Tenney snatched up the monkey’s paw and hurried out. He still hated the feel of the thing, but it gave him courage to have it in his hand. If he could get the gate open before the master had a chance to ring the bell, then with luck the three women would be so busy yammering to the sheriff in the house that they wouldn’t realise he had returned. Tenney was determined he would tell him today, right now, even if he had to drag him into the kitchen and bar his way until he’d heard all.
Robert looked mildly surprised to see Tenney rushing out to open the gate while he was still a yard from it, but he made no comment as his manservant caught the reins he handed to him.
‘Master Robert, there’s summit I must tell you in private. You’re not going to like it, but you have to know. I’ve done you good service over the years and I reckon I’ve earned the right to ask you to hear me out.’
‘Whatever it is, I’m not discussing it in the street.’ Robert looked anxiously around as if he feared any passer-by might be holding an assassin’s knife. ‘It can surely wait until I’m off this damned horse. Lead us inside, man.’
Tenney hesitated, clutching the monkey’s paw tighter in his great fist. But the horse could smell its own stable just feet away and would not be prevented from reaching it now. Before Tenney could make up his mind, it barged through the gate.
‘Thing is, Master Robert . . .’ Tenney began, as Robert pressed down heavily on his shoulder to dismount.
‘Père,’ Leonia’s voice called cheerfully. Both men looked up as she came running across the yard. ‘Thomas Thimbleby of Poolham has come to see you.’
‘The sheriff? God’s bones, why didn’t you tell me he was waiting, Tenney? The sheriff wouldn’t come in person to my house at this hour unless it was important. Maybe Jan’s murderer’s been discovered.’
Tenney tried to step in front of him. ‘But, Master Robert, I must speak—’
‘Later, man, later,’ Robert said impatiently.
Leonia flattened herself against the wall as Robert hastened past her and into the hall. She looked back at Tenney, standing helplessly in the courtyard, and tossed him one of her most innocent smiles. ‘People always say I’ll listen later, don’t they, Tenney? But when they finally do, it’s always too late.’ She vanished into the dark shadow of the house.
Sheriff Thomas was seated at the table, mopping up the juices and last fragments of flesh from some herrings with a morsel of bread, which he stuffed into his mouth with the eager appetite of a man who’d missed his breakfast. His well-fleshed face had grown increasingly haggard over the last few weeks. What had been a post of honour had suddenly become one of immense responsibility and the burden was evidently taking its toll.
Catlin was standing close to him, so close that for a moment Robert wondered if Thomas and Catlin were . . . He dismissed the thought with a shake of his head. Catlin was his new bride and Thomas was his friend. They’d never dream of cuckolding him.
‘Is there trouble? Has there been another uprising?’ he asked, too anxious to bother with any of the usual pleasantries.
The sheriff drained his mug of ale and looked hopefully about for more, which Catlin was quick to supply. ‘It’s to prevent more trouble that I’m here,’ he answered, taking another swig. ‘A royal messenger arrived last night. King Richard’s declared that all the charters granting manumission to the villeins that he was forced to sign while the rebels were attacking London are to be cancelled. He’s met with the envoys from Essex and told them that the villeins will not be freed from their obligations. They’ll remain as bondsmen for ever and so will all their descendants. Not only that: because of the murder and destruction they carried out, he told them their servitude will be harsher than it’s ever been before under a King of England.’
‘As they richly deserve!’ Robert said firmly. ‘What I witnessed in London . . .’ He shut his eyes at the memory. ‘Granting freedom to them would be like allowing a pack of wolves to roam about our cities.’
‘But won’t that inflame them the more?’ Catlin asked.
The sheriff pursed his lips. ‘I don’t doubt that it will, but the young King is determined to rule with a fist of steel. Gibbet cages are being erected in every village and town, even where there’s never been one before, and plenty of men are being executed to fill them. Bishop Despenser has hanged, drawn and quartered some of the ringleaders himself. Others have been cut to pieces wherever they’ve been caught. Apparently the rebels slaughtered some Flemish merchants in London. I don’t know if you heard of it when you were there, Robert?’
Robert swallowed hard. There were nights when he woke himself with a cry almost as loud as Beata’s. He dreamed about those heaps of corpses, feet pinning him as the vast crimson lake crept towards him.
Thomas did not appear to notice the effect his words were having. ‘The King’s messenger said that instead of handing the guilty men over to the executioners they delivered them to the widows, mothers and daughters of the Flemish merchants and told the women to hack the heads off those who’d killed their menfolk. Old ladies wielding axes – have you heard of such a thing? But Richard is determined to round up every last man or boy who took part in the rebellion and there’s to be no mercy shown any of them.’
He leaned forward. ‘That’s what brings me here, Robert. He’s ordered every county to set up a Commission of Array at once to draw up plans to put down any new rebellion at the first whiff of trouble but also to seek out the names of any men or boys who took part in the rebellion. They’re to be arrested, questioned and the details of their crimes sent to London. I don’t think we’ll find many from these parts, but we must try to produce some names, to show our loyalty to the throne. This is certainly not a good time for any man or, indeed, city to have their allegiance questioned.’
Thomas’s expression was as grave as Robert had ever seen it, and with good reason.
‘On the King’s orders I must appoint ten commissioners and, of course, knowing how faithfully you represented our merchants in London, you’ll be eager to do your duty as one of them.’
‘No! I . . . I can’t do it!’ Robert rose abruptly from his chair and crossed to the casement, standing with his hands behind his back, staring out at the street. ‘I’ve neglected my business for too long . . . I haven’t the time.’
‘I haven’t made myself clear,’ Thomas said. ‘It wouldn’t be a question of you having to seek out these rebels yourself. I have informers to do that. If people are questioned directly, we will learn nothing. This has to be done subtly. Men drinking quietly in taverns listening to the gossip, women encouraged to report anything suspicious among their neighbours, in exchange for a few pennies. No, the commissioners are simply there to order the arrests of any reported to them and question them about their crimes. A few meetings are all that’s required.’
‘I’m not the man for this,’ Robert said, turning to face him. ‘There are many others who’d be far more capable.’
‘But most have only heard the stories of destruction and murder. Few others in Lincoln have witnessed it in person, as you’ve done. You know, first-hand, what these rebels did, Robert. You know what questions to ask of them. We need your counsel.’
The sheriff rose and swung his cloak about his shoulders. ‘It would do your business no harm if you came to King Richard’s attention as a man who’d worked to bring his enemies to the gallows. When he needs merchants to provision the army, and indeed his own court, he’ll be looking for loyal men.’
Thomas crossed to the door, pausing to take Catlin’s hand and raise it to his lips. Still holding her hand, his gaze darted to Robert, who was standing with his back to him at the window. ‘See if you can persuade your husband, Mistress Catlin. I sorely need his services,’ he said. Then he bent his head so that his mouth was almost touching Catlin’s ear, his fingers briefly caressed the trembling pulse at her throat. ‘A neck as pretty as this deserves to be hung with only the finest gold and jewels,’ he whispered. ‘And I have it on good
authority, there will be a deal of money to be made from this, perhaps in time even an invitation to the King’s court. And you would surely outshine any other woman there. Try your best, Mistress Catlin. You could coax a man to anything.’
Almost as soon as the door had closed, Robert felt Catlin snuggle up beside him, her hand slipping into his and her fingers entwining themselves about his own. ‘You’re too modest, Robert. You’d do a splendid job as a commissioner. You deserve this honour.’
Robert snatched his hand from hers. ‘It’s not an honour. It’s a death sentence. As soon as the rebels discover who the commissioners are they’ll target them and their property to ensure they’re silenced. Do you think I want to see my warehouse burned to the ground, or feel a knife in my back, or have poor little Leonia kidnapped or threatened?’
‘No rebel would dare to harm an important man like you, Robert,’ Catlin said.
‘They cut off the head of the Archbishop of Canterbury, so they certainly wouldn’t hesitate to murder me.’
He hadn’t told her how they’d forced him down in the filth of the street, how he had been moments from having his own head added to those being kicked like balls about the streets. He couldn’t bear to think of it, never mind speak of it. He cringed at the humiliation, made worse by the knowledge that he would have died pleading for his life.
‘But the archbishop was killed by a great mob in London,’ Catlin said. ‘This is Lincoln. Who would hurt you here? You heard the regard the sheriff has for you. I think he plans to make you head of the Commission. Think of it, Robert, think of the business you would gain – royal business, he said. You’re always complaining about the Florentines and foreign merchants undercutting you and stealing your trade. With the money you’d make from royal patronage you could open a dozen new warehouses, employ a score of men to buy wool and cloth for you. You could drive every foreign merchant in Lincolnshire out of business and out of this city, just like that.’ She snapped her fingers.
He rounded on her, fury and fear in his eyes. ‘And what good would a dozen warehouses be to me if I am lying in a grave next to my son?’
‘You said you wanted justice for what the Florentines did to Jan. This would be your chance to destroy them. I can’t believe you’d let a few miserable villeins intimidate you. Have I mistaken you, Robert? I thought you were a man of strength, a man who was afraid of no one, a man who could protect his family. Have I married a coward?’
Chapter 57
A witch cannot die until her familiars or imps are dead. If a witch desires to put an end to her suffering she must call each familiar by name and order it to die. Then, when the last is dead, she too will die.
Greetwell
Edward’s horse tossed her head irritably in the heat, trying to rid herself of the cloud of flies crawling round her eyes. Edward flapped them away from his own face with as much irritation. Strictly speaking, of course, it was not his horse. If it had been, it would have been meat for the hounds and hide for the tanner’s yard long ago. The nag was well past her prime, broken-winded, her belly distended, her flanks shuddering as she heaved. But that old tight-purse, Robert, reckoned the horse still had another year of work left in her, provided she was walked, not galloped. What more did Edward need to carry him around the environs of the city? A bloody sight more, he thought sourly.
The afternoon sun burned hot on his back and head. He tried to turn the horse sideways so that he could get some relief from the miserly shade of the spindly birch tree, but the stubborn mare was having none of it. She had her own head in the shade and refused to move. He glanced back up the track towards the city. God’s arse, where was the woman? Catlin always thought the entire world would wait on her pleasure. She was always disappearing on some mysterious errand or other. A more suspicious man, he thought, might wonder if she had a lover.
He’d almost decided to turn for home when he spotted her trotting towards him along the riverbank astride her perky little palfrey, whose chestnut hide gleamed red in the hot sun. Her mount seemed deliberately to lift its head as they approached, flaunting its youth and vigour in the face of the swollen-kneed old mare. The sight did nothing to lighten Edward’s mood.
‘I’ve been waiting for hours,’ he snapped.
Catlin pursed her lips in annoyance, and the sunlight mercilessly exposed the deep wrinkles that were forming at her mouth. Catlin, Edward thought, was beginning to look her age.
‘Leonia delayed me. She’s becoming tiresome. She flirts with Robert like some marketplace whore.’
Edward chuckled. ‘Jealous, are we? Young Leonia knows exactly what she does to men and how to get them to pour everything she wants into her lap. And you of all people can hardly blame her for that. She’s been taught by a mistress of the art.’
Catlin glowered at him. ‘She certainly has Robert by the nose.’
‘That’s a good thing, surely. It distracts her. Let her play with him for now. She’s headstrong and you can only force her hand so far. This whole affair will be far easier to manage if she consents to it willingly.’
‘You’re a fool if you think she’ll walk blindly into this with a sweet smile,’ Catlin snapped. She shook her head as if a thought was buzzing around it. ‘The way she looks at me, the questions she asks, with that wide-eyed innocent expression, it’s as if she knows everything I do and is laying some trap.’
‘She’s a child and knows nothing. How can she? You’re her mother, you can keep her under control. Harsh discipline, little Maman, that’s what she needs. Break her. Make her as afraid of you as that brat Adam is, and she’ll do as she’s told.’
Catlin gnawed at her lip. ‘If anyone’s afraid, it’s me not her. You saw what she did to Beata.’
Edward stared at her. ‘I thought you’d had a hand . . .’
‘We both know Beata had to go, but I’d almost succeeded in persuading Robert to dismiss her. After she dashed the wine from his hand, he was already on the verge of it. It would only have taken one more incident and that was easily arranged. But Leonia . . . Beata was terrified of her in the end, and I’m starting to believe she had good reason.’
‘Beata was mad,’ Edward said. ‘The mad howl at the moon and scream at the sight of water.’ He leaned over and kissed Catlin. ‘I can handle Leonia, little Maman, don’t you worry. All that matters is that she stays safe and well until Robert is dead. And the point is, little Maman, when will that be? My dear stepfather looks as healthy as any man of his age, far too healthy. I warn you, I will not wait for my inheritance until that lecher’s in his dotage.’
‘This cannot be rushed, Edward. If he should fall sick so soon after his wife, then people will begin to remember what Jan said. If he’d met his death in London, no one would have questioned it, but now that he’s back, I must work softly. But there’s something far more urgent we must attend to first. Robert was on the verge of having you thrown out of this city after your stupidity in allowing that cloth to be stolen. He was even convinced you were in the pay of the gang of thieves. You know how he’s been ever since the uprising. If he sees two birds sitting together on the thatch he’s convinced they’re plotting against him. Your threat to spread abroad that tale of St Jude didn’t help. When will you learn that challenging men like Robert only makes them more intransigent? It took all my powers of persuasion, which are not inconsiderable, to stop him dragging you straight to Sheriff Thomas. If so much as a bent nail goes missing from another cargo, which it is bound to unless the thieves are caught, you will find yourself banished from Lincoln or, worse, on trial for your life.’
Edward scowled. ‘Those bastards made me look like a fool. And thanks to them I was forced to spend half the night with Thomas’s men on those hellish marshes, almost getting myself drowned, not to mention being eaten to death by midges the size of kestrels.’ The mere memory of it made him scratch vigorously at his arms and neck. ‘And after all that, the thieves didn’t appear. Never mind conspiring with them, if I could lay my hands on them,
I’d rip off their arms and shove them up their arses.’
Catlin gave an exasperated sigh. ‘As it stands, Robert is bound to leave the bulk of his estate to Adam, not least to prevent you inheriting it if it should come to me. Naturally I could milk the business dry before Adam comes of age, but that would be tedious and it would leave the business in ruins, which means we’d get no more out of it. It would be much simpler if Robert were to make you his heir.’
‘He’s hardly likely to do that. You just said he’d gladly have me whipped out of town or better still hanged by the heels.’ Edward plucked at his clothes, screwing up his face as if he was picking up a used arse-rag. ‘Look at me! I’m dressed like a scabby serf and see what he gives me to ride! A nag that can barely stand upright on its own legs. The wages he pays barely leave me enough to place a single bet on a fighting cock at the pits. I won’t stomach this for much longer. I insist you get rid of him now!’
Catlin turned her face fully towards him and met his gaze steadily. The words she spoke next were uttered so quietly that afterwards Edward wondered if he had misheard them.
‘Take care, Edward, take very great care. I am mistress of more than just Robert’s house. We both know what I can command. Don’t presume too much, or you will lose all.’ Catlin’s palfrey moved restlessly in the heat and she tugged at the reins, so sharply the mare whinnied in protest. The expression in Catlin’s eyes was so chilling that Edward felt a shudder of fear. She had never spoken like that to him before. Something had changed.
But the next moment she was smiling sweetly, as if the conversation had never taken place. ‘Edward, can you not see? If you were to deliver the thieves to Robert, not only would it clear you of any suspicion of involvement, but it would make him trust you like a son.’
The Vanishing Witch Page 40