Nightshade by P. C. Doherty Page A

witless as a pigeon yet be as swift as the wynkin. Appearances do not matter here. Murder nestles like a fledging bird in its nest, growing in strength then, one day, taking sudden flight. This is what is happening, Ranulf. Ancient sins bursting to ripeness, spitting out their poison.’ He paused as Dame Marguerite, followed by her chaplain, slipped back into the solar, closing the door behind them. Corbett could hear Lady Hawisa calling for more lights and lanterns as her husband organised others into searching the demesne. ‘Madam.’ Corbett made to rise, but Dame Marguerite gestured otherwise as she sat in Scrope’s chair, indicating that Master Benedict sit next to her.
    â€˜Sir Hugh, I do not know what is happening,’ she declared breathlessly, ‘but I am sure there is no real danger to us now. I must tell you this.’ She shook one hand free from her voluminous sleeve and leaned closer. Corbett caught the fragrance of her light perfume. ‘My brother is truly a man of blood,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘The Free Brethren may have been heretics, thieves, lechers, whatever he may accuse them of, but to cut them down so ruthlessly, to assume the role of God’s avenging angel …’ She shook her head. ‘I will be swift as a hawk in its swoop, Sir Hugh: one man did survive the massacre at Mordern. In truth, an idiot, a jack of the woods, a madcap; he saw what happened.’
    â€˜Who?’ Ranulf interrupted.
    â€˜Jackanapes, an orphan, weak in wits but blunt in tongue,’
Dame Marguerite whispered, glancing fearfully at the door. ‘He dresses like a buffoon and lives off the charity of the manor and the likes of St Frideswide. You must meet him.’
    Corbett recalled the jerking, ragged-haired beggar man who had greeted them as they passed through Mistleham.
    â€˜He saw what happened?’
    â€˜Yes. He’d gone there early in the morning before the attack was launched to beg for food.’
    â€˜How did he escape?’ Ranulf asked. ‘Hounds were used.’
    Dame Marguerite turned to Master Benedict.
    â€˜Jackanapes is fey and witless,’ the chaplain declared. ‘He comes down to St Frideswide to beg, that is how I found out what happened. He gabbles and babbles. Jackanapes does not like to sleep in any enclosed space but out beneath a bush or under a tree. He calls such places his windswept castles of the greenwood. He was there when the Free Brethren were massacred. He was nestling high in a tree.’
    â€˜Which is why he escaped the dogs?’
    â€˜I would say so,’ the chaplain replied. ‘He told me little except that the felon, John Le Riche, stayed in Mordern for a while, sheltered by the Free Brethren.’
    â€˜Are you sure?’ Corbett asked.
    â€˜As God created Sundays,’ the chaplain replied, ‘that is what Jackanapes told me. And something else: Le Riche was hanged on a Friday in November just after dawn and left dangling there; within the hour, so we understand, his corpse had vanished and has never been seen since.’
    Corbett glanced at Dame Marguerite, who shrugged.
    â€˜Did he truly die?’ Ranulf asked. ‘It has been known in London
for a condemned man to bribe the hangman.’ He gestured with his fingers. ‘A leather collar around the neck and throat, the knot placed differently, painful, but the condemned doesn’t choke. You were there, sir, when Le Riche was hanged?’
    â€˜Of course.’ Master Benedict closed his eyes. ‘He was wearing a long tattered gown, but yes, a high collar. However, he was listless and quiet. He was hoisted up the ladder and quickly turned off. He jerked for a while and then hung soundly, just swinging. The light was grey, morning was breaking. It was bitingly cold. Demons of ice battered our fingers and noses. We all turned and went our ways. I remember the execution cart crashing and slithering on the ice behind