The Crowfield Demon Page 2

  At the eastern edge of the forest, the track sloped down the side of a hill into a wide valley, in the middle of which lay Weforde, surrounded by its three large fields.

  The track cut across the West Field. Ruts and holes had been filled in with gravel, and the ground here was drier. The field strips were different shades of green and brown, as the wheat sown last autumn grew between strips of fallow ground. Three young village boys charged up and down the grassy humps of the plow headlands, yelling and laughing as they scared the crows and pigeons from the fields with slingshots. William smiled and remembered when he had done the same thing at home in Iwele. It seemed like a very long time ago now.

  Wednesday was market day in Weforde, though it was too early in the year for many traders to be there. The few who were had arrived before dawn, and by now had begun to pack up for the day. Several animal pens put together from wattle hurdles bordered the edge of the green, but the buying and selling of livestock was finished, and the pens were empty.

  William liked Weforde market; he loved the bustle and the friendliness of the place. It was the only time he had the chance to mix with ordinary people and talk about everyday things. Best of all, there was always music. The two le Wyt brothers from Yagleah were usually there, playing the recorder and a pair of small drums, while Adam Shirford, the son of Sir Robert’s reeve, would play his hurdy-gurdy and sing. People danced to the faster tunes, especially if they had spent a couple of hours in the alehouse first. They clapped along in time with the music or sang the often bawdy songs. William, keenly aware of Brother Gabriel’s disapproval of such revelry, never joined in. Sometimes his body ached with the effort of not clapping or stamping to the beat of a lively tune, but he knew he would be punished for such ungodly behavior by Prior Ardo if ever he did so.

  Today, someone was playing a flute, but it wasn’t Adam or either of the le Wyt brothers. They were good, but this musician was so much better. William crossed the green to join a small crowd and listen for a few minutes. He didn’t recognize the song, but the rippling notes set his toes tapping and hands clapping in time. For the past three months, Shadlok had been teaching him to play the flute Jacobus Bone had left him. He had a natural ability, and Shadlok was pleased with his rapid progress. But he had a long way to go before he played with such skill. If I ever learn to play like this, William thought, I will die happy.

  The people in front of William moved, and he caught a glimpse of the musician. William had never seen him before. The youth was maybe a year or two older than he was. His face was thin and freckled, and his greenish-brown eyes were deep-set and shadowed. His hair hung over his shoulders in damp red rats’ tails. He finished the tune and smiled at the applause of the people around him. A handful of coins were thrown into the woollen hat at his feet, and the crowd moved away. To William’s surprise, the boy did not even glance at the money.

  “What were you playing?” William asked, stepping forward. “I’ve never heard it before.”

  The boy grinned at him. “I made it up myself. Did you like it?”

  “It was very good,” William said. “Very good.” The exciting thought occurred to him that perhaps one day he, too, would be able to make up his own music.

  “People always want me to play old familiar tunes, dances and carols they’ve grown up listening to, but I like to play a song or two of my own.” The boy began to clean the inside of his flute with a rag on the end of a stick and glanced up with a smile. “Can you tell me the way to Yagleah? Someone mentioned that Yagleah is not far from Weforde, and I thought I would try my luck there.”

  “That way,” William said, pointing toward the West Field, just visible between the village houses. “Follow the track through the forest and past Crowfield Abbey. It’s about two hours’ walk.”

  It might have been his imagination, but William thought he saw an odd flicker in the boy’s eyes when he mentioned the abbey.

  “Do you live in Weforde?” the boy asked, putting the flute into a linen bag and pulling the drawstring tight.

  William shook his head. “I live at the abbey.”

  The boy’s smile widened. His face was open and friendly, and William smiled back. It wasn’t often he had the chance to speak to someone of his own age.

  “So you will be walking home through the forest later?” the boy asked.

  “Yes, but I have a message to give to Sir Robert at the manor first.”

  “Then maybe we could walk together?” the boy asked hopefully.

  “All right, yes,” William said with a quick smile. He did not have to face the journey home alone. It would be very good indeed to have company on the road.

  The boy nodded and seemed pleased. “Good. It’s always safer to travel in numbers, even if that number is only two. My name is Robin, by the way.”

  “I’m William Paynel. Where will I meet you?”

  “I will be right here,” Robin said. He tucked the flute into the leather bag by his feet and folded his arms around his thin body. “Take your time. I will wait.”

  As William sprinted across the green and along the lane toward the manor house, his spirits soared. It seemed he had made a friend today. What made it even better was that Robin was a musician, and a fine one at that. They shared a common interest, which was a rare thing in his life these days.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  The village road led up to the gates of Sir Robert’s demesne farm. A ditch and thorn hedge enclosed the barns, sheds, and cattle yards. A track led to a timber gatehouse set into a high stone wall. Beyond it stood Sir Robert’s manor house.

  “Hoi! You!” someone called. William looked around and saw Edmund Maudit, the bailiff of the manor, standing in the doorway of a cart shed. He was a short, stout man whose face seemed to be set in a permanent scowl. William had seen him around the village but had never spoken to him. “What are you doing here, boy?”

  “I have a message for Sir Robert from Prior Ardo at Crowfield Abbey.”

  The bailiff walked over to him. “And what would that message be?”

  “The prior wants one of Sir Robert’s stonemasons to come and look at the wall of the church. He thinks it’s in danger of falling down.”

  Master Maudit looked a little startled by this. He wiped his grimy hands on his tunic and rolled down his sleeves. “Well, we’d better go and see what’s to be done about that. Come with me and remember your manners in front of Sir Robert.”

  William noticed the wary looks from people working around the farm as Master Maudit passed by. It was clear that they had a healthy respect for their bailiff.

  “Gate!” Master Maudit yelled as they approached the gatehouse. William heard someone scrabbling around on the other side, and the heavy timber gate swung open. A young boy ducked his head to the bailiff as he strode by, but Master Maudit took no notice of him. Sir Robert’s hunting dogs barked wildly as they passed the fenced run beside their kennel, making William jump.

  Weforde manor house was a two-story stone building with a tiled roof. There was a garden beside the house, a little maze of low turf walls and wooden archways over which the rambling stems of roses had been twisted and tied in. An ancient mulberry tree grew in the middle of the garden, its sprawling boughs propped up with wooden staves.

  William followed the bailiff around the end of the house, past the garden, and through a gateway into a cobbled yard that was surrounded on two sides by the stables, several storerooms, and a barn. The manor house and a large, newly built wing formed the remaining sides of the yard. Glancing back at him, the bailiff said, “Wait here.”

  The new building looked very different from the old part of the house. The two upper-floor windows were tall and arched, reminding William of the ones at the abbey. The walls were lighter in color, and the stones were smaller and more carefully shaped. The roof was covered in red, fired clay tiles. It looked odd and out of place against the sturdy old manor house.

  There were several men in the yard. William gues
sed they were the stonemasons. They wore leather aprons, and the tools laid out on trestle tables in an open-fronted shed were not quite like any he had seen before. There was a pile of stone at the far end of the yard and a stack of long, thin timbers nearby. The cobbles were white with stone dust and the puddles looked like spilled milk. The stonemasons took no notice of William but went about their work in silence.

  A few minutes later the bailiff returned. “Sir Robert will see you. Wipe your boots over there before you come in,” he said, pointing to a patch of grass near the gateway. William did as he was told while Master Maudit waited for him with obvious impatience. When he’d scraped off the worst of the mud, William hurried across the yard and followed the bailiff into the house.

  A wooden staircase led up to a doorway that had been hacked through the thick wall of the older building. The door stood ajar. The bailiff knocked and pushed it open.

  “This is the boy from the abbey, my lord,” he said. He grabbed William’s sleeve and pulled him forward. A man stood by the huge fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. He was about William’s height, slight of build and probably in his late forties. He had a thin, clean-shaven face beneath closely cropped gray hair and an unmistakable air of authority.

  “Come into the light, where I can see you properly.”

  William walked farther into the room and stood there awkwardly. The wooden floorboards were not covered with straw or rushes, but with brilliantly colored and patterned pieces of cloth. They didn’t look as if they’d been woven or embroidered, and the surface of the fabric had a glossy sheen. He wondered why anyone would put such beautiful things on the floor for people to walk on. The toes of his boots just touched the edge of one, and he took a hasty step backward.

  “What’s your name?”

  “William Paynel, my lord,” he said, ducking his head in a quick bow.

  “My bailiff tells me the abbey church is about to fall down, William. Is that so?”

  “I . . . I don’t know for sure. There’s a crack in the chancel wall, and the ground on that side of the church is underwater. Prior Ardo is worried that the wall might collapse. He asked if you could spare a stonemason to come and look at it.”

  Sir Robert turned to the bailiff. “Fetch Master Guillaume.”

  The bailiff nodded and left the room.

  “How long have you lived at the abbey?” Sir Robert asked, after regarding William in silence for several moments.

  “Since the summer before last.”

  “So you met Master Bone and his manservant last winter?”

  William looked at the man warily. Of all the things Sir Robert could have asked him, this was the most unexpected. “Yes, my lord,” he said cautiously.

  “I was told that the manservant, Shadlok, stayed at the abbey after Master Bone’s death. Is that so?”

  “Yes.” Why was Sir Robert interested in Shadlok?

  Sir Robert was quiet for some moments. “How does he fit in there? Amongst the holy brothers?”

  “Well enough, my lord,” William said. He was feeling more uncomfortable by the moment.

  “I would have said he had little in common with them.” The sharp gray eyes watched him closely.

  William twisted his hands together behind his back and said nothing. Did Sir Robert somehow know that Shadlok was a fay? Did he suspect that William knew it, too?

  Sir Robert walked over to a window and folded his arms. He looked down at the courtyard behind the house and seemed to be lost in his thoughts. His dark tunic was somber, but even William could tell that the cloth was of the finest quality. There was a heavy silver buckle on his belt and he wore a gold ring on one finger. And he was clean, William noticed, from his carefully cut fingernails to his soft calfskin boots.

  William glanced surreptitiously around the room. He had never dreamed that such luxury existed. More of the vividly colored cloths hung on the walls, showing people on horseback hunting in forest glades. There were tables and chairs, chests and two large cupboards, all richly carved and gleaming in the light from the four narrow, arched windows. There was a closed door in the end wall, half hidden behind the folds of a wall cloth. On either side of the window embrasures there were seats piled with embroidered cushions, and a richly decorated candlestick, as tall as a man and made of silver, stood beside the huge fireplace.

  What would it be like to live in such a house? William wondered. To look out of the window and know that everything you saw belonged to you?

  Something caught William’s eye and he gasped in surprise. On a table lay Jacobus Bone’s lute. Sir Robert turned at the sound. He saw what William was looking at and frowned slightly.

  “You recognize it?”

  “It belonged to Master Bone,” William said hesitantly. And he left it to me when he died, he added silently. It is rightfully mine.

  Sir Robert walked over to the table and picked up the lute. He held it for a moment, his fingers spread over the strings, and then he began to pick out a tune with his thumb and forefinger.

  William held his breath. His heart seemed to swell inside his chest as he listened to the music. The sound was as perfect as he had known it would be.

  Sir Robert finished the tune and laid the lute carefully back down on the table. “A fine instrument,” he said softly, his fingers gently stroking the golden wood.

  The hollow thump of footsteps sounded on the staircase outside the door, and the bailiff came into the room, closely followed by a tall, well-built man with sun-browned skin. The mason wore a leather apron, and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing muscular forearms covered with thick black hair. He pulled off his woollen hat and stood in the doorway. There was a look of distaste on Sir Robert’s face as his gaze flickered down to the mason’s boots, caked with mud and stone dust.

  William barely listened as Sir Robert explained the situation to Master Guillaume and arranged for the mason to visit the abbey the following day. Instead, he stared at the lute and remembered the sound it had made. He was filled with a strange hunger, an urge to grab it and run. It was a sin to covet another man’s possessions, but sin or no sin, it should have been his. He glanced up at Sir Robert with a frown. The lord of Weforde was a wealthy man with so many fine and valuable possessions already. Why should he have the lute as well, simply because he had money to buy it?

  “Tell Prior Ardo that my master mason will be there first thing in the morning,” Sir Robert said, glancing at William. He turned his attention to a sheet of parchment on the table beside him and ignored the bowed heads of William and the two men.

  The bailiff nudged William in the back and pushed him toward the doorway. William hurried down the staircase behind Master Guillaume. He stepped out into the yard and glanced up with a weary sigh. It had begun to rain again.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  When William reached the green, Robin wasn’t there. He looked around in dismay, but he couldn’t see the red-haired boy anywhere. With the market over and the rain falling steadily, there were few people about. William pulled up his hood and trudged across the muddy green, past the empty pinfold, and onto the lane through the village.

  The breeze was picking up. It drove the low gray clouds across the sky and set the rain hard at William’s back. As he passed the houses along the lane, he could hear the sounds of busy lives going on inside: voices, laughter, shouting, dogs barking. He could smell food cooking. In one small hut, someone was singing. In the crofts behind the houses, he glimpsed chickens and pigs sheltering from the rain. Only the geese and ducks around the pond on the green seemed to like the weather. William’s spirits sank lower by the minute. It seemed as if everyone was safe and warm indoors, while he still had the long and lonely walk through Foxwist ahead of him.

  William wasn’t paying attention to where he was putting his feet and stepped into a deep puddle. Cold muddy water swamped one boot. Cursing under his breath, he pulled off his boot to tip out the water. His stocking was dripping. Much more of this an
d I’ll grow webbed feet and start to quack, William thought, as he tried to wring out the saturated foot of his hose. He put his boot on and set off again, trying to ignore his chilly discomfort as he squelched along.

  William reached the plank bridge over the ditch between the village and the West Field. The village boys were still running about, their voices shrill and distant. He watched them with envy. It was a long time since he had felt that carefree.

  He saw a figure up ahead, walking quickly toward the village from the direction of the forest, head down against the rain. Clinging to its shoulder was a white crow, dipping and swaying with each hurried step. It was Dame Alys and Fionn, William realized. The thought of meeting the wise woman on this lonely stretch of track was not a comfortable one, but she turned off onto a path skirting the West Field, heading for Weforde mill.

  Dame Alys noticed William and came to a sudden halt, leaning heavily on her walking stick. She was too far away for him to see her face clearly, but he felt the sharp stab of her stare. The crow fell forward into a wide-winged swoop, landing with a boun carrying a sack. The rough cloth and the hand gripping the neck of the sack were covered with something dark. It might have been mud, but it was hard to tell at this distance.

  William jumped when someone put a hand on his arm. He turned and was surprised to see Robin. He hadn’t heard the boy approach. He glanced back at Dame Alys, but the woman had turned away and was now walking quickly toward the mill, poling herself along with her stick. The sack was hidden by the folds of her cloak. Fionn flew on ahead, a glimmer of white against the gray sky.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t waiting for you,” Robin said with a smile. His woollen hat was rolled up and tucked into his belt, and his wet hair hung clung to his neck. He wasn’t wearing a cloak and the shoulders and back of his tunic were soaked, but he didn’t seem to care. “I went to the alehouse to buy this.” He opened his battered old leather bag and took out a small loaf of maslin bread. It had been pulled apart and a thick slice of cheese stuffed inside. He tore it in half and offered a piece to William.