Paul Doherty - Corpse Candle

‘And Lady Margaret? Did she like the man who later became the Abbot?’

‘I don’t know. I remember watching her, both on that day and afterwards. All three of them came here once to feast,’ Talbot pointed towards the doorway, ‘One bright summer’s day. Sir Reginald came in, one arm linked through Lady Margaret’s, the other through Sir Stephen’s. Some other guests were present. I laid out a special table and we served them with the best dishes. Roast venison. .’

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Ranulf interrupted. ‘But what of Lady Margaret and Sir Stephen?’

‘They didn’t seem to like each other. Sir Reginald arranged the seating, so that Sir Stephen was supposed to sit on Lady Margaret’s left, but she objected. I remember Daubigny just shrugged. He went and sat beside his friend. During the meal, Daubigny and Lady Margaret hardly looked at each other or exchanged a word.’

‘And then Sir Reginald disappeared?’

‘Yes, one day in autumn. Why, it must be some thirty years ago! A potboy, who has now gone, said he saw Sir Reginald ride by with his pack pony. He recognised him by the livery and escutcheon. According to common report, he went to one of the Eastern ports, took ship and that’s the last anyone ever heard or saw of him again. And, before you ask, sir clerk, I don’t know why, though everyone has a theory.’

‘And what’s yours?’

‘Sir Reginald was a true fighting man, a knight errant. Perhaps he wanted to go on a pilgrimage?’

‘But why didn’t he tell his wife? People say she was as perplexed as anyone.’

‘I don’t know.’

Ranulf turned slightly. Rat Face had reappeared and Ranulf didn’t like his companions: men in boots and brown leggings armed with swords and daggers through the rings on their belts, faces almost hidden by cavernous cowls, the front part of their jerkins stretching up to their lower lip. Two carried bows with a quiver of arrows slung on their backs. Talbot followed Ranulf’s gaze. He became distinctly nervous whilst the rest of the customers didn’t look too happy either. The new arrivals went across and sat in a far corner where the shadows gave them some protection, so they could observe the rest of the taproom as closely as they wanted. Ranulf stared out of the window across the garden: the shrubs, herb plots and flowerbeds were still in the grip of a frost which had not thawed during the day. He glimpsed the first snowflakes fall. He knew what had happened. Taverner Talbot may act nervously but the new arrivals were as much a part of this tavern as the tables and chairs. Outlaws, wolf’s-heads, men like Ranulf himself in his early days, who lived in the twilight. They prowled taverns such as this, hunting for easy prey or rich pickings. The taverner always welcomed them, either because he shared their loot or, more importantly, because they provided a constant supply of fresh meat poached from the King’s forest — wild boar and venison. Ranulf wondered if they’d attack two officers of the Crown? He gently kicked Chanson under the table. The groom was staring across at the strangers. Chanson got the message and looked away.

‘I’ll get you those eels,’ Talbot blustered.

‘And some more ale!’ Ranulf insisted. ‘And do come back!’

‘Do you think those strangers will make trouble for us, Ranulf?’ Chanson whispered. ‘Would they harm us?’

‘Yes, they would.’ Ranulf’s hand went beneath the table and he tapped his purse. ‘I wager a shilling to a shilling, they have already inspected our horses and harness.’

Chanson gulped nervously. Of course the horses were some of the finest from the royal stables, whilst the saddles and harness would fetch high prices in any market.

‘Then there’s our weapons,’ Ranulf continued, ‘and our clothes, not to mention the purses we carry. And perhaps,’ he sighed, ‘just as importantly, there’s their reputations.’

‘What has that got to do with it?’

‘They are wolf’s-heads,’ Ranulf declared, keeping his voice at a whisper. ‘They regard these parts as the King does his crown. They decide who comes and goes. Most of these merchants and tinkers probably pay them to travel unscathed.’

Chanson thought of that cold journey back to the abbey, the silent trees, the deserted, frozen trackway.

‘Shouldn’t we go?’

Ranulf pulled his war belt nearer. ‘I’ve never run from a fight in my life, Chanson. Do you know why? It’s the best way not to get an arrow in your back.’

Talbot, aided by his now surly-faced daughter, served the eels and ale. Chanson took out his horn spoon and small dagger and began to cut, scooping the food into his mouth. Ranulf ate more slowly, now and again glancing across at the men watching him.

‘It’s good food,’ Chanson murmured between mouthfuls. ‘Hot and spicy.’

Talbot waited until they had finished and re-took his seat.

‘And what do you know about Lady Margaret?’ Ranulf demanded. ‘After her husband’s disappearance?’

‘She was distraught, according to common report. It became well known that she wanted to follow her husband. Sir Stephen Daubigny agreed to help. They both stopped here on their way to the coast. A few months later, Sir Stephen returned, travel-stained, face all haggard. As for Lady Margaret,’ Talbot lowered his eyes, ‘she was gone over a year and when she came back she was a shadow of her former self: thin, pale-faced. She passed by the tavern with an escort, clothed like the figure of death, in black from head to toe. From that day to this, she has lived as a recluse. I go up to the manor to take supplies and to buy from her. As I said, she comes here very rarely. Our conversations over the years wouldn’t fill half a page of a psalter.’

‘And Sir Stephen?’

The taverner shrugged his shoulders.

‘He went straight back to St Martin’s, gave up his arms and took the vows of a monk. The rest you know and, before you ask, clerk, he was a good Father Abbot. Honest and fair in his dealings. Blanche and I were always welcome in the abbey.’

‘And the others at St Martin’s?’ Ranulf insisted.

‘Oh, they are monks, priests, slightly pompous. We deal with two of them: Cuthbert the Prior, a man of great ambition, and Dunstan the treasurer. We go to them, sometimes they come to us. Now and again we have wine which they would like or,’ he gave a lop-sided smile, ‘meat, fresh from the forest. Well, sirs,’ Talbot drained his tankard and pushed back his stool, ‘more than that I cannot say.’

‘Oh, Master Talbot,’ Ranulf beckoned him closer. ‘I’m going to leave now.’

He was sure the taverner was almost going to thank him but Talbot held his tongue. ‘And when we do,’ Ranulf warned, ‘I don’t want our new arrivals to follow us out.’

The taverner leaned over. ‘I can only warn you and give some advice.’

‘Where will they come?’ Ranulf replied.

‘Out on the trackway,’ the taverner replied. ‘You are well mounted. They will try to force you down. You know what will happen then?’

Ranulf nodded.

‘And you can’t prevent them from leaving?’

Talbot shook his head. ‘They’re Scaribrick’s men. If I interfered, by tomorrow morning this tavern would be gutted.’

‘How many?’ Ranulf murmured.

‘There are five,’ Talbot whispered, grasping his empty tankard. ‘Thank God for the cold and that they didn’t know you were coming, otherwise it would have been a good score.’

He hurried away. Ranulf rose and strapped his sword belt on. They left by the rear entrance and walked round to the stables. Chanson checked the horses, their girths and saddles — nothing had been tampered with. They both swung themselves up.

‘Get up close!’ Ranulf urged. ‘Come on, Chanson, you’ve got two gifts. One is with horses and the other is with knives.’