The Plague Charmer

by Karen Maitland

  ‘Nobody with any sense would go there after dark,’ Sara said uneasily. ‘But my Elis went there once in summer, years back. Said the church was still standing and some of the old round stone huts. Hunters take shelter there and the charcoal-burners sometimes.’

  ‘Then Janiveer might still be there,’ I said. ‘She seemed the kind of woman who would take to the life of a hermit, and if she knew the pestilence was coming, she might think herself safer there, living alone.’

  ‘She’d likely know that we’d have to come looking for her,’ Sara said. ‘I reckon she’d not go far.’

  ‘Aye,’ Bald John said, ‘but even if you found her, she said there was a price to be paid if she was to save the village. It was a cruel bargain she offered, a price that none of us would pay then. Are you saying you’d be willing to pay it now?’

  All eyes were fastened on Sara. ‘I . . .’ She gnawed her lip. ‘I’ve lost my husband, maybe my chillern too. I’d give anything, anything at all, to bring my boys home safe. What use is my life without them?’

  The agonised expression in her eyes was one I’d once seen in the eyes of another woman. I understood Sara’s misery only too well. I, too, had plunged to the bottom of that dark, cold pit of grief and hopelessness. Maybe that was why I said one of the most foolish things I’ve ever prattled in a lifetime of being a fool.

  ‘You never know,’ I said, as cheerily as any jester, ‘if she’s found no other village willing to pay her price, she might be open to a little haggling. Let’s find this Janiveer first, then worry about payment. If Mistress Sara is willing to go, I’ll travel with her.’

  ‘You think we’d let a woman from this village go off alone with a creature like you?’ the Holy Hag sneered. ‘We all know what you intend. As soon as you get her alone, you’ll force yourself on her, then cut her throat.’

  Rage boiled up in me. Another had accused me of forcing myself on a woman, as if it was beyond the belief even of a saint that a woman could freely love such a hideous mockery of a man.

  ‘It’s your throat I’d like to cut,’ I blurted out.

  ‘You hear that?’ she squawked. ‘I told you he stabbed Cador. Now he’s threatening to murder me as well.’

  ‘Half the village would buy him an ale if he did,’ Bald John muttered. ‘But it’s a fair point,’ he added loudly. ‘Will mayn’t have killed Cador, but someone murdered him. And Cador was a strapping man. What kind of a fight could a woman put up if it came to it? That little runt’s not going to be much use as a bodyguard unless he’s going to nip their ankles.’

  Cecily barged her way forward, planting herself squarely in front of her husband, arms folded. ‘So that’s what you’re planning, is it? Going off with Sara into the forest to protect her. First it’s that slut Aldith, and now you want her sister-in-law too. I warn you, John, you take so much as a step down that path and I’ll be using your cods as bait for the crabs.’

  ‘I told you, woman, I never touched Aldith, and as for going to search for this Janiveer, it’ll be as much use as plaiting rope from sand. And, worse, it’s dangerous. I’ll not allow Sara or anyone else to go.’

  ‘Not allow!’ This time it was Sara who squared up to him. ‘Who are you to be telling me where I can and can’t go?’

  ‘With Cador dead, someone’s got to take charge of this village and act as bailiff and I reckon I’m the fittest man to do it, least till this is over and Sir Nigel’s steward can appoint another.’

  ‘Now, you listen to me, Bald John. You can crown yourself king of the village, if you want, but you’ll not be telling me what to do. I lost the only man who’d the right to order me. It’s thanks to you and Cador my boys are missing and I’ll not have them come back only to watch them die of pestilence or hunger. I’m going to find Janiveer and make her lift the curse. And if I get my throat cut in the forest at least it’ll be quick. Any who wants to come with me and the dwarf are welcome. Rest of you can sit around here and wait for death to take you.’

  Chapter 35

  And the third part of the waters became wormwood. And many men died of the waters, because they were made bitter.

  The Apocalypse of St John

  Luke’s head rolled back, hitting the rock wall, and instantly he was awake again, his heart thumping, as he tried to grab anything to hold on to, but there was nothing to cling to in the darkness, nothing to stop him falling down and down.

  The Prophet’s most trusted disciples, David and Noll, had led him down the rocky tunnel. David lit the way with a blazing torch held above Luke’s head. They passed the entrance to other caves or crypts, but he could see little of what lay inside, save a glimpse of some boxes in one, and in another a deep pile of skins and a glitter of silver. In the distance, Luke became aware of a murmur, like the far-off sound of the sea, but as he stumbled along the uneven passage, the murmur grew to a roar that hurt his ears. Were they dragging him off to fight a dragon or monster? He tried to tear himself out of their grip, but the men held him tightly, urging him on.

  They had stopped by the entrance to what Luke had thought to be another dark cave. The men had pushed him forward, holding him by the shoulders, steadying him as his foot almost slipped over the edge. For as the flames of the torch flickered across the hard rock, Luke saw that this was not really a cave at all but the entrance to a vertical shaft, reaching so high above his head that he couldn’t see the roof and so far below the earth, it made him sick and dizzy to look down.

  From somewhere high above in the darkness, water cascaded down in a raging torrent, tumbling over the rocks above him, then arching out into a void, falling, falling, until it smashed into the angry pool far below. The light from the red flames of the torch darted across the black water that seethed and boiled in the pool, as if he was staring down into his mother’s cooking pot, except that this water was colder than the sea in winter. Luke could feel the icy blast of it rolling up to envelop him.

  David bent close, bellowing in Luke’s ear to make himself heard over the thundering waterfall. ‘Devil’s Cauldron they call that,’ he said, with a malicious grin. ‘You know why? Fall in and you’d be sucked under and tumbled over and over, battered against those rocks, like Satan’s demons beating the sinners in Hell.’

  Noll pointed to a plank of wood that formed a bridge between the tunnel and a narrow ledge that projected from the sheer rock wall on the opposite side of the shaft. ‘You’re to crawl across that. Off you go. Hurry now, less you want a pitchfork up the arse.’

  Both men had laughed, then stopped abruptly as they heard the Prophet approaching behind them.

  The Prophet had put his face so close to Luke’s his beard almost smothered him. ‘The Lord does not choose cowards, Luke. Show me that you and your brother deserve to be saved from the pestilence and not cast out to face the horror of God’s wrath alone. Show me that you have faith. Cross to the other side.’

  Luke had crawled across that void, his arms and legs trembling so hard they almost gave way beneath him. He had not dared to look down. He was almost grateful when he reached the ledge, for at least that felt more solid than the plank. The rock was cold and slippery with spray. It was just long enough to sit with his legs stretched out, but not to lie down. He pressed his back hard against the slimy wall, his fingers feeling around for any crevice or handhold he could grip, but there was none.

  Noll dragged the plank away and David handed the torch to the Prophet. Then both disciples, bowing respectfully, retreated back down the tunnel.

  ‘Then the devil took Jesus into the holy city and set Him upon a pinnacle,’ Brother Praeco bellowed. ‘This is your pinnacle, Luke. You must stay here alone and pray. Pray that you may be accepted as one of the Chosen of God. Jesus was left alone for forty days and in all that time He did not eat or sleep. You must stay awake too, though the devil will tempt you to sleep, for if you give in to that temptation, you will fall from the ledge into the water below and be swallowed up. You must pray, Luke, pray that God will give you the stre
ngth to resist that temptation. The more exhausted you become, the more you long to sleep, the harder you must pray.’

  ‘You . . . won’t leave me here for forty days?’ Luke could hear the catch of terror in his voice, but he was powerless to control it. His clothes were already sodden from the icy spray, and his teeth were beginning to chatter in the freezing air.

  ‘I will leave you here until God instructs me to call you forth.’

  The Prophet lifted the burning torch high and walked back down the tunnel. Luke watched the flickering red glow of the torchlight on the wall until it vanished and he was plunged into icy darkness, with nothing but the roar of the water filling his head.

  Chapter 36

  Porlock Manor

  A thief knows a thief as a wolf knows a wolf.

  Medieval Proverb

  A shadow falls across the open doorway of the stillroom, but Rosa does not glance up from the ink-black root she is pounding. She knows who has come calling. She has been waiting for him. Sir Harry ducks beneath the low beam and steps inside, pulling the door closed behind him, blocking out her light. Still Rosa does not look at him. He comes close, bending over the stone mortar, reaching out as if he means to dip his finger into it.

  ‘It is not wise to touch what you do not know,’ she cautions.

  ‘Is that so?’ He catches her wrist, pulling her so close to him that she can feel the swelling of his pizzle as it rises against her belly. ‘But how I am to know if I don’t touch? If that is a love potion you’re grinding, you little witch, you needn’t trouble yourself. I am already won.’

  ‘It is a poison for the mice and squirrels that gnaw the manor’s stores.’ She doesn’t struggle or push him away. She doesn’t need to. She raises the pestle stained with the black juice and brings it close to his lips. ‘White hellebore. Do you know it, my lord? A single sniff has been known to kill a man.’

  He loosens his grip and takes a hasty pace back.

  ‘Master Wallace has asked for large quantities of poison,’ she says. ‘The drought has driven swarms of mice into the barns – there is nothing for them to eat in the fields. He fears they will spoil all our stores.’

  She resumes her grinding, though with him blocking the light she can barely see the root, but she does not need to see what she intends to crush.

  A fretful wail rises from the corner. They both glance over. Sir Harry takes a pace or two towards the wicker cradle, nudging it with the tip of his boot.

  ‘Yours? You give a man lusty sons, it seems.’

  ‘Not mine. The tiring maid, Eda’s.’

  Sir Harry laughs. ‘That crone? Now that I cannot believe. She’s old enough to be my own mother, and even if she were not, her sour face would shrivel any man’s desire. Unlike yours, sweet maid. Yours ignites the fire.’ He moves towards her again, but the rhythm of her pounding does not falter.

  ‘Was it poison you sought too, my lord?’

  ‘I can think of two men I’d gladly feed it to,’ he mutters sourly. ‘The one keeps me prisoner. The other makes that prison Purgatory, for all that he is in Holy Orders.’ He spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘So you see I have come to seek a little solace here, sweet angel. Won’t you take pity on me?’

  He takes care to stand behind her this time, trapping her against the table, slipping his hand around her waist and up towards her breasts.

  ‘Are you searching again for my necklace, my lord? If that is what you seek it has told you all it can.’

  ‘But you have not,’ he whispers. His hands slide to her arms, gripping them so that she cannot raise the pestle again.

  He pulls her away from the table and she allows herself to be turned, meeting his gaze steadily with her sea-grey eyes.

  ‘You’re no stillroom maid. You look at your masters too boldly.’ He seizes the blue beads around her neck, dragging them up till the bear’s claw dangles in front of her face. ‘I think you know full well what that bird and snake signify. Is that why you’ve come here? Searching for the king’s grave on the pretence of picking herbs?’

  ‘As you pretend to go hunting?’

  He raises his hand to strike her, but she doesn’t flinch away. Fear flashes across his face.

  ‘What you seek, my lord, has already been taken. The king’s mound is empty. His treasure is gone, stolen.’

  He stares at her, then shakes his head violently as if trying to fling her words from his brain. ‘Don’t lie to me! Whoever you are outside the manor, inside these walls you are nothing more than a worthless maid. I could break your neck and not even Wallace would protest. And even if he did, he could do nothing about it with the manor sealed. So I want the truth. You know where the grave is and you’ve found what’s buried there.’ His eyes dart around the boxes and jars ranged along the shelves of the dark stillroom. ‘Where have you hidden it?’

  She smiles. ‘If I had found a king’s treasure, would I still be labouring here, sleeping on rags, taking orders from Master Wallace?’

  ‘Then if you know for certain it is gone, why do you stay?’ He gnaws at his lip. ‘You stay because you know who has taken it . . . You stay because it’s close by. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re waiting your chance to steal it.’ He takes a pace towards her. ‘Tell me—’

  Sunlight suddenly floods the cool dark room, making Sir Harry whip round.

  Christina is standing in the doorway. Her face betrays more than surprise – alarm, fear, even.

  They stare at each other, as if they have realised they need to offer some explanation for being there, but it is Sir Harry who recovers quicker. He makes an extravagant bow.

  ‘I pray it is not sickness that brings you to seek the offices of a stillroom maid, Lady Christina, but I do believe my prayers have been answered already, for you look radiant. If Sir Nigel’s physician could glimpse your beauty, he would surely advise all men to gaze upon you to keep them from the pestilence.’

  Christina’s gaze darts towards the cradle, where little Oswin, hearing her voice, is lifting his head and making gurgling sounds of pleasure. She glances back at Sir Harry and there is no mistaking the panic in her eyes.

  Sir Harry excuses himself with another bow and strides out of the open door.

  Christina closes it behind him and hurries towards the cradle, scooping the child up and nuzzling his soft cheek, her eyes tightly closed as if she is offering a silent but desperate prayer. She has her back to the casement, so she doesn’t see the shadow that passes across it and lingers there.

  The rhythm of the stillroom maid never falters as she pounds the deadly root, but Rosa sees both watcher and watched. As Christina rocks Oswin in her arms, Rosa observes the cold smile that slowly spreads across the features of the man who watches. Sir Harry understands now, understands the nature of the malady that kept Randel’s new bride in her turret. But only Rosa understands the game. And she will decide who wins.

  Chapter 37

  Sara

  If the first fish caught in a season is female, then the fishing for the rest of the year will be good, but if it is a male the catches will be poor.

  ‘I will walk with you, Sara,’ Matilda announced firmly. ‘Katharine can walk behind with the dwarf creature, if she pleases.’

  ‘I have a name,’ the little man growled. ‘To my friends I’m Will, but I’ll let you call me William. Though I’m surprised you want me to walk behind you. Aren’t you afraid I’ll poke you up the arse with my nasty little poisoned dagger?’

  Matilda gave that affronted sniff of hers, and I had to turn away for fear she’d see me smiling. When I’d first clapped eyes on the man, I’d not trusted him one whit. With that perpetual grin of his, like one of the gargoyles on the chapel, he always seemed to be mocking you. You could never tell what he was thinking. But I was beginning to believe he might not be as evil as some in the village made out. At least he could get the better of old Matilda.

  I’d not expected him to stand up for me as he did: he’d no cause to. There was a kindness
in him, a gentleness without him being nesh, for he certainly wasn’t that. When life treats a man hard from the day he’s born, it turns most to bitterness and cruelty. They lash out first, afore someone hits them. But in some men it makes them kinder as if, feeling the sting of pain in their own souls, they want to shield others. Will was one of those, and you’d have to walk many a mile to find another. I never thought I’d say so, but that morning I felt safer setting out with him alongside.

  I tugged the two widgebeasts forward. They were used to going up the moor track and stubbornly kept trying to turn in that direction. Harold, walking ahead of all of us, hunched his shoulders till they were almost touching his ears and stepped out a little quicker, as if he hoped to leave all of us behind. He was the only one of us five who’d not wanted to come. The old witch Matilda had forced him to, telling him it was his duty and, glaring at the dwarf, that we needed ‘some sort of a man’ to protect us. She said if we did find Janiveer, we’d need someone who knew the words that could defeat a witch’s malice. Harold had turned as pale as if he’d been ordered to stop a charging boar by hauling on its tail and started to babble about how he had to stay and bury the dead. But it did him no good, poor lad.

  What I couldn’t fathom was why Matilda insisted on coming. Katharine, I could understand. She was grateful for any excuse to leave. The other women had treated her worse than a murderer. They’d not speak a single word to her, driving her away from the weir whenever she tried to pick fish. Even when she was trying to make amends by saying she’d come with me to find Janiveer, some had jeered that she shouldn’t bother coming back.

  But Matilda? Bald John looked as if a jellyfish had jumped up and poked him in the eye when she announced she was coming.