A haunt of murder ctomam-6 Page 10

  ‘And you don’t trouble her?’

  The archer shook his head. ‘Master Beardsmore was most insistent. She’s to be kept warm and plump for the royal commissioners.’

  ‘I would like to speak to her.’

  The archer pocketed his dice, got to his feet and took a key from a hook in the wall. He opened the door and ushered Ralph in.

  Eleanora was comfortable enough; the cell was clean, fresh grass had been cut and strewn on the floor. She had a cot bed with a bolster and blankets, a table, stool, a shelf for cups and jugs; even a small crucifix hung from one of the window bars high in the wall. The tavern wench was sitting in the corner, knees up, making a doll out of straw she had pulled from the mattress.

  ‘You are well, Mistress?’

  ‘I would prefer to be back at the Pot of Thyme, sitting on a customer’s knee and sharing a tankard of ale. But I’m well looked after. I’ve had bread, roast goose.’ She pointed to a jug on the table. ‘And some watery ale. The old priest came down to see me but he was more nervous than I am.’

  ‘Do you think Fulk saw Phoebe’s murderer?’

  ‘I think he did but Fulk was tight-lipped. I asked him but he just stared at me in that strange way of his. You know, out of the corner of his eye, just like his father does when he makes a profit with that golden thumb of his.’

  ‘So why do you think Fulk came back to the castle?’ Eleanora’s eyes shifted.

  ‘Why should he come back?’ Ralph persisted. He got up and moved towards her. ‘Did he tell you?’

  Again a flicker of the eyes.

  ‘Come on, did he? Why should Fulk the miller’s son be interested in a murderer? He came here to extort money, didn’t he? He didn’t return, so you put it about in the Pot of Thyme tavern that he was on some innocent errand to the castle and didn’t come back.’

  ‘I will tell all,’ Eleanora declared defiantly, ‘when the King’s men come. I wish to be alone. Sir John Grasse promised I wouldn’t be troubled.’

  Ralph left the dungeon. He walked up into the keep looking for Father Aylred but the chapel was empty. He stayed for a while, kneeling in the entrance to the rood screen, staring up at the cross.

  ‘I am not a prayerful man,’ he murmured. ‘In fact, I don’t know what I am. But, Lord, I am very frightened. And I miss Beatrice.’

  Ralph closed his eyes. In a week his whole life had been shattered, like the wine vat Beardsmore had sliced in the Pot of Thyme tavern. He made himself more comfortable, with his back to the rood screen, and stared up at the corbels on the roof. He noticed the gargoyle, a grinning jester with his fingers in his mouth. In his imagination the face became that of the killer, quietly mocking him from the shadows. Ralph looked away. He had been so engrossed in trying to find out who the killer was, how these deaths and attacks had occurred, he had not asked why the peaceable life of this castle had abruptly changed. True, there was unrest in the countryside but the attacks, apart from that on Phoebe, had been directed at him. Ralph wondered what Beatrice would have thought and said. She had a sharp mind. If only she was here, sitting next to him.

  The sunlight was now streaming through the window, the dust motes dancing, and he wondered if they were angels. He felt warm and relaxed.

  He heard a sound down the church and whirled round, peering through the rood screen, then he remembered locking and barring the door behind him. He got to his feet and stared round the little sanctuary. The cross on the altar was dazzling in the light of the sun. He felt alert but not distraught, as if he had woken from a refreshing sleep. He looked at the gleaming cross.

  ‘The treasure,’ he murmured. He knelt on the prie-dieu, eyes fixed on that cross. ‘The only thing anyone else would want is Brythnoth’s cross but I haven’t got it yet.’

  He recalled the May Day celebrations, the castle officers assembled on the green. Ralph repressed a shiver and bowed his head. He had thought of this before, and now he was forced to accept it: his boasting had caused all this. Someone at that meal had decided to intervene, someone who had been following his search most closely. His chamber was often unlocked, with manuscripts left on the table. Never once had he suspected that someone would take up the hunt with him.

  Ralph broke out in a sweat. He had to face the truth. He was supposed to have been on the parapet walk. He was supposed to have died in Devil’s Spinney. And Phoebe? She had been a pert-faced, sharp-tongued wench with a nose for mischief and an ear for other people’s conversations. She must have seen or heard something and been brutally silenced. But how had her corpse been taken out of the castle? Ralph remembered Beardsmore, crossed himself and almost fled from the church. His mind was all a jumble as guilt pricked at his grief. He strode across the castle bailey. Beardsmore was waiting for him on the steps of the barbican guardhouse.

  ‘Are you well, Master Ralph? You look pale.’

  Ralph grasped him by the elbow and took him out on the drawbridge.

  ‘I know why Beatrice died,’ he said in a rush. ‘Because of Brythnoth’s treasure – you know, from chatter, my interest in it. They think I am close to finding the cross.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Whoever killed Beatrice and attacked me in Devil’s Spinney. That’s why Phoebe died, she saw or heard something.’ He led Beardsmore even further away, out of the shadows into the full sunlight. ‘The killer must be one of the castle council, that’s why Fulk came here. He was going to blackmail him or her. He wanted silver for his silence.’

  ‘But where’s Fulk now?’

  Ralph waved his hands. ‘I don’t know. Master Beardsmore, I trust you completely. You are the only one I do trust. Anyway, you asked me to meet you here. What do you propose?’

  ‘A walk round the moat, Master Ralph.’ He moved to the left, walking through the long grass which fringed the edge of the moat. ‘Keep behind me,’ he ordered. ‘Study the ground, look for anything untoward. A piece of cloth, dried blood. Anything that shouldn’t be there.’

  Pinching his nostrils against the rank smell from the slimy water, Ralph obeyed. He understood Beardsmore’s logic. If Phoebe’s corpse had not been carried through the barbican or the rusting postern gate, some other route must have been taken. Now and again he’d stop and stare over the heathland towards Devil’s Spinney. A merlin hovered, wings whirling, above the trees, searching for prey. Butterflies and bees moved among the clusters of wild flowers. The click of grasshoppers broke the silence. A sentry noticed them and shouted out some greeting. Beardsmore simply raised his hand in acknowledgement.

  They went along the side of the castle, then round the back. Ralph rarely came here. To the north stretched moorland dotted by copses of trees; against the blue sky curled the odd plume of grey smoke from a woodcutter’s or charcoal-burner’s cottage. In the centre of the rear wall rose the Salt Tower. The masonry was crumbling, some had fallen into the moat. Beardsmore stopped before this, narrowing his eyes.

  ‘It’s disused now,’ he said. ‘The steps are not too safe.’

  Ralph looked up at the shuttered windows though Beardsmore was more interested in the moat. The water was shallower here and fallen masonry from the Salt Tower had created a makeshift causeway across the moat. On the far side against the wall a bank of mud had formed.

  ‘I wonder,’ Beardsmore murmured. ‘Look at the tower. What do you see?’

  ‘Windows on the higher floors, a window door lower down.’

  ‘In former times it was used to bring stores in. A way of victualling the castle without using the barbican.’ Beardsmore warily made his way through the reeds and, splashing and slipping, ran across the makeshift causeway to the muddy bank beneath the Salt Tower. He had to hold himself against the wall, for it was no more than a narrow ledge. He eased himself down and studied the ground. With a cry of triumph he drew his dagger, dug at the mud and held up a ring which flashed in the sunlight.

  ‘I knew it!’ he declared. ‘This is how they took Phoebe’s corpse out.’

  Re-sheathing his dagger
and grasping the ring, Beardsmore splashed back across the moat and showed Ralph what he had found. The ring was one of those sold at many fairs or market booths.

  ‘Phoebe bought this from a chapman who came here just after the feast of the Purification. She was very proud of it.’ The sergeant scratched his coarse, cropped hair and stared back at the Salt Tower. ‘She must have been lured into the tower, beaten and strangled, and then her corpse, wrapped and tied with cords, was lowered from that door. The assassin then let himself down, picked up the corpse and hurried into Devil’s Spinney. Remember, Eleanora said it was dark. The corpse was placed in the spinney and the assassin re-entered the castle, probably by the same route.’ He gripped Ralph’s arm. ‘You know I speak the truth.’

  ‘You speak the truth, Master Beardsmore.’ Ralph smiled. ‘The castle walls are undefended. This is a lonely part, no one would notice. If Eleanora and Fulk had not been in the spinney, no one would have been the wiser.’ Ralph walked towards the moat. ‘We should tell Sir John about this. If the castle was ever attacked-’ He heard a sound; a creak, as if a shutter was opening, followed by a whirring noise. He looked back over his shoulder and stared in horror.

  Beardsmore was swaying on his feet, hands out, eyes rolled up at the crossbow bolt which had taken him dead centre in the forehead. Ralph ran towards him. Beardsmore sighed and fell into his arms. Ralph laid him down on the grass. His eyelids fluttered; he coughed blood, jerked and lay still, his hand still holding Phoebe’s ring. Ralph stretched across to take it. The action saved his life; a crossbow bolt skimmed the air above him. Ralph looked up at the Salt Tower. One of the windows at the top was open.

  He stared around. What could he do? There was no cover. The next bolt skimmed over his shoulder. Too fast, Ralph thought, the hidden archer must have more than one crossbow primed. He considered using Beardsmore’s corpse as a shield but it would still leave him exposed. He flinched as a bolt struck just near his knee. He pushed Beardsmore’s corpse aside and fled at an angle to the edge of the moat and dived in. He remembered to keep his mouth closed but opened his eyes. The water was light green, about six feet deep; thick weeds impeded his progress. Ralph pushed them aside. If he could move further down the moat and get out, he’d be safe. The weeds, however, clutched at him and panic gripped him. His chest was hurting, his eyes stinging. He could not swim for much longer; he had to get out. He moved some weeds aside and opened his mouth in a silent scream as a corpse reached up to greet him, face liverish, eyes staring, tendrils of hair moving in the water. Ralph pushed the body away and reached the bank. The rushes here afforded some protection. He lay against the mud, gasping for breath, and stared back along the bank. He had swum a good few yards but to him it seemed like miles. Beardsmore’s corpse lay sprawled on the heathland. From the parapet above, Ralph heard the shouts of sentries – they had spotted Beardsmore’s body. Wearily Ralph pulled himself out, covered in mud and slime. He clambered on to the bank and stared back into the moat; no sign of the corpse but he guessed who it was.

  ‘Poor Fulk,’ he muttered. ‘That’s the only reward you earned.’

  Despite the pain in his side, Ralph ran along the wall, determined to reach the barbican. His eyes stung and the moat water had coated his mouth. He had hardly turned the corner when Adam came running out, Marisa behind him, her hair flying. Ralph collapsed into his friends’ arms.

  ‘Beardsmore’s dead!’ he gasped. ‘The Salt Tower. There’s a corpse in the moat – Fulk’s. Father Aylred is right: the Devil has set up camp at Ravenscroft!’

  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 bel
ow, 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.