The Treason of the Ghosts

sweet-smelling place. He was particularly
intrigued by this large four-poster bed with its ornate tester and curtains of
mulberry-coloured wool.
    ‘You’d
think it was a bridal chamber,’ he murmured. ‘Certainly
comfortable; even rugs on the floor.’
    ‘At
least our taverner knows how to treat a royal clerk,’ Ranulf laughed.
    ‘I
am that tired,’ Corbett replied, ‘I’d sleep in a pigsty. Don’t be too hard on
the good citizens of Melford: they are frightened.’
    He
watched the capped brazier in the corner, its coals glowing through the narrow
slits. Every so often he would catch the flavour of spring from the herbs
sprinkled there. Corbett had not demanded such luxury but he was appreciative
of it.
    ‘Nothing
like a well-aimed kick, is there, Master?’
    ‘Repton
was a fool, yet I couldn’t let it pass. Well, I know what you found and you now
know what I’ve learnt.’
    They’d
spent at least an hour exchanging information. Corbett was particularly
intrigued at how Ranulf’s story about the Mummer’s Man corroborated what Sorrel
had told him.
    ‘Oh,
what was that information from Westminster ?’
Ranulf asked.
    ‘A record of the trial from the court of King’s Bench. The
rest was a little research I’d organised. Never once,’
Corbett waved a hand, ‘was Sir Roger, whilst serving with the King’s
forces in many places, ever accused of attacking or raping women. As you know,
when troops are in hostile country those who love to abuse women seize such
opportunities with relish. I’ve seen at least five or six hanged in Wales for rape
and abduction.’
    ‘What
do you mean, relish?’ Chanson asked.
    ‘When
we return to London ,
Chanson, Ranulf may take you down to the stews of Southwark, introduce you to
some of his lady friends.’
    ‘You
mean whores? Ranulf’s talked about them.’
    ‘No
woman is a whore!’ Ranulf snapped. ‘I call them my ladies of the night. A
prettier bunch of damsels you’ve never clapped eyes on.’
    ‘You
should talk to them,’ Corbett continued. ‘They will tell you about a certain
type of man who can only enjoy intercourse after he has beaten a woman. The
ladies of the night make them pay for such a privilege. Last Michaelmas we
entertained Monsieur de Craon, the French envoy. When he’s not busy plotting
for his master, Philip of France, or trying to steal secrets or kill our spies,
de Craon is used, like I am, to track down killers. He mentioned a particular
case near the royal hunting lodge of Fontainebleau .
About two summers ago, young women were attacked, raped and murdered. De Craon
eventually caught the killer and watched him broken on the wheel at Montfaucon.
He was fascinated by how the man enjoyed what he did. De Craon described him as
an animal; a human wolf, who liked to prey: he enjoyed the violence more than
the kill.’
    ‘And
this is what we have in Melford?’
    ‘Yes,
Ranulf, but I can’t make sense of anything we have learnt.’ Corbett leant
forward. ‘Let me tell you a story.’
    Chanson
drew nearer and sat cross-legged next to Ranulf.
    ‘Once
upon a time,’ Corbett smiled at his companions, ‘we have the King’s market town
of Melford, a very prosperous place where crops are no longer sown but the
fields are grassed over. Sheep are raised and the wool is sold for a fat
profit. You’ve seen the effects of this: good, stout buildings, a tavern like
the Golden Fleece, Guildhall, shops, luxury items, brought in from the
merchants of London .
Now all is pleasant in this little Eden until five years ago...’
    ‘So,
who came here five years ago?’ Ranulf asked.
    ‘I’ve
scrutinised that,’ Corbett replied. ‘No one did. Most of the characters we are
dealing with, including the Chapeleys, have been here at least ten years, as
have the vicar, his curate and Burghesh, Molkyn the miller and so on. However,
I know what you’re implying. The first murder took place five years ago but,
according to Sorrel, there have been others: the womenfolk of traders, chapmen,
tinkers, Moon People. The latter now avoid this place like the plague.
However,’ Corbett continued, ‘five years ago, in the space of a few months,
three townswomen were attacked, raped and garrotted; their corpses found in
different parts of the countryside. Now you have seen this town, it lacks walls
and gates. An army could slip in and out and not be noticed. I have ridden
around it: at one time you are in a busy, prosperous market town, the next
lonely