Free HAUNT OF MURDER, A by P. C. Doherty Page A

eternal, it is like that of a loving mother. God wants that love returned, freely, without hindrance.’ Antony got to his feet and helped her up. ‘He loves you, Beatrice, but you have to decide. Remember the words of scripture: “You cannot have two masters.’”
    ‘But I haven’t seen God. I am here by myself.’
    ‘No, you are not, Beatrice. You are not alone. And you do
see God. You see Him in the faces of those around you.’ He held both her hands and drew her close.
    Beatrice felt strange; she was out on this bronze-coloured heath, the castle behind her, those eerie shapes scurrying across the sky above her. She only wished Ralph was here, not this strange young man. If Ralph were here she could travel on. If Ralph died, they’d be together. As that strange thought began to turn and twist, she saw the sad look in Antony’s eyes.
    ‘Don’t think that, Beatrice,’ he whispered. ‘The lover always wishes the best for the loved.’
    Beatrice glanced away.
    ‘Remember what I have said. Remember the warnings I have given you. Let me tell you something else. As you travel this world, as you cross from one existence to another, be careful of those who seem to be angels of light.’
    ‘How will I know the difference?’
    ‘How do you know an apple tree?’ He countered, and answered his own riddle. ‘By the fruit it bears.’
    Beatrice started at the terrible howling of a dog, followed by terrible cries from Devil’s Spinney.
    ‘I must go.’ Antony smiled. ‘But I shall return. I shall watch you, Beatrice, and, when I can, I will help. But in the end all decisions must be yours.’ He passed a hand over his face, gently stretched forward and patted her cheek. His eyes were sad. ‘You have so much light in you, so much power. Don’t let it be turned. Beware. Crispin and Clothilde are what they are but, in your travels, be most careful of the Minstrel Man.’
    ‘The Minstrel Man?’
    ‘You will meet him.’ Antony was now moving away.
    ‘The Minstrel Man?’
    ‘That’s what he calls himself,’ Antony replied. ‘He knows you are here, Beatrice, and he’ll come looking for you. You are a great prize. You are not as lonely as you think. Farewell, Beatrice!’
    The silver disc of light appeared between them and Antony was gone.

    Beatrice rose and walked towards Devil’s Spinney. She went into the trees, moving without effort through the undergrowth; the brambles and weeds proved no hindrance. At last she found herself in the grove, a small glade in the centre, fringed by seven great oaks. She had been here on many occasions with Ralph; they’d lie in the soft grass and plan their future lives. Beatrice again felt that terrible surge of rage like a tongue of fire through her whole being. She crouched down, stared across the glade and blinked. She was not alone.
    Men, old and grizzled, grey beards reaching down beneath their stomachs, their heads garlanded with wreaths, stood beneath an oak tree. They were garbed from head to toe in dirty white robes. They carried sickle-shaped knives and were staring up into the branches. Beatrice felt a chill of fear and started in alarm as a naked body crashed from the branches only to jerk and dangle on the rope tied round its neck. Beatrice stared in disgust. The man was naked except for a loin cloth. He choked and kicked as the ancient priests, following some bloodthirsty ritual, lifted their hands and chanted to the skies. The grisly scene provoked memories of what Ralph had told her about this place. He used to frighten her, in a teasing way, when he described the pagan priests who would meet here to sacrifice victims to their pagan god of the oak.
    Beatrice was watching a phantasm but the horror repelled her. She wished, despite what Antony had said, that Crispin or Clothilde were here.

    Words Between the Pilgrims
    The clerk of Oxford paused in his tale and stared at the faces, tense and watchful in the firelight.
    ‘Would you fill my stoup with ale?’
    The