The Gallows Curse

by Karen Maitland

  And every hour of every day, she'd tried to imagine Osborn's face when he sentenced Athan to be hanged. Had it worn that same bored expression, or was it filled with anger because she had defied him and not waited meekly for the rope as he had instructed? Was that rage in his voice when he condemned Athan to death, or cold cruelty?

  And how had gentle, bewildered Athan gone to the gallows? She imagined him standing there, his head lifted inviting the noose, bravely defiant. What were his last thoughts of her? Bitterness that he'd been punished for her, or was he glad to die for her? She knew in her heart it was not the latter. For his face, too, haunted her nights, the horror and disgust she'd seen in his eyes that night he'd thought she'd murdered his son.

  And yet... and yet she still could not believe Athan was really dead. He was still there, still walking down that familiar track on the way to the fields. If Athan was gone, then it seemed the whole of her life before this place had merely been a child's game of make-believe. The village, the manor, her childhood and Athan had existed only in her dreams.

  Ma pushed her roughly down on a low stool and pulled the kirtle over her head. Then she fastened an old woollen cloak about her shoulders, which smelt of cinnamon.

  'Come on, my darling, there isn't much time. Now, listen carefully. Talbot'll take you to a part of the city they call Mancroft. There's an inn on Briggs Street between Sheep Market and Horse Market. The chamber on the upper floor at the back has its own separate entrance up the outside stairs. Osborn will be waiting there. He's expecting a woman alone, so he'll not be on his guard. He thinks you've got information about his brother.'

  She opened a small wooden box on her table and lifted out a small silver amulet in the shape of a hand. Across the palm four curious shapes had been engraved. Elena supposed they were letters though they looked strange to her eyes, but since she couldn't even read her own name, they made no sense to her. Ma stood behind her and fastened the leather thong around her neck.

  'Now, my darling, make sure anyone who sees you near the inn, either entering or leaving it, can see this.'

  Elena looked down at it, puzzled. 'Why?'

  'It's an amulet belonging to the Hebrews. Most of the Jews of the city live in Mancroft; if they see you wearing this they'll think you're one of them and you'll pass unnoticed, and if anyone does remember seeing you after the body is discovered, then they'll be looking for a Jewess.'

  Elena shivered. 'Ma, please listen to me. I can't kill him. I know I can't.'

  Ma clucked impatiently. 'You can and you will. You've done it twice already. Remember what that cunning woman said — the curse will fall on your son if you don't do what she asks. And if it does, everything you did to protect him — sending him away, your lover's death, you having to hide here — all that will have been for nothing'

  Ma crossed to her box again and this time drew out a long pointed dagger. She crossed the room and laid it in Elena's lap. Taking her right hand, Ma crushed Elena's fingers around the hilt.

  'If he's facing you, just draw close to him. Pull the dagger from beneath your cloak and make one swift thrust there and upwards.' She touched the place on Elena's ribs. 'This blade is so slender and sharp, it'll be like poking a hole in jellied brawn. If he turns his back on you, it's even easier. You killed his brother that way, so you know what to do.'

  Ma slid the dagger into a pocket already sewn inside the cloak just where the wearer could easily pull it out. Elena wondered briefly why such a pocket had been made in a woman's cloak, but the thought was lost in the sudden wave of nausea which engulfed her, as she thought of the blade piercing living flesh and jellied brawn spilling out. Ma pulled her to her feet, and she stood swaying, trying to choke back the sickness.

  Ma gripped her hands tightly. 'Remember, my darling, Osborn murdered your husband. He sat and watched him dancing on a rope, choking and fighting for every breath, until his tongue swelled up in his mouth and his face turned black and still he struggled. Osborn did that. Osborn deserves to die. Athan's last prayer was to see his murder avenged. Athan died for you, my darling, so you must see to it that his killer is punished. If the innocent are slain, they walk the earth in torment without rest or peace, till their own murderer lies dead. Unless you kill Osborn, your poor husband will never rest in his grave. If you ever loved Athan, you will do this one last thing for him, so that he can be at peace.'

  Ma's yellow-green eyes bored into Elena's own. The ruby pins winked at her in the candlelight and the viper's tongues trembled, tasting the air. It seemed to Elena that every eye in the world was turned upon her, waiting for her to do this for Athan and her son. They needed her. She could not fail them.

  Ma seized Elena's arm and hurried her down the stairs to where Talbot was waiting. Almost before she knew it, Elena was outside on the street. The shock of the cold night jolted her into a realization of where she was. The sharp wind from the river buffeted her skirts and pressed the hard metal of the dagger against her thigh. She tried to turn back for the door, but Talbot locked her arm through his and set off at a good pace towards the centre of the town. His rolling gait made it hard to keep in step with him, but he held her close, keeping a grip on her arm that was so tight she feared her bones would snap if she tried to wrest them loose.

  A draggle of men and women hurried up the street. Some lit their way through the darkened streets with horn lanterns, but a few held blazing torches that guttered wildly in the breeze, forcing those coming the other way to flatten themselves against the shuttered wooden shopfronts to avoid being singed. Most hurried about their business without giving Talbot or Elena a second glance. It was too cold a night to want to stay outside longer than they had to. But Elena couldn't understand why they didn't all stop and stare at her. She felt every person in the city must know what she was about to do, and with each step she took, the dagger thumped against her leg like the heavy tolling of the funeral bell.

  The air was heavy with the sweet smoke of the peat fires. Dozens of supper pots bubbled away in the houses, filling the night with the fragrance of beans, boiled mutton, salt pork, burnt goatweed, bitter sorrel and sour ale. The savoury smoke mingled with the piss and dung of human, dog, goose and swine, mixed up with rotting vegetables and the flyblown offal floating in the gutters.

  Elena had grown so accustomed to the odours of the brothel, the sweat, the musky oils and suppurations of sex, that the city stench was as alien to her as a forest to a lapdog.

  Talbot said he had found her outside on the street the night of Hugh's murder, but she didn't remember any of this.

  They hurried through the alleys of the leather workers, and for a while the smell of new leather, hemp and beeswax feebly nudged their way through the other stenches. Unused to walking in the city streets, Elena continually slipped on the rotting rushes thrown out of the houses and felt the crunch of oyster shells beneath her feet.

  Eventually the pair emerged into a broad, straight road, wide enough for carts and wagons to pass along it.

  'We're in Mancroft,' Talbot announced, drawing her into the shadow behind some steps. 'Open your cloak, lass, so as they can see the silver hand. But keep your hood pulled well over your head and if you pass anyone, keep your face down. See, that way only the silver will catch the light of any lantern and that's what they'll remember.

  'Now, you carry on down this street, then the first street you come to on the right, you go up there. The inn's towards the far end, but you'll not miss it. Look for the carved mermaid with a dried bush tied to its tail, that's it. Go into the courtyard round the back, and you'll see wooden steps. Chamber's at the top.'

  'Aren't you coming with me?' Elena asked in alarm.

  Talbot rubbed the bristles on his chin; Elena could hear them rasping against his rough hand. 'You're supposed to pass as one of the Hebrews. Their women don't walk with Christian men and no one's ever likely to mistake me for a Jew. For one thing, their men don't cut their beards. Go on now, and you do it soon as you get in there, very first c
hance you get, afore you lose your nerve.'

  The brief moment of resolve Elena had felt in Ma's chamber had long since evaporated.

  'I can't, Talbot. I'll fail, I know I will. I'm not strong enough. You could do it, please . . . please,' she begged. You've killed men before.'

  'Aye, and so have you.' Talbot put a hand on her shoulder.

  'It's got to be you that does it. That cunning woman said it was for the mandrake. If I do it, it'll not lift the curse.'

  He bent his head close to hers. His hot breath smelled of raw onions. He pinched her cheek and there was almost a note of sympathy in his voice.

  'You seen the other girls, the way they sidle up to a man and run their hand over his shoulder. Then they open their lips just a little and make to kiss him. Girl does that to a man and all his defences leave him. That's what you got to do to Osborn. Then, just as he bends forward to kiss you, you stick the dagger in and run straight for the door.

  'Now, go on. Sooner you do it, sooner it'll be over and the safer we'll all be. Remember, lass, if he finds out you killed his brother, he'll not show you any mercy. He'll do things to you you can't even imagine, terrible cruel things. If you want to live, he has to die now, tonight, afore he's the one that's coming for you.'

  He pushed her out into the street. Turning, she could just make out his dark outline standing in the shadows watching her, but only because she knew he was there. She shivered and walked slowly up the street.

  The leet of Mancroft appeared to be no different from the rest of the town. The shutters on the shops were fastened for the night and the market squares were empty save for dogs and cats scavenging among the bones and rubbish that clogged the open ditches. A few men passed her, and she remembered to lower her face, pulling her hood down. Most of the men were clean-shaven, but she could not help glancing curiously at those with long beards, though unlike the Christian men, the Jews averted their eyes from her.

  She turned right as Talbot instructed. The street was much narrower here. The doors and shutters of the houses were tightly fastened and only the faintest chink of candlelight glowed through knot-holes here or there. The street seemed even darker than the thin ribbon of blue-black sky above. She felt trapped, caged like a beast driven into a tunnel. A black shadow was rolling up the street behind her like a huge wave, obliterating every spark of light. She began to run, not knowing what she was running from except that she knew she had to reach the end of the street before it touched her.

  She had burst out from between the houses and had run into the wide open market square before she could force herself to stop. She doubled forward, panting, grasping her side as a sharp cramp seized her. An old man hurried up to her, his wispy grey beard rising and falling in the wind as if it breathed on its own. He glanced at her neck, and she realized he was looking at the silver amulet.

  'Has someone hurt you, my daughter?' His eyes showed concern, but there was weariness in his voice as if it was a question he had been forced to ask many times.

  She shook her head.

  He frowned. 'Let me take you to your home. A young woman should not be walking alone at night. We are not safe in the streets of our own town any more.'

  He peered at her more closely. 'Perhaps I know your family? Your father's name, what is it?'

  She turned and hurried back the way she had come.

  Your amulet, daughter,' she heard the old man call behind her, 'you should cover it on the streets. The goyim, they will see it.'

  As soon as she re-entered the street, she heard the music. It must have been playing when she ran past, but only now was she conscious of it spilling out into the street with a babble of laughter and noise. She glanced up. A carved wooden figure swayed above her in the wind. A lantern had been hung so as to illuminate the mermaid, but the shadows it cast only served to make the creature more fearsome. Her tail and body were covered all over in green scales, even her menacing, pendulous breasts. Each of the wild tangled locks of her hair ended in the head of a writhing sea serpent. But it was her face that was most hideous with its black, hollowed- out eyes like a corpse's left for the crows to pick at, and lips drawn back in a terrible smile to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth.

  Elena could hardly tear her gaze away, but finally she edged away from the mermaid and into a courtyard behind the inn. A narrow flight of wooden steps rose from among a clutter of small shacks and lean-tos. Elena glanced upwards to the narrow walkway above. A thin arrow of candlelight shafted through the shutter of the single chamber beyond. He was already there, waiting for her.

  Elena drew back as a girl emerged from behind the inn. She crossed the courtyard, two empty flagons trailing in her hands, and disappeared inside one of the wooden huts. She emerged a few moments later, balancing the brimming flagons on her hips, in the way a woman might carry young children, as she crossed back to the inn. As soon as she disappeared through the door, Elena ran for the stairs, knowing that once she had served her customers the girl might well return to fetch more ale.

  Elena made her way Softly up the steep wooden steps, trying not to let them creak. Her heart was drumming in her temples and her legs were trembling so much she had to cling to the rail to hold herself upright. She should have used the mandrake. If she had seen herself do it, then she would know that she could, but she'd been too afraid to use it. With Raoul and Hugh, she hadn't known that she would see herself killing them, but she couldn't bring herself to use the mandrake, knowing what she would see and then have to live through it all again. Besides, she'd tried to convince herself that this moment would never actually come. She was sure she would wake and once again find that this was only a dream.

  Outside the low door of the chamber she paused, listening. Below and far away music and raucous laughter trickled out from the inn, but from behind this door was only a chilling silence. She felt for the dagger, grasping the hilt firmly. You've killed two men. You've killed Osborn's brother and that was easy. You can do this. You're already a murderer, so what does one more death matter? Think of your son. Think of Athan dangling from a rope. Think of what Osborn will do to you. She raised her left hand and knocked.

  Raffe picked his way across the rickety wooden bridge, pausing for a moment to stare down at the dark water racing under the supports. Beyond the river was a little cluster of houses, and scattered between them the ruby glow of a dozen cooking fires. The tanners' homes and workshops were built well away from the castle so that the wealthier inhabitants of Norwich didn't have to endure the gut-heaving stench. Even a blind and deaf man would have no trouble at all finding the tanners' cottages; all he had to do was follow the stink of fermenting dog dung and rancid fat.

  And it was for this very reason that Raffe had found lodgings in this quarter for Martin, or whatever his real name was, for few people, save the tanners themselves, ventured here unless they had pressing business. Any of John's men on the lookout for French spies would hang around the inns in the centre of the city, watching for those who were asking too many questions or seemed not to know the streets, but who would think of looking among the hovels of the tanners?

  Around each of the tiny one-roomed cottages lay large open courtyards. The flames of the cooking fires in the pits guttered in the darkness. Women waved the stinging smoke from their eyes as they bent to stir their supper pots, while their half-naked children played perilous games of hide-and- seek between the great vats of lime and soaking hides.

  Raffe counted the courtyards as he walked, one, two, three, then turn left, two more then. . . . He stopped so abruptly he almost lurched backwards into the wooden hut behind him. For a moment, he thought he must have taken a wrong turn, but then he recognized the solitary apple tree in the yard. A length of rope still girdled the trunk where the owner's great lolloping hound had been tethered.

  But there was no fire glowing in this yard. No tallow rushes burning in the cottage window. The door swung open, leaning drunkenly sideways, one of the leather hinges torn away. The vats were ov
erturned, their deadly soup of fat and lime leaving a huge glowing white stain on the mud of the yard. Skins had been chopped from their frames and trampled into the mud, and the stretching frames themselves had been hacked to kindling. Not a single pot or stick of furniture that was able to be smashed or broken had been left upright or intact.

  Seeing the light of a fire in the nearby yard, Raffe hurried across. A woman was ladling a watery pottage into a wooden bowl. She caught sight of Raffe and, dropping the ladle, hurried inside yelling. At once two burly youths emerged, jamming themselves in the narrow doorway as they both struggled to get through it at the same time.

  They advanced on Raffe, one holding a long iron rod, the other a hefty wooden paddle. Raffe raised his hands to show he was not reaching for any weapon, but he stood his ground.