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Authors: P. C. Doherty

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BOOK: HAUNT OF MURDER, A
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‘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!’
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 below, 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.
‘This is where Beardsmore’s assassin stood,’ he declared. ‘He fired first from the facing window and, when I fled, moved across to the side which provides a view from the flank of the tower.’
Sir John looked through both windows, the wind whipping his white hair, making his eyes water.
‘I’ve sent a sentry out.’ He turned and leaned against the wall. ‘Including the quarrel which killed Beardsmore, at least five crossbow bolts were loosed.’
Ralph stared out of the window. He had liked Beardsmore and felt guilty at the suspicions of him he had nursed earlier, but at the same time the sergeant-at-arms’ death seemed to have calmed his grief for Beatrice. Instead he felt an implacable desire to bring her killer to justice. He had seen a man hang once and had hated it, but he quietly conceded that he’d stand and enjoy this assassin have the life throttled out of him! Someone in this castle had watched him meet Beardsmore at the gatehouse and walk round the moat; he’d feared that Beardsmore would either find out how Phoebe’s corpse was removed or discover the whereabouts of poor Fulk’s corpse.
‘Yes, that’s it!’ he exclaimed.
‘What is?’ Adam asked.
‘The assassin meant to kill both Beardsmore and myself.’
‘Why?’ Sir John asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Ralph replied cautiously. ‘But I tell you, Sir John, this castle should be put on a war footing. Every tower, every gateway should have a sentry not only to guard the approaches but to watch who goes where. We should also be very careful about being alone and what we eat or drink.’
‘Sir John Grasse! Sir John Grasse!’ a voice bellowed from the bottom of the staircase.
‘Oh Lord save us! What now?’
‘Sir John, followed by his two clerks, clambered down the stairs. The captain of the guard was there, helmet under his arm.
‘Sir John, it’s the prisoner, the woman Eleanora.’
‘Oh, don’t say she’s escaped.’
‘No, sir, she’s dead!’
They ran through the overgrown garden and bailey, across the green to Bowyer Tower. The door to the cell was open.
Eleanora was sprawled on the floor, mouth gaping, eyes staring; her body was twisted like a piece of cloth, wrung and tossed aside. Father Aylred was sitting on the bed rocking gently backwards and forwards, singing under his breath. Theobald knelt by the corpse. He shook his head as Sir John came in.
‘Dead, Sir John. Poisoned.’
‘What?’ Sir John turned to the captain of the guard.
‘Sir, she ate what we ate and drank!’
Ralph crossed to the little table where a platter lay containing the remains of some food.
‘I’ve tested those already,’ Theobald said. ‘Indeed, when I came in two rats were finishing it off and they seemed none the worse.’
‘There are poisons enough in the castle,’ Sir John remarked.
‘Used to destroy vermin.’ He looked at Theobald. ‘And of course you have a fine collection of elixirs, haven’t you?’
Theobald would have retorted heatedly but Ralph intervened.
‘What is important,’ he said, ‘is how the wench died. You say the food is not tainted?’
‘Yes!’ Theobald snapped.
Ralph turned to the archers standing in the doorway. ‘Did any of you come into the cell?’
‘We kept well away from her,’ one of them replied.
‘And no one came down to visit her?’
‘No.’ The archer shook his head. ‘The Constable’s orders were quite clear. She was to be kept comfortable and not disturbed. The only time I came in here was to empty that.’ The archer pointed to a chamber pot peeping out from beneath the bed. ‘I put in some saltpetre to hide the smell. Apart from that, we left her alone.’
‘When did she last eat?’
‘Oh, about ten of the clock.’
‘Three hours ago.’ Ralph stared up at the grille in the wall which looked out on to the castle bailey. ‘So how did you find her?’
‘The corpse was cold,’ Theobald interjected. ‘She must have been dead for at least two hours.’
‘As I said,’ the archer replied, ‘we left her in peace. I remembered the chamber pot, looked through the bars and saw her lying there.’
‘How on earth did this happen?’ Sir John demanded. ‘Here’s a young woman in her cell. The food and drink are not tainted and yet she’s found poisoned by some noxious substance.’
Ralph knelt beside the corpse and put his fingers into the half-open mouth. It was slightly warm. He felt along the gums, the cracked teeth. He felt something half-chewed and pulled it out. Keeping it on the end of his finger, he went to the window. He sniffed, rubbed his finger along the wall and poured some water from the jug over his hands.
‘What is it?’ Sir John demanded.
‘I’m no physician or leech, Sir John. But I think I’ve just examined the last thing she ate. A sweetmeat, marchpane possibly.’
‘But she was never given any!’ the guard exclaimed.
Ralph stared up at the grille. ‘Someone in this castle approached that window. He secured Eleanora’s confidence and dropped a piece of marchpane or something through the bars. Eleanora would relish that. More importantly, she must have trusted the person who gave it to her.’
‘But who in the castle knew her?’ Adam asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Ralph replied wearily. ‘I really don’t. Sir John, you’d best get the corpse removed.’
Sir John stamped out of the cell, shouting orders. Ralph followed and went back to his own chamber. He unlocked the door and went in. Everything was as he had left it. He sniffed at the jug of wine and examined the cup before going to sit at his table. He pulled across a scrubbed sheet of vellum, opened the inkpot, sharpened a quill and wrote out a list of names. He included his own among them.
‘I’m so confused,’ he muttered. ‘I could even half convince myself that I’ve done something wrong.’
He studied the names. Any one of them could have been lurking in that tower the night Beatrice died. And Phoebe? A blow to the back of the head. Yes, they could all do that. And what about the attack on him in Devil’s Spinney? That would take some strength. He’d been knocked half unconscious and he recalled being dragged through the grass. The Constable was a strong man. So was Adam. But Theobald and Aylred?
‘Yes?’ he said aloud. ‘They would have the strength.’
BOOK: HAUNT OF MURDER, A
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