The Treason of the Ghosts

the moorlands or even in someone’s garden.
Melford is a prosperous place,’ he continued. ‘Think of the young girls from Norwich and Ipswich , the
Moon People and the travellers. A woman sickens and dies of the fever or, frail
with age, suffers an accident. What do these people do? They leave the
trackway. They don’t go very far but dig a shallow grave, place the woman’s
corpse there in some lonely copse or wood. A skeleton does not mean a murder,’
he concluded. ‘We don’t even know when this poor woman died. Do you still have
the ring?’
    She
shook her head. ‘I traded it with a pedlar for needles and thread.’
    Corbett
examined the bracelet. ‘It’s certainly copper, the
damp earth has turned it green.’ He held it up against the flame. ‘But I would
say...’
    ‘What,
clerk?’
    Corbett
took out his dagger and tapped it against the bracelet.
    ‘It’s
not pure copper,’ he confirmed. ‘But some cheap tawdry
ornament. The same probably goes for the clothes and the girdle.’
    He
crouched down beside the skeleton and examined it carefully. Sorrel was
correct. None of the ribs was broken, nor could Corbett detect any fracture of
the skull, arms or legs. He examined the chest, the line of the spine: no mark
or contusion.
    ‘The
effects of the garrotte string,’ he murmured, ‘would disappear with decay. How
many more of these graves did you say?’
    ‘Two
more and the bodies are no less decayed than this.’
    Corbett,
mystified, replaced the bracelet. He rearranged the bones back on to the board,
covered them with the cloth and slid them back into the recess. Sorrel replaced
the bricks; Corbett helped her. He tried to recall his conversations with his
friend, a physician at St Bartholomew’s Hospital in London .
    ‘You
found no string? Nothing round the throat?’ he asked.
    ‘No,
I didn’t.’
    Corbett
was about to continue his questioning when he heard a sound. He got to his feet
and moved to the window.
    ‘You
have sharp ears, clerk.’ Sorrel remained composed.
    ‘I thought
I heard a horse or pony, a rider...’
    ‘I
told you, someone I wished you to meet,’ she explained.
    Corbett,
one hand on his dagger, stood by the window. He heard the jingle of a harness.
Whoever had arrived had already crossed the bridge. An owl hooted but the sound
came from below. Sorrel went to the window and imitated the same call. She
grasped Corbett’s hand.
    ‘Our
visitor has arrived.’
    ‘The Moon People?’
    ‘They
got tired of waiting,’ Sorrel explained. ‘They watch the hours as regularly as
a monk does his office.’
    Corbett
stared up at the night sky. Aye, he reflected, and I watch mine. What time was
it? He had left the church with Sir Louis and Sir Maurice about an hour before
nightfall. It must be at least, he reckoned, three hours before midnight and he
still had other business to do: Molkyn’s widow to speak to for a start! He
heard a sound. Sorrel, holding the sconce torch, was standing in the doorway.
    ‘Come
on!’ she urged.
    They
reached the cobbled yard. Sorrel’s visitor was standing in the middle. Corbett
made out his shadowy outline.
    ‘I
stood here deliberately.’ The voice had a strong country burr. Corbett
recognised the tongue of the south-west. ‘I didn’t want to startle you.’
    The
man stepped into the pool of light. He was tall. Raven-black hair, parted down
the middle, fell to his shoulders; sharp eyes like a bird, crooked nose, his
mouth and chin hidden by a black bushy moustache and beard. He was
swarthy-skinned and Corbett glimpsed the silver earrings in each earlobe. He
smelt of wood smoke and tanned leather. The stranger was dressed from head to
toe in animal skins: the jacket sleeves were of leather, the front being of
mole’s fur, with leggings of tanned deerskin pushed into sturdy black boots. He
wore a war belt which carried a stabbing dirk and a dagger. Bracelets winked at
his wrists, rings on his fingers.
    The
stranger studied Corbett from head to toe. ‘So, you’re the King’s clerk?’
    ‘You
should have waited,’ Sorrel accused. ‘I would have brought him.’
    The
man’s gaze held Corbett’s.
    ‘I
did not want to meet him,’ he replied insolently. ‘I don’t like King’s
officers, I don’t like clerks. I only said I would see him because you asked.
What I’ve got to say isn’t much. You said you’d bring him to see me if you
could.’
    Corbett
glanced at Sorrel and smiled. He was intrigued by how much this woman