‘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.’
And the attack on Fulk? He closed his eyes. He could imagine the miller’s son being taken to the Salt Tower, up the steps to that shabby chamber. Fulk would be full of himself, eager to get his hands on the silver to buy his silence. A blow to the back of the head would end all that. And this morning, the attack on Beardsmore? Both Theobald and Father Aylred had done military service. Any of the men on the council could load three or four arbalests and fire them. But Eleanora’s death? Whom would she trust?
Ralph put his head in his hands. Where could he start? He recalled the arbalest and the number of quarrels that had been loosed. He should check the armoury. Everyone owned a crossbow, his own stood over in the corner of the room, but four, even five? What about Lady Anne? She was a tall, sinewy woman. She was capable and strong enough for these secret attacks and no stranger to a crossbow. Marisa, too, could not be discounted.
Ralph put on his war belt and left his chamber. He first visited the armoury. The archer guarding the stores shook his head and scratched a weather-beaten cheek.
‘You can see for yourself, Master Clerk, if you want, though Sir John’s already done it. We have the same number of arbalests as we had this time last week. No one has taken either crossbow or bolts.’
‘You are sure?’
‘As I am that I am talking to you, sir. Even if the Constable himself came and asked for four or five crossbows, questions would be asked.’
Ralph then visited Father Aylred in his chamber above the chapel. Despite his warnings, the door was off the latch, the priest was asleep on his bed, a half-filled wine cup beside him. Next he went in search of Theobald whom he found busy in his chamber. Ralph always marvelled at how untidy the physician’s room was. On hooks in the walls hung garish cloths depicting strange symbols which, Theobald had explained, were the signs of the zodiac. An astrolobe stood on a table, dried frogs, toads and rats hung from more hooks. Bottles and jars littered the desk and shelves; manuscripts and documents lay strewn about. The physician was kneeling on the floor sniffing at a jar which gave off a foul odour.
‘You should keep your door locked, Master Vavasour.’
The physician didn’t even bother to turn round.
‘If I am going to die, Master Ralph, I am going to die. Come in.’ He got to his feet, wiping his fingers on his dirty robe. ‘Do you know, you are the only person who comes in here and never complains about the smell. So, what do you want?’
Ralph stared round the chamber. ‘What are these potions and strange odours?’
Theobald sucked on his teeth. ‘You are too young to remember the plague, Ralph, the great pestilence. However, in my journeys, I met a Greek who studied at Montpellier and Salerno.’ He moved to the window and opened a shutter. ‘I lost both my parents, my brothers and my sisters to the plague. All died within a week. I vowed, one day, I’d find a cure.’
‘For the pestilence?’ Ralph exclaimed. ‘Impossible!’
‘That’s what everyone says, except the Greek. He’d studied with the Arabs and claimed the pestilence was carried by the black rat. Remove the dirt, kill the rats and the pestilence would die with them. He also said something else: that if you took milk, let it go sour then mixed it with dried moss you could produce a powder, odiferous and unpalatable but, give it to a plague victim, and he could be cured.’
‘So, why don’t you do it?’ Ralph teased.
‘I have, with varying degress of success. And it set me wondering. Do powders from dead dried things protect the living?’
Ralph moved the astrolobe and sat down on a stool. ‘And have you experimented?’
‘On sick animals, yes. Sometimes they live, sometimes they die. I have to be careful, that’s why I stay at Ravenscroft. It’s easy for someone to point a finger and shout witch or warlock. Sir John Grasse protects me. I’m no witch.’ He pointed to the stark black crucifix pinned to the wall just inside the door. ‘I serve the Lord Jesus in my own way. I fashioned that cross myself from some oak I took out of Devil’s Spinney. It’s a constant reminder to visitors, to reflect before they accuse.’