The Treason of the Ghosts

of
that.’
    ‘In
fact,’ Ranulf quipped, ‘mask or not, any country wench would take one look at
you and flee for her life.’
    ‘I
can’t help my eye.’ Chanson coloured. ‘It’s the way I was born!’
    ‘I
was only joking.’ Ranulf patted him on the shoulder. ‘But think, Chanson.
You’re the horseman. I’ll tell you what.’ Ranulf pointed across to the Golden
Fleece. ‘You solve the riddle and I’ll buy you the juiciest pie and a tankard
which froths and glitters as if it is full of angel mead.’
    Chanson
wetted his lips. ‘You’ll keep your word?’
    Ranulf
lifted his left hand. ‘As your horse has a tail.’
    Chanson
climbed back into the saddle, gathered the reins and stared hungrily around.
Then, digging his heels in gently, he rode to where Peddlicott the pickpocket
dozed quietly in the stocks. The groom dismounted, took the water bottle off
the horn of his saddle and held it to the grateful man’s lips.
    ‘Listen,’
he said, opening his wallet. He took out a piece of dried meat and gave it to
the astonished pickpocket to gnaw on. ‘Give me the name of a tavern wench.’ He
gestured at the Golden Fleece.
    ‘Try
Matthew’s daughter, Adela. She’s buxom enough.’
    Chanson
thanked him, left his horse and walked back to Ranulf.
    ‘So,
you say I am ugly, Master Ranulf?’
    ‘Well,
not in so many words,’ Ranulf laughed, ‘but I’ve seen prettier gargoyles.’
    ‘A
tankard, a pie and a silver piece,’ Chanson threatened.
    ‘For what?’
    ‘That I can bring a comely wench out from the tavern.’
    ‘But
they already know you,’ Ranulf retorted.
    ‘No,
they don’t. They have seen only you, Lord High-and-Mighty, and Sir Hugh
Corbett.’
    ‘Wager
accepted.’
    ‘On
second thoughts,’ Chanson came back, ‘two silver pieces.’
    Ranulf
shrugged in agreement. Chanson, full of righteous anger, disappeared through
the doorway of the Golden Fleece. Ranulf, ignoring Peddlicott’s cry for more
salty bacon and a dish of water, stood bemused. Chanson knew everything about
horses but his fear of the fairer sex made him quite hopeless with women and
they were as frightened of him.
    ‘I
know what he’s going to do,’ Ranulf murmured. ‘He’s going to sing. They’ll hear
a few notes and that tavern will empty as if the rushes have caught alight.’
    He
was about to walk across and have words with Peddlicott when, to his amazement,
the tavern door swung open: out sauntered Chanson holding a young, red-haired
woman by the hand. They walked across the cobbles like a love swain and his
doxy. The girl had a pretty, cheeky face, snub nose and an insolent mouth. She
looked at Ranulf from head to toe.
    ‘Well,
yes, I know you. What’s this?’ She let go of Chanson’s hand and rubbed her
arms. ‘It’s cold, I’ve got jobs to do. You promised me
a piece of silver.’
    Ranulf
looked at Chanson’s triumphant smile, sighed, opened his wallet and handed
across a piece. The wench grabbed it, giggled and fled back to the tavern.
    ‘And the other piece?’ Chanson demanded. ‘I’m also tired
of standing here.’
    Ranulf
reluctantly tossed it across.
    ‘You
should thank yourself,’ Chanson smiled. ‘Remember what you told me about the
girl Johanna? No country wench can resist a piece of silver.’
    ‘What
did you do?’ Ranulf demanded.
    ‘I
went into the tavern and called Adela. She sauntered over, pert as a robin. “You’re
Adela ?“ I asked. “Why ?“ she
replied. “There’s someone out there who wants to give you a silver piece .“ ‘ Chanson shrugged. ‘She almost
pushed me out of the door.’
    ‘Of course.’ Ranulf closed his eyes. ‘That’s how the Mummer’s Man
might have done it. He wouldn’t approach her. He’d just call out, “Elizabeth
Wheelwright, Johanna Samler, I have good fortune for you !“ ‘ Ranulf opened his eyes and clapped Chanson on the
shoulder. ‘He’d promise to leave a piece in a certain place and so lure them to
their deaths. Can’t you see that, Chanson?’
    ‘I’m
the one who proved it.’
    ‘If
I told any girl in this town,’ Ranulf declared, ‘how there’s a silver piece
lying beneath Devil’s Oak, specially for them, they’d
laugh, they’d be intrigued, but they’d also be curious.’
    ‘And wouldn’t tell anyone else.’
    ‘No,
of course they wouldn’t,’ Ranulf murmured. ‘In a town like Melford people would
kill for a piece of silver. And that’s the truth of it!’



Chapter 8
     
     
    The church of St