulty, this time, in locating the ruins of Upper Brockhurst Hall. The place drew me to it as if by some enchantment. The silence this morning was almost total, except for the trees dripping gently in the early morning mist, their leaves unstirring in the windless air. A squirrel appeared, woken early from its winter sleep, and stopped in front of me. Its wary gaze, more full of bright-eyed intelligence than seemed natural in so small a creature, encountered mine for a fleeting instant before it scrabbled through a pile of last year’s leaves and vanished from sight. Hercules made no attempt to give chase. It had moved so swiftly and quietly, I doubted he had even noticed it, busy as he was about his own concerns.

For a while, I wandered around the ruins, trying to pace out the different rooms, attempting, without much success, to reconstruct the building in my imagination. But there was too little of it left, nature and the scavengers from Lower Brockhurst having done too thorough a job in either smothering or removing the ancient stones. The courtyard well was the only thing that remained intact; the well that had cost two men their lives and which had never had a chance to be of benefit to its owners before they were struck down and killed by the plague; the well that had dried up and lost its function when the bed of the Draco had been diverted; the well that had once nearly claimed the life of the young Ned Rawbone.

I sat down on the heavy wooden lid that had been fashioned by the village carpenter after that accident, carefully avoiding its handle, my legs sprawled out in front of me, and listened again to that silence which, in the countryside, is not truly a silence, but filled with a hundred tiny sounds, some of them barely audible to the human ear. The thin February sunshine slanted through the latticed branches of the surrounding trees, striking on a patch of dark ground-ivy in points of polished steel. I remembered what Lambert Miller had said to me the previous night; that Eris could be buried anywhere in these vast tracts of woodland, and it would be nigh on impossible to find her grave.

And yet … And yet … Why could I not believe that this was indeed the case? I felt in my bones that she was dead; murdered. The people who had known her in life were positive that she would not voluntarily have run away; that she would not simply have discarded everything that she had so obviously schemed for. Similarly, the idea of suicide was most improbable. Having accepted, therefore, that she had been killed unlawfully, why did I find it so difficult to believe that her body was buried anywhere other than here, in the ruins of Upper Brockhurst Hall?

There was no rhyme or reason for this feeling that amounted very nearly to a certainty. Any rational person would have laughed it to scorn. But it persisted and grew stronger the longer I sat there, refusing to be intimidated by any logical argument my brain put forward. In the end, angry with myself, I jumped to my feet, startling Hercules, and began a second detailed search of the ground, looking for some disturbance that might give the slightest hint of a recently dug grave. But of course, I found nothing. I returned and stared for a long time at the well, then lifted its lid and peered once more into its depths. Nothing. Nothing at all. It was as empty as when I had climbed down the ladder yesterday.

Hercules barked at me, plainly afraid that I was contemplating another descent. I thanked him for his concern and patted his head. ‘Not this time, lad,’ I reassured him.

Nevertheless, the feeling that Eris was somewhere close at hand persisted, refusing to be shaken off. It grew so strong that I began to sweat profusely, in spite of the morning chill, and I was suddenly aware of a mask-like face that stared at me from between two tree trunks. I froze with fear. It took a moment or two for me to realize that the face was indeed a mask, made from straw, the bulging eyes two black pebbles from the bed of the stream. When at last I could move, I approached it slowly and saw that it was hanging from the lower branch of an oak. There was other evidence, too, that someone had been here since my visit yesterday. There were fresh strips of cloth tied to neighbouring twigs and a corn dolly pinned to the trunk, the nail, as in the one I had seen on Wednesday afternoon, driven straight through the heart. Hercules was whimpering, lying flat on his belly.

‘Come on, boy,’ I said, ‘let’s go.’

He didn’t need a second invitation.

It was still too early, when I reached the village, to present myself at the priest’s house for dinner. Besides, I could hear that the morning service had not yet finished, so I decided to call on Alice Tucker to enquire after Tom Rawbone. If people saw me entering her cottage and drew the wrong conclusion, that was up to them. A clear conscience is all that matters in this life. (Do I really believe that? Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not. But it’s nice to dream.)

‘He’s gone home, dear,’ Alice said as soon as she saw me, guessing my mission. She beckoned me inside. ‘First light this morning. Mind you, he still looks a mess. Brother Ned’ll scold him, but I doubt the others will take much notice. They’re all used to Tom being in trouble. Been the same ever since he was a little boy. Comes of being so much younger than Ned, I reckon. Must have been like having two fathers. Enough to make any red-blooded young fellow rebellious.’

‘You’re sure he’s gone home?’ I asked.

Alice shrugged. ‘Can’t think where else he’d be. He isn’t going back to the alehouse, at least not yet awhile. Though I doubt he’s given up on Rosamund. A beating won’t deter Tom, not if he’s really set his heart on winning her back.’

‘He’d better watch out for Lambert Miller, then,’ I said feelingly.

Alice raised her eyebrows and I found myself telling her about last night’s encounter. When I’d finished, she pulled down the corners of her mouth. (By this time, we were sitting side by side on the bed, there being only one chair in the cottage.)

‘I wouldn’t be too sure it was a mistake, dear,’ she said, patting my hand. ‘Got a very nasty temper, has Lambert. How could he possibly think that you were Tom Rawbone? You’re much too tall.’

‘It was dark,’ I pointed out, ‘and Hercules was under my arm, beneath my cloak.’ Hercules, lying at my feet, thumped his tail at mention of his name. ‘The miller wouldn’t have seen him.’

Alice pursed her lips, carmined with a mixture of raspberry juice and white lead, which, although early in the day, was already beginning to crack.

‘I still say you’re too tall to be mistaken for anyone else in this village,’ she insisted, adding shrewdly, ‘Was Rosamund flirting with you in the alehouse last night, when you were playing Nine Men’s Morris?’

‘She was very friendly,’ I admitted, ‘but nothing more.’

‘It wouldn’t need anything more if Lambert’s now decided that Rosamund’s his property,’ Alice sniffed. ‘And I’ve no doubt she’s been encouraging him to think so, just to get her own back on Tom. She’d do anything to prevent people thinking she still cared. You and Lambert won’t be the only two she’s giving the eye to, but you’ll be by far the best looking.’

‘I’m married,’ I repeated wearily. ‘With three children.’

‘And far from home.’ Alice slewed round so that she could see me better. ‘I’m not saying Rosamund has designs on you, dear, just that, since last September, she’s been salving her wounded pride by setting her cap at any man who can still walk and has more than three teeth in his head.’

I laughed. ‘You don’t allow a man much self-delusion, do you?’

‘Will you be serious?!’ she exclaimed impatiently. ‘All I’m saying is that I’d keep away from Rosamund if I were you. I told you, Lambert Miller has a nasty temper. He’s attacked people before. I like you. I don’t want to see you hurt.’

I thanked her, but abstractedly. My mind was only half on what she was saying.

After a moment, I asked, ‘You say Lambert has a reputation for being aggressive?’ Alice nodded. ‘You also say he’s set on people before?’ She inclined her head again. ‘So …’ I clicked my teeth thoughtfully. ‘In that case, I wonder where he was the evening that Eris Lilywhite disappeared.’

‘Oh, now, wait a minute!’ Alice looked alarmed. ‘Lambert was in the alehouse, along with everyone else. I was there myself. I saw him.’

‘I daresay. But he wasn’t there all night. He might well have gone out later looking for Tom Rawbone and come across Eris, instead. From something he said to me, he holds her equally responsible for what happened. Which, in a way, she was. If he was in one of his rages, he could easily have attacked her, just as he attacked me yesterday evening. Maybe he didn’t mean to kill her, but found she was dead all the same.’ I rubbed my throat reminiscently. ‘He’s very strong. He almost did for me. A defenceless young girl would stand no chance.’

Alice shook her head. ‘You’re wrong, chapman. I told you I had a customer that night, who didn’t leave until late, almost midnight – which was how I knew Tom couldn’t have been here before. Well, that customer was Lambert Miller. He made the assignation before we left the Roman Sandal.’

‘What time did he arrive?’ I persisted.

Alice hunched her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. An hour, maybe an hour and a half earlier. Contrary to what you might think, Lambert isn’t the in, out, thank you and I’m off sort. He likes to take his time. And that night, of course, there was a lot to talk about before we got down to business.’

‘What kind of mood was he in?’ I asked. ‘Angry? Vindictive?’

Alice blew her nose on a corner of the counterpane, managing, at the same time, to wipe her mouth clean of most of its white lead and raspberry juice coating. The lips beneath were very pale, almost bloodless.

‘As a matter of fact, no,’ she answered. ‘Of course, he called Tom and the rest of the Rawbones all the bad names he could lay his tongue to for Rosamund’s sake. But I’d say that really he was delighted that Tom was going to marry Eris – because, of course, we didn’t know then what had gone on up at Dragonswick Farm. Lambert just saw that at last the way was clear for him to start courting Rosamund on his own account. He’d always been fond of her. More than fond.’

Hercules roused himself, staggered to his feet and placed his front paws on my knees. He had had enough of all this idle chatter. He wanted to get on.

I stroked his head. ‘In a minute, boy.’ I turned back to Alice. ‘When was it generally known that Eris had jilted Tom in favour of his father? When did news of her disappearance reach the village?’

Alice pursed her lips. A few remaining flakes of white lead dislodged themselves and crumbled.

‘I knew about Eris and old Nathaniel when Tom arrived here just after midnight. He told me all about it. And a terrible state he was in, as I mentioned to you yesterday. But I don’t suppose the rest of the village knew anything until the next morning, when Ned came down to enlist the men’s help in looking for Eris. Then they learned the whole story. Of course, Tom and I knew nothing of that until we’d dressed and breakfasted. I went as far as the mill with him, when he left here, in order to get some bread. That was when Goody Miller, Lambert’s mother, told us what was going on. Lambert wasn’t there. He was off, with the rest, searching for Eris.’

‘And Tom?’

‘He went to help, naturally.’

‘Did it strike you that he wasn’t surprised by the news that Eris had vanished?’

Alice shook her head decidedly. ‘No. I’d say he was stunned by the news. He turned so white I thought he was going to faint. Later on in the day, when they still hadn’t found her, I went to help look, as well. I’d say that Ned was more composed than his brother.’

But then, I thought, Ned Rawbone had less reason to be discomposed than Tom. He hadn’t liked Eris Lilywhite and, deep down, probably secretly hoped that they’d seen the last of her. I supposed he might have been afraid that Tom had murdered her in a fit of rage. But from the little I knew and had been told of the Rawbones, I guessed them to be quite capable of closing ranks, whatever their internal quarrels, and covering up even so dire a crime as murder.

I pulled myself up short. I was making an assumption that Tom was the killer. That, indeed, there was a killer.

I asked Alice, ‘Do you think that Eris Lilywhite ran away?’

She shook her head vigorously, so that her carroty-coloured mop of hair flew in all directions.

‘Why should she?’

‘Conscience? Guilt at the mayhem she had caused?’

Alice screeched with laughter. Hercules hurriedly lay down again, hiding his head between his paws.

‘No, dear! Not a chance! Eris’s beauty of soul never matched her beauty of face. I doubt if she knew what a twinge of conscience was. Strange, really. Gilbert Lilywhite was a sweet-natured man, for all he was a foreigner from Gloucester. And Maud, well, I’ve never known her play a dirty trick on anyone. Yet, between them, they produced a monster like Eris. No, you can take it from me, she didn’t disappear of her own free will. But who killed her, and where the body’s hidden, is a different matter. I wouldn’t care to speculate.’

It was the same answer that I got from everyone. I rose to my feet. It was time I was on my way.