Again a nod.
‘And what happened then?’
‘He wanted me to go back to the castle that night. So I left him and ran back here.’
‘Is that true, Master Taverner?’
Taylis gazed back, bleak-eyed.
‘You see, Eleanora,’ said Beardsmore. ‘That’s what happens when you lie, particularly about treason. No one wants to get involved. Now, what I’ll do is arrest the whole tavern, everyone who was here that night, including Master Taylis. I’ll ask them all one question: did you come back.’
Taylis regained his wits. ‘Of course she did.’
‘And then what did she do?’ Beardsmore didn’t wait for an answer but got to his feet, dragging the girl with him. ‘Eleanora, I am placing you under arrest.’
The girl threw herself about but the archers seized her, handling her roughly. Ralph shouted that they were not to abuse her. The archers looked at Beardsmore who nodded.
‘Master Taylis, I shall return.’ Beardsmore raised his voice. ‘I do hope no one leaves. If I can’t find certain people because they’ve suddenly discovered they have business in Chelmsford or Colchester, I’ll know they are my suspects.’
They bundled Eleanora out of the tavern. One of the archers put her up on his horse. The cavalcade mounted and left, going back along the high street. Ralph felt sorry for the girl but knew that Beardsmore was correct. She had probably been the lure, a ploy to take Goodman Winthrop out into the dark to be killed, and the law would have its way.
He did not like what he saw as their horses trotted up the cobbled high street. Rumours were rife about how castles had been attacked elsewhere in Essex and Kent, royal officials wounded, even murdered. Ralph realised that Sir John Grasse had made a serious mistake: the people of Maldon were plotting rebellion. He could tell that from the hateful looks, the way women turned away, slamming doors and shutters. And as they left the village, a clod of earth narrowly missed Ralph’s head.
‘There’ll be trouble before long,’ said Beardsmore grimly.
Ralph pulled his horse back so as to protect Eleanora from the salacious jibes and pokes of the escorting archers. Once they were clear of the town, Beardsmore reined in, dismounted and dragged Eleanora from the saddle. He cut her bonds and took her away from the rest, indicating that Ralph should join them. They walked along the trackway and stopped under sycamore tree.
‘Look, mistress,’ Beardsmore said kindly, ‘I no more wish to see you hang than I would my own sister.’
The tavern wench stared dourly back. ‘What do you want?’ she asked, pawing at her dusty skirt.
‘Not what you think,’ Beardsmore said drily. ‘But I can protect you. I do not want to see your pretty neck twisted. I want to arrest the nimble jacks who killed Goodman Winthrop. I’ll tell you what will really happen. You’ll be taken to the castle, Sir John will keep you until the royal commissioners arrive. Then the merry jig will begin. They won’t care about who you are or where you are from. They will regard you as a hungry mastiff would a piece of meat.’
Eleanora’s courage deserted her, her shoulder’s sagged and she muttered, ‘I can name them. And I can also tell you why.’
‘Why what?’ Beardsmore asked, glancing in puzzlement at Ralph.
‘I hate the castle,’ she replied.
Beardsmore was growing impatient. ‘Woman, what are you talking about?’
Ralph looked back down the trackway. The archers were laughing and talking among themselves. It was turning into a dull grey afternoon. The countryside lay quiet, even the birds had ceased their chirping. Up ahead he could see the towers and crenellated walls of Ravenscroft. He became distracted; his father had once told him how he could judge the date of a hedge by the number and different species of trees it contained. If that was the case, this must be the same hedge Cerdic had passed when he had fled from the battle at Blackwater. Ralph shook himself from his reverie.
‘I was sweet on Fulk,’ Eleanora was saying. ‘He’s the miller’s son.’
Beardsmore nodded. ‘He has disappeared, hasn’t he?’
‘It’s not that,’ Eleanora replied. She scratched at the sweat on her neck with blackened nails and glanced sideways at Ralph. ‘We saw murder, we did.’
Beardsmore grasped her by the shoulder. ‘What murder?’
‘The castle wench, Phoebe. We were in Devil’s Spinney.’ Eleanora now smiled slyly as if she sensed the tables were turned. ‘Me and Fulk, lying there in the long grass, hidden in the dusk. Fulk became afeared; he raised himself up. “Hush,” he whispered. “Someone’s coming!” I thought he was teasing but he grabbed me by the arms.’ She grinned. ‘I couldn’t get up because my shift was all awry so we lay and watched. A dark shape came through the trees. He was carrying a bundle, cords wrapped round it. He put the bundle down.’
‘How do you know it was a man?’ Beardsmore interrupted.
‘I don’t. Whoever it was was dressed like a monk, in a long robe and cowl. Fulk said the figure wore a mask. Anyway, the cords were cut, the bundle unrolled. Fulk whispered it was the corpse of a young woman.’
‘And then?’ Beardsmore asked, still gripping her shoulders.
‘Fulk said he wanted to see who it was. He went over to the edge of the spinney and watched this mysterious intruder go back towards the castle.’
‘Didn’t you think of raising the alarm?’ Ralph asked.
‘Why should we? Fulk was frightened that we’d get the blame.’
‘Did he see who it was?’
‘He thought he knew but he wasn’t certain and wouldn’t answer my questions. The following evening Fulk’s father came to the tavern. He said his son had left early for Ravenscroft and had not returned.’ Eleanora’s eyes became hard. ‘That’s why I hate the castle, and so do the townspeople. We heard about Phoebe, Fulk went to the castle and then he disappeared.’
‘I’ve heard enough.’ Beardsmore growled and, pushing the girl before him, they went back to their horses.
Chapter 3
Ralph attended Sir John Grasse’s council meeting held that afternoon in the castle solar. Eleanora had been confined to one of the dungeons in Bowyer Tower with a guard placed outside. Sir John, his wife Lady Anne, Theobald Vavasour, Father Aylred, Adam and Marisa, Beardsmore and himself gathered round the wooden, oval table in the Constable’s private quarters. Lady Anne tried to lighten the atmosphere, serving goblets of chilled white wine and small trays of sweetmeats. They all listened as Beardsmore delivered his report. Before Sir John could respond, Father Aylred, agitated and anxious, sprang to his feet. He was unshaven, eyes red-rimmed; Ralph secretly wondered if the hideous events of the previous night had disturbed his wits.
‘I am a priest, Sir John, dedicated to the care of souls. I do believe something very wicked has entered this castle.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Sir John interrupted impatiently. ‘Of that we are certain. Phoebe’s death, the attack on Master Ralph, the disappearance of Fulk. The facts speak for themselves.’
‘No, no, I talk of other things,’ the priest said hurriedly. ‘Ralph and I have been to Midnight Tower.’
‘Ah, yes. You told me about that. The tower has always had an evil reputation.’
‘But the phantasms, the phenomena!’ the priest cried, rubbing the side of his face.
‘Father.’ Ralph got up, came round and gently eased him back into his chair. ‘The evil we face is of human origin, and it is human wit and good counselling that will reveal the truth.’
The priest calmed down and Ralph returned to his chair.
‘Sir John, if I may speak?’
The Constable nodded.
‘We have had a number of strange occurrences here,’ Ralph began, ‘but logic and reason can untangle any mystery.’
