The Silent Forest

by Guy Sheppard

  ‘Then they kill it?’ said Sam eagerly.

  ‘Culhwch and Arthur overpower him. Take the razor and shears.’

  ‘So yes, then.’

  ‘Not so fast. The great beast wriggles free. By a miracle it escapes again to Cornwall, where it is caught once more. There, the comb is retrieved at last. After that Twrch Trwyth is driven into the sea and is never seen again.’

  Sam took a deep breath.

  ‘So it is still alive. I knew it.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Sam hesitated. There was a sudden thundering in his head. His ears sang. His nostrils whistled. He sensed all the power and panic of an immortal beast on the run. Then, despite the catch in his voice, he made his confession.

  ‘I think I may have seen it.’

  ‘What’s that? Where?’

  ‘Here, in the Forest.’

  ‘Describe it to me.’

  ‘It’s massive.’

  ‘You kidding me, or what?’

  ‘No,’ said Sam indignantly. ‘I really have seen it, I tell you. Its bristles glow white in the dark. When it moves it weaves its way through the trees like smoke.’

  ‘How many times have you seen it?’

  ‘Twice so far.’

  ‘Hardly conclusive then? It was the Forest mist playing tricks on you.’

  ‘I’ve done a drawing of it.’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘I can’t, I gave it to someone else.’

  ‘Whatever is the matter with you today, Sam? You fret so.’

  But Sam had never told anyone before, not in so many words.

  ‘I’m afraid Twrch Trwyth wants to kill us all.’

  ‘That’s not very likely.’

  ‘It is though, isn’t it? No one saw the boar drown, only vanish from sight a thousand years ago.’

  Jim Wilde frowned. This was not the first time he had registered such intense enthusiasm in his grandson’s eyes. He went back to goading the hellish flames in the fire with the tip of his poker. Once the boy got a passion for something there was no shaking him. It was just like his weird fascination for trains, it came out of the blue. Now he regretted putting the whole idea of a phantom animal into his head. He hadn’t meant to excite this childish curiosity – this fixation.

  ‘That’s not what happened, Sam. I swear the magical boar was never seen to leave the sea again. How else do you think Culhwch married Olwen? They lived happily ever after. You have to forget all about it.’

  ‘Don’t see how I can.’

  ‘This time of year, you must expect to see farmers’ pigs roaming freely in the Forest. They eat the acorns and beechmast.’

  ‘I should tell my dad. He’ll pursue it and kill it.’

  ‘Your father keeps very bad company. Nor was he born in the Dean. Those of us who really love the Forest respect its old ways. That’s because it contains places where humans should rarely go. Many a hidden glade is ‘blessed’ and offers peace to those that would live together in harmony and freedom. Druids once worshipped there and like them we should abide by Nature’s boundaries that guard its secrets.’

  Jim Wilde spoke with a ferocity that filled Sam with awe.

  ‘Maybe we should get that cup of tea, granddad?’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘Perhaps go for a walk later.’

  ‘Is your mother so very unhappy, Sam? You can tell me. It’s all right.’

  ‘Ever since I lit too many prayer candles in Gloucester Cathedral.’

  ‘Seriously? Prayer candles?’

  ‘Oh never mind.’

  ‘I did try to be a good father to her, you know, but Freya turned very wild. She met James Boreman and now I can’t get any sense out of her.’

  ‘If I see the great white hog again I’m going to speak to it.’

  ‘There is no such thing, Sam, believe me. It’s only a figment of your vivid imagination.’

  Jim Wilde’s stern words came with a look that urged great caution: this was to be their own special fancy and it shouldn’t go any further.

  ‘If you say so, granddad.’

  SIXTEEN

  Next time anyone told him, John Curtis, to go on a wild-goose chase they could jolly well do it themselves. He was trying to find his way along a busy basin crowded with ships, lighters and oil barges. That wheezy little steam engine that was shunting trucks past towering brick mills and warehouses had nearly run him over twice already– it had come puffing along North Quay without so much as a whistle. He had not visited here since he had come to marvel at a Royal Navy submarine that had sailed up the Sharpness Canal to promote the War Savings Campaign. Strictly speaking he had no jurisdiction this far from the cathedral close, anyway.

  That hadn’t stopped him marching down to Gloucester docks in his gown and purple cassock. He was particularly proud of the badge that he wore on each sleeve of his gown. Not only did it confer authority but its mitre and cross earned him a ten per cent discount on purchases in certain cafés and gift shops near the minster. For someone whose duties ranged from chalice bearer and doorkeeper to sacristan and gravedigger, he could put on quite a show if he had to in all his regalia.

  He stopped by a coal-carrying narrowboat called ‘Free Spirit’ and tapped on its roof with the silver cap of his Malacca cane. It might not be the posh staff he carried in church processions, a reminder of a time when vergers like him had once walked ahead of their fellow churchmen to clear the streets of animals and vagabonds – but it would have to do today.

  ‘I say, anyone at home?’

  Every single person he had interviewed had said the same thing: Sarah Smith was as nice as pie. She had no enemies. No mysteries. She was an angel. So they’d said. Fine. Here, then, was where he could finally sign off from what had proved to be a stupendous waste of his time, so far.

  Did a hand just hook a curtain in a porthole?

  Something like that.

  There came the increasingly shrill whistle of a kettle coming to the boil.

  No mistake, someone was on board.

  ‘Hello – I’m Gloucester Cathedral verger John Curtis.’

  If he still sounded a bit brisk, that was too bad. A door suddenly flew open at the back of the boat and a young, ash-blonde woman dressed in a close-fitting, mustard yellow jumper looked out from her cabin.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘My name is John…’

  ‘I heard you the first time.’

  ‘You Susie Grossman?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Her hazel-coloured eyes grew wider; her face was round and freckled while from her ears swung two oversized silver hoops that were very bad taste to his eyes but had a certain panache, he supposed.

  He tried his best smile.

  ‘You knew Sarah Smith, I believe?’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘From the Very Reverend Dean Drew. He’s her brother.’

  ‘He was. Now she’s dead. What more do you need to know?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Don’t see how I can.’

  ‘Am I that scary?’ said John and worked the toe of his box calf boot over the edge of the boat’s wooden counter.

  Next minute he was standing in the hatchway.

  ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ asked Susie.

  But John had already pushed past the colourful castle landscapes painted on the cabin’s door, where the first thing to strike him was heat from a stove. If he stretched out both arms at once he could touch the sloping sides of the boat; he bumped gleaming brass lamps and horseshoes and ducked fancy lace frills that hung literally about his ears.

  He’d seen bigger Wendy houses.

  ‘How about you make us a nice cup of tea?’ he said and sat down gingerly on an upholstered dog box which passed for a bench. ‘It’s perishing out there.’

  ‘….!’

  ‘Please. I’m here as Sarah’
s friend, too. I have a few questions, that’s all. Won’t take long.’

  Susie picked up the steaming kettle from the stove and filled a rose-painted teapot with boiling water. Her eyes shone with more obvious sorrow than she meant to admit.

  ‘It was a bloody car crash, for Christ’s sake. There’s so much military traffic on the roads at night at the moment. No driver can see past their nose on account of the blackout and dimmed headlights.’

  ‘I can’t disagree with you there. Bloody Yanks.’

  ‘So there’s no case to answer.’

  ‘The thing is, there’s not a lot to go on – no one saw it happen.’

  ‘Then why bother me?’

  ‘Someone was trying to scare Sarah into silence about something.’

  ‘And you know this how?’

  But he kept mum about the severed boar’s head, as well as the threat that had been written in pig’s blood on the windscreen of Sarah’s car – he still couldn’t quite believe it himself.

  ‘I’m looking into it on behalf of her husband Bruno Smith who suspects foul play. You want to find out the truth, don’t you?’

  ‘And you turn up making ridiculous suggestions?’

  ‘That remains to be seen.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Can you help me, or not?’

  Susie unhooked two white china cups decorated with red poppies and gold from a cupboard. She seemed all at sixes and sevens suddenly. Never mind that she was also doing her best not to cry.

  ‘Oh bloody hell.’

  She’d just spilt hot water everywhere, John realised. He let her bustle about in her blue satin slippers as she mopped the floor in a hurry. Besides which, the cramped conditions in the cabin were bringing on a shortness of breath in him. That bullseye porthole set into the cabin-top above his head might let in a glint of sky, but it was hardly a proper window as such. Two people had to be very intimate to share such a home, he decided, tapping his bark-tanned heels together as he pulled at the collar of his shirt.

  ‘How would you describe your relationship with Sarah?’

  ‘Why should I tell you?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘Then I’ll go away and let Sarah rot in her grave.’

  ‘We met at a book club until her husband made a fuss.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Bruno found out that Sarah and I were more than mates.’

  John fanned himself with one hand. Blinked hard.

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘She wasn’t going to leave him… Just so you know.’

  ‘How long were you and Sarah seeing each other, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  Susie took a deep breath.

  ‘Two years and one month. She stayed here on the boat whenever she could. They were the best two years of my life. Sarah loved being on the water. By ferrying coal to Birmingham we were two people doing our bit for the war effort. We would lower the door on that cupboard right behind you and make up a small double-bed. We’d snuggle up together on its mattress next to the engine bulkhead. Nor was she afraid to get her hands dirty – last year she helped me lift the ‘Free Spirit’ out of the water and paint its steel hull with bitumen-based paint to discourage any rust. She was my beautiful girl but also a grafter.’

  John tried not to watch walls slide towards him as he fought for air.

  ‘Did you notice anything unusual about Sarah before her accident? Did she say or do anything different?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Did she have any enemies?’

  ‘All I know is that one day she told me that she couldn’t see me any more.’

  ‘This was when exactly?’

  ‘Just over two months ago. I couldn’t believe it. We’d been so happy. Suddenly it was as if I didn’t exist. I said to Sarah, “What is it you’re not telling me?” but she seemed so excited and secretive. She wouldn’t help me shovel coal or fill the water tank. I began to realise how thrilled she was about something. I could see it in her eyes. I felt certain she had found someone else, but she wouldn’t admit it. I thought at the time she just wanted to be cruel, or she was undecided.’

  ‘So you didn’t see or hear much of her after that?’

  ‘We had a big quarrel. Sarah stormed off. Then, shortly afterwards we bumped into each other again in the Cadena Café.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I could see at once that she’d changed. That look of awe in her eyes had faded. At first I was glad. She’d left me in the lurch without explanation, but now she knew better? It was not as if we’d been apart very long and I hoped we could get back together.’

  John finally set aside his tea which was much too bitter.

  ‘So you did notice something odd about her?’

  ‘Yeah, well, you could say.’

  ‘What did you talk about exactly?’

  Susie fiddled with one of her hoop earrings.

  In an instant it came loose at the lobe.

  She expressed surprise.

  That’s not what she’d intended.

  ‘I told her I’d missed her terribly.’

  ‘What did Sarah reply to that?’

  ‘She told me that she didn’t know what to do, but she was going to fix it one way or another. She’d teach them a lesson, she said.’

  ‘Them? Was she scared of her new partner, do you think? Had they quarrelled?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Perhaps her husband turned nasty after all?’

  Susie shook her head very quickly. It was the same astounded look she had just given her errant earring.

  ‘That’s madness. Bruno was a fool but he was never violent.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I never saw any bruises.’

  John raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I need you to be totally honest with me.’

  Susie smiled thinly, then replied with some gusto.

  ‘Bruno secretly hated me but he worshipped Sarah. He always thought he’d win her back one day. It’s not as if they ever stopped sleeping together. Not quite. Sarah desperately wanted a child. Either that or he was prepared to have a threesome, I guess. I took her hand in mine and begged her to tell me what was wrong.’

  ‘And did she, this time?’

  ‘If I do, you might suffer, too, is all she said.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘She simply stirred the spoon in her teacup endlessly on the table between us and stared blankly out of the café’s window.’

  ‘Really? She said nothing?’

  ‘Next minute she took my hand and held it long and hard. That scared me. She was shaking, as if she were working herself up to say a final goodbye: “I may have to go away and lie low for a while,” she said.’

  ‘And you? What did you say?’

  ‘That’s when I swore to God to keep any secret. But she said, “It’s no use. It’s not me, it’s someone else.” Then she ran off.’

  John felt hotter and hotter as he gripped the cabin’s dog box for support. His lungs felt blocked and his ears wanted to burst. He put his hand on his neck and rolled his head because he found the lack of headroom so constricting.

  It didn’t mean he was about to suffocate.

  What if it did?

  ‘So Sarah didn’t mention any particular name that you might want to tell me about? Man or woman? Who was this mysterious someone who loomed so large in her life in the final few days before her crash?’

  ‘I don’t know, but she was scared shitless on their behalf. She dreaded what might happen to them if she stayed around, yet she’s the one who ended up headless in her own car.’

  ‘It’s still not a lot to go on, but thank you all the same. Here’s my card. If you think of anything else, please give me a ring at my cathedral lodgings.’

  ‘Do you really believe that someone killed her?’

&
nbsp; ‘I believe she veered off that road for a very good reason.’

  John stepped ashore from the narrowboat in a hurry. Then with a careful and deep inhalation, his lungs came back to life. He quickened his stride along the quayside as his wobbly legs regained their strength. Soon, only his spine ached from having sat too long bent double in a cabin fit for dolls.

  *

  ‘Bruno never told me that his wife had a lover,’ said Jo, sipping stout in THE MONKS’ RETREAT bar beneath the Fleece Hotel in Westgate Street. She liked to think she was upholding a fine tradition: she was drinking in the same vaulted undercroft where pilgrims to Gloucester had once drunk their ale after visiting the tomb of King Edward II. Romantic legend would have it that it had once been part of a secret tunnel that led to the cloisters in the nearby abbey, but that was bunkum. ‘He never let on that his marriage had landed him in such hot water.’

  John swallowed a mouthful of rum and lime as clouds of cigarette and pipe smoke befogged medieval stone arches. He took a deep breath to savour the atmosphere. Honestly, how was he meant to cut down on smoking?

  ‘Bruno was prepared to settle for a threesome, by all accounts.’

  ‘Open marriage, eh? I wonder how that works.’

  ‘I wish I knew, but Dean Drew says that his sister and her husband fought a lot.’

  ‘We can’t rule out that Sarah was scared of Bruno, no matter what Susie Grossman says. We can’t rule out that she crashed her car deliberately.’

  ‘Suicide? Surely not.’

  ‘Why else was she driving so fast?’

  John struggled to make himself heard in the crowd of WAAFs and Auxiliary Territorial Service women who were drinking the non-rationed beer in the company of bus drivers, housewives and shop assistants.

  ‘How about she misjudged the corner because she thought she was being chased by someone?’

  Jo let the idea hang in the air.

  ‘Susie told you Sarah wanted to protect someone. No idea who?’