The Treason of the Ghosts

that why she
left? Went out into the countryside? No, no,’ Ranulf smiled. He stroked her
cheek with a gloved finger. ‘Johanna was a good girl but there’s not much
money, is there? And the tinkers and the chapmen sell such pretty things: a
ribbon, a brooch, a bracelet, perhaps a necklace of stones, all polished
bright? So, are you going to tell me?’
    Isabella
looked at the coin and licked her lips.
    ‘My
sister had no such coin.’
    ‘Then
whom did she meet?’
    ‘I
don’t know. Perhaps an admirer, perhaps the Mummer’s Man.’
    ‘Mummer’s Man?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘It’s
someone I’ve heard of.’
    ‘You’re
telling tales?’
    ‘I don’t
think so.’ Isabella stared at the coin. ‘I met a travelling girl once. She
claimed to have seen a Mummer’s Man. He had a mask over his face and his horse moved like a ghost along the lanes
outside Melford.’
    Ranulf
recalled the lonely country trackways they had ridden along on their way to
Melford. He felt a prick of fear at this hideous vision of a masked man riding
a silent horse.
    ‘I
tell you, sir,’ she clutched the front of Ranulf’s jerkin, ‘that’s all I know.’
    ‘Nothing else? This travelling girl?’
    ‘It
was dusk. She couldn’t see much. I didn’t think much of her tale till after my
sister’s death. I daren’t tell anyone; I was frightened of getting into
trouble.’
    Ranulf
pressed the coin into her hands. ‘Then you’d best get back.’
    She
took the coin.
    Ranulf
grasped her wrist. ‘Don’t go out in the country lanes, and be careful of the
Mummer’s Man!’
    He
released her and she ran off into the darkness.
    ‘What
was all that about?’ Chanson came back leading the horses. ‘Ranulf, I’m tired
and I’m cold. Despite what Samler gave us, my belly thinks my throat’s slit. My
mouth is so dry it’s forgotten how to drink. Where’s Sir Hugh?’
    ‘Oh,
old Master Long Face.’ Ranulf took the reins of his horse. ‘He’ll be riding
round the dark lanes, high in the saddle, cowl pulled across his head. He’ll be
thinking. He broods a lot, does Sir Hugh, turning things over and over in his
mind like a water mill. Oh, he’ll come back and he’ll sit in his chamber
staring out of the window, moody and quiet.’
    ‘Is
he safe?’ Chanson asked. ‘I mean, the Lady Maeve told him to be careful.’
    ‘He
was attacked in Oxford ,’
Ranulf replied. ‘Took an arrow high in the chest but the King’s physicians
healed him.’
    ‘Does
he love the Lady Maeve? Is that what he is thinking about?’
    They
reached the end of the alleyway. Ranulf stared across at the poor unfortunate
clasped in the stocks. The marketplace was empty, the rubbish had been cleared.
Only the occasional flitting shadows: people walking towards the light of the
Golden Fleece. Now and again a door slammed, the cry of a child, a dog yapping
in its kennels, all the sounds of the night.
    ‘Sir
Hugh is a man of great order,’ Ranulf declared. ‘You serve me, Chanson. Serve
me well and, one day, you may become a clerk like I am.’
    Chanson
quietened the horse, stroking its muzzle.
    ‘Could
I really become a clerk, Master Ranulf?’
    ‘Oh
yes, there are clerks of the stables, powerful men they are, in charge of the
King’s horses. Anyway, I am describing to you the way things are ordered. I am
a clerk of the Chancery of the Green Wax, next up the
rung is Baby Edward and Sir Hugh Corbett’s daughter, Eleanor.’
    ‘And after that?’ Chanson asked. ‘Sir Hugh?’
    ‘Yes,
Sir Hugh, then the King, then God.’ He grinned at Chanson. ‘And, right at the
top, the Lady Maeve.’
    Chanson
looked narrow-eyed but the smile had gone from Ranulf’s lean face. In truth,
the groom knew he wasn’t joking. Ranulf was frightened of no one, Chanson deeply admired him for that. A true bullyboy, Ranulf would swagger into
a tavern, the girls would smile and Ranulf would take out his loaded dice and
invite all comers. He was quick as a cat, slightly mocking of Sir Hugh. Ranulf,
however, stood in dreadful awe of the Lady Maeve even though she was only small
and her golden hair framed a face which reminded Chanson of a painting of an
angel in the ancient church. Once in his cups Ranulf had confessed how Lady
Maeve’s eyes frightened him.
    ‘Light
blue they are,’ he’d slurred. ‘Quick and sharp, they miss nothing. Have you
ever heard the phrase, “steel in velvet“?’ Ranulf had leant back. ‘That’s our
Lady Maeve. I even think old Master Long Face