eyes that seemed to swear on her immortal soul that she was incapable of betraying any man.
Raffe set a goblet of hot milky posset, well laced with strong wine, on the small table next to Lady Anne. She was slumped sideways in the high-backed chair, her eyes closed, her forehead resting in her hand, but Raffe knew she wasn't sleeping. She would not permit herself to sleep tonight.
'You should drink this, m'lady.'
Steam rose from the goblet, carrying with it the tantalizing aroma of cloves, cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg. Raffe's stomach growled rebelliously, but food would have to wait.
He crossed to the chest from which Elena had eaten and carefully removed the flagon, trencher and beaker that still lay on top. Then he pulled off the white cloth covering the chest, steeling himself before he opened it. The heavy lid swung back with a creak.
Raffe stood looking down at the corpse hunched inside the chest. The body lay curled up on its side, the arms wrapped across its chest. A putrid stench was already rising from it, though Sir Gerard was barely a day dead. Fortunately it was not yet strong enough to penetrate the thick oak wood, but in this heat they could not delay burying him much longer. As if to confirm this, the flies buzzing among the rafters descended like a flock of miniature doves. Crawling over the face of the corpse, they refused this time to be deterred by the mere flapping of a hand.
'You must make the announcement of your son's death tonight, m'lady, in the hall. Tell them we have already washed and prepared the body, so that no one examines it.'
'No!' Anne wailed, 'I need more time.'
Raffe turned away, unable to bear the anguish on her face, but he could not afford to spare her feelings.
'He must be buried tomorrow, m'lady. Leave it another day and the body will start to bloat in the heat. I'll give orders that they're to work through the night to prepare the coffin and the grave.'
Anne raised her head. 'Where?' she demanded savagely. 'Where am I to bury my son? With the church locked, he cannot be laid in the family vault. What would you have me do, bury him under the midden?'
'The prison chamber beneath the undercroft. I went to examine it this morning.'
'The undercroft!' Anne blazed angrily. You think I want my son dumped among the stinking bundles of dried fish and barrels of pickled pork?'
Raffe slammed his great fist against the wall. 'God's teeth, woman, do you think that I. . .' he bellowed, but with a great effort managed to stop himself before he finished his utterance.
The wars had taught him that the men thrown into the hastily dug mass graves were the lucky ones. At least their humiliation was over. The severed heads staring sightless from the ramparts and the rotting corpses of mutilated men dangling from the walls soon taught you that even the meanest burial affords a dignity that is beyond price.
Raffe took a deep breath and tried to speak gently. 'That part of the prison chamber shall be walled up after the coffin is placed there. I'll do it myself. Then Sir Gerard may lay undisturbed until the Interdict is lifted and the coffin can be interred in the church.'
Lady Anne's head sank again into her hand.
'Why . . . why was he taken now?' she whispered.
Raffe turned his face away. Hadn't he screamed that very question into the hell-black heavens all night long, and received no more answer than she had?
'All those months and years when my son was away fighting in the Holy Lands and in Aquitaine I was driven to my knees in prayer a dozen times a day for him. I felt guilty if I laughed or even slept, imagining that Gerard was lying mortally wounded on a battlefield, or being tortured by the barbarous Saracens, or even drowning in the roaring seas, his ship torn apart on the savage rocks of the French coast. And when you and Gerard finally came home, and Gerard swore to me on his knees that he would go to war no more, you cannot imagine the joy and relief I felt. My son would live to see me buried, as it should be.
'What did I do wrong? Did I not show enough gratitude for his safe return? Did I neglect my prayers? Is God punishing me for my presumptuousness in daring to believe that my son was safe? Why