Ralph obeyed.
‘What do you see?’
‘Light and shadows, pieces of furniture, the enclave where the window is, the shutters.’
‘Our world is like that,’ said Father Aylred. ‘It’s full of light and shadows. But, how do you know, Ralph, that someone else isn’t here? Have you carefully checked?’
‘No, of course, I haven’t.’
‘And what of the other world? The spiritual world? How do we know, Ralph, when something else has entered to wreak havoc and cause great evil?’
‘Do you think that’s happening at Ravenscroft?’
‘Yes, I do. Read the Bible. The first real sin was that of Cain, the assassin, slaying his brother. Murder is a terrible sin, Ralph. It opens the gateways between our world and the powers of Hell. It is the abnegation of all love. A direct confrontation with God. There have been at least two murders at Ravenscroft.’
‘At least?’ Ralph interrupted.
‘Yes. There could have been three. Now, I don’t know the full reason why, but the attack on Beatrice was meant for you, I’m sure of it. Ralph, you are a good clerk. Before Beatrice’s death you were investigating the legends about Brythnoth’s cross. Perhaps it had something to do with that. What hour is it, please?’
Ralph walked to where an hour candle glowed faintly under its copper hood. He peered closely.
‘Shortly before midnight. Why do you ask?’
‘Come with me.’ The priest got to his feet and walked to the door. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Please, Ralph, come with me.’
Ralph sighed, grabbed his war belt and cloak and followed Father Aylred down the spiral staircase. The castle bailey was empty; a dog came out snarling but recognised them and slunk away. From the parapets Ralph saw the glow of braziers and torches, the shadows of sentries. Sir John’s instructions were being carried out.
‘It’s too late,’ the priest whispered, following his gaze. ‘The enemy is within.’
He hastened across to Midnight Tower. A cold wind tugged at Ralph’s hair and he regretted coming. He felt deeply uneasy, wary of the shadows. Ravenscroft was no longer a friendly place. Did the assassin even now peer at them from the darkness? And what did the old priest mean by the powers of Hell?
Father Aylred opened the door. As soon as he stepped inside, Ralph flinched: The tower was cold, freezing, as if this was the depths of winter and all the shutters had been opened, and the stench was as rotten as that from the moat in the height of summer; it made him gag.
‘It’s getting worse, Ralph.’ Father Aylred’s face was pallid and sweat-soaked. ‘Over the last few days this freezing cold and the terrible odour has increased.’ He grasped Ralph’s wrists and they stood like two frightened boys.
Ralph noticed how the flames of the sconce torches flickered as if the pitch and tar were thin. Usually they gave a robust fiery glow; now the flames were weak with a strange blue tint.
‘In God’s name!’ Father Aylred called out.
A deep sigh answered his words. Ralph felt the hair on the nape of his neck curl, his legs tremble; he felt sick, and as weak as he was after the attack earlier today.
The priest led him up the spiral staircase, and the stench grew weaker, the cold less intense. On the first stairwell, they paused. Father Aylred crouched down against the wall, his breath coming in loud rasps.
‘Every night the evil waxes stronger,’ he declared. ‘Each time, more and more of this tower falls under its control.’
‘Can’t you bless the place?’ Ralph asked.
‘I am just a simple country priest, Ralph. Hush now, listen!’
Ralph heard the door at the bottom of the tower open and slam shut. Someone, a knight in armour by the sound, started climbing the stairs. Ralph drew his dagger.
‘It’s not what you think, Ralph,’ Father Aylred murmured.
As if by magic, the sound of mailed feet disappeared. Ralph went to investigate. A hideous shriek echoed from the storerooms below, ringing through the stones, so frightening he retreated.
‘Father, I am not staying here.’
‘I agree with that.’ The priest struggled to his feet and they fled from Midnight Tower. Ralph insisted that Father Aylred return with him to his own chamber. They stopped at the kitchen where a sleepy-eyed pot boy cut chunks from a flitch of bacon for them and laid the meat on a platter. He then sliced some of the bread Ralph helped him lower from where it was kept in wire baskets hanging from the rafters, well away from the mice and vermin which plagued the castle kitchens.
‘Strange, isn’t it?’ Father Aylred smiled as they climbed the steps back to Ralph’s chamber. ‘After such encounters I always feel the same, hungry and weak.’
Once inside, Ralph locked the door. He stared carefully around. When they’d left, he hadn’t locked the chamber. He quietly vowed never to do that again even though nothing had been disturbed. He cut up the bacon and bread and shared them out, re-filling their wine cups. The old Franciscan had now recovered his poise.
‘I first discovered such horrors the night Phoebe died,’ he explained. ‘At first I thought it was my own imaginings but, each evening, around midnight, I’d return, determined to prove that I am not fey-witted. Each time it grows worse.’
‘Hasn’t anyone else noticed?’
‘Whispers have begun, gossip, chatter. As you know, Ralph, Midnight Tower is not a favoured place during the hours of darkness.’
‘Father, you call yourself a simple priest yet what do you think is really happening?’
‘As I have said, evil has taken up camp at Ravenscroft. It is linked, like a chain, to the evil which flourished here before.’
‘What can be done?’
‘I’ll say a Mass there, offer it up for the repose of souls and write to the local bishop. More importantly, we must unmask this evil and confront it.’ Father Aylred scratched his greying hair. ‘But that’s easier said than done.’ He put his cup down, got to his feet and patted Ralph on the shoulder. ‘Lock the door, say your prayers and be careful.’
Ralph let him out then sat for a while at his table, listening to the faint sounds of the castle. It was well past midnight. Grief over Beatrice welled up within him.
‘I wish you were here.’ He spoke softly into the darkness. ‘I wish I could see you just one more time. If I could, I would tell you how much I love you. Death has not changed that. I will love you for as long as I live and beyond.’
He closed his eyes, summoning up Beatrice’s face. He didn’t know whether it was imagination but he grew warmer, calmer. He opened his eyes quickly. He was almost sure she was here, like the candle flame burning so brightly. He crossed himself, tugged off his boots and lay down on the bed. Beatrice was gone but her murder had to be avenged, he thought as his mind slipped in and out of sleep, but who was the killer? And who had seen him go into Devil’s Spinney this morning?
Ralph woke heavy-eyed next morning. He stripped, shaved and washed in the ice-cold water brought up from the butts outside the tower. He went across to the chapel and arrived just in time for the early morning Mass. Afterwards he found Beardsmore and six archers waiting for him in the great hall, breaking their fast. The sergeant-at-arms gestured at the platter of cheese and bread.
‘Eat quickly,’ he urged. ‘We have business in Maldon. I don’t want any whispers creeping out.’
Ralph sat opposite the sergeant-at-arms and quaffed the ale but left the cheese and bread as his stomach felt unsettled.
Beardsmore looked at him closely. ‘What do you think of last night, sir?’ he asked as the archers left to prepare their mounts.
Ralph held the soldier’s gaze. He trusted Father Aylred. Could he trust this man?
‘We have a common bond,’ Beardsmore insisted. ‘We have both lost someone we love and we both know it was murder.’
Ralph stretched his hand out. Beardsmore looked surprised but clasped it.
‘I trust you, sir,’ Ralph said quietly, ‘though God knows why. When we have finished this business in Maldon, I must have words with you.’