“Normans are a plague upon us!”
“Remember Wulfgeat! Resist them!”
“Be true to his memory!”
“Who will stand against them?”
A great cheer went up, but it was marketplace valour. They knew in their hearts that they did not have the skill or the numbers to defeat their Norman overlords and their morning rebellion was, in any case, misjudged. One blast on a hunting horn dispelled it completely.
“They’re coming back!”
“I see Hugh de Brionne.”
“The riders are all scattered.”
“But they are bringing something.”
“They have a kill.”
Speculation grew to bursting point as they watched the huntsmen canter down the hill and into the town. Hugh de Brionne was at the head of his entourage, a smile of satisfaction on his scarred face. His armour glinted in the sunshine and his mantle streamed behind him in the breeze. As he opened up an avenue in the busy marketplace, two of his men came forward. Each held the end of a long branch of wood from which a dead carcass dangled. The animal was hacked into shreds and dripping with blood, its great mouth open to reveal its murderous teeth, its tongue drooping uselessly. On their master’s command, they let their quarry drop to the floor and it spewed out even more blood in front of the awe-struck townsfolk.
Hugh de Brionne pointed with his stump of an arm.
“Behold the wolf of Savernake!”
Abbot Serlo was omniscient. Although there were things that he chose not to know because they interfered with the higher matters to which his life was dedicated, he nevertheless had an instinctive grasp on them. When Prior Baldwin called on him that morning after Prime, the abbot did not need to ask about the latest development in the battle of wits with the commissioners. He sensed at once that there had been setback and threat and relegated the matter to the end of their discussion. Of much more immediate concern to him was the grotesque corpse which lay on a bier in the mortuary chapel. His eyes protruded beyond their customary danger point.
“Should we not send for the sheriff, Prior Baldwin?”
“No, Father Abbot.”
“This is a second tragedy within days.”
“But not brought about by human agency,” said the prior. “A wolf struck down both men. We cannot call on the sheriff to do our hunting for us, especially when there is no work left for him to do.”
Serlo was pleased. “The animal has been caught?”
“Caught and killed, Father Abbot.”
“By whom?”
“Hugh de Brionne and his men.”
The eyes wobbled upwards as the portly abbot mixed gratitude with regret, offering up a prayer of thanks for the removal of the troublesome beast while wishing that someone else could claim the credit for its death. Hugh de Brionne was a thorn in the side of the abbey at the best of times. With something of this order to boast about, he would become even more insufferable.
Prior Baldwin took a more expedient view of it all.
“Set a wolf to catch a wolf,” he said.
“One danger at least is past.”
“Hugh de Brionne will be famous for a week.”
“And notorious for the rest of his days.”
“Let us forget the noble lord,” said Baldwin, anxious to move away from the subject of a man who was still implicated in the boundary dispute with the abbey. “Our thoughts must be with Wulfgeat.”
“Prayers have been said for him at every service.” Abbot Serlo turned his bulging eyes once more upon his guest. “No man deserves to die in such a hideous way, but one is bound to look for purpose in the nature of his demise. Christ went into the wilderness for forty days and forty nights and emerged untouched by the snarling denizens of that place. Goodness is its own protection. Brothers from this house go into the forest every day and come to no harm. Yet Alric and Wulfgeat met with evil among the trees.” He spread his palms questionably. “Why, Prior Baldwin? What marked these men out for such horror? How did they incur God’s displeasure? Wherein lies their sin? These were no random killings by a crazed animal. They were a judgment from heaven upon two men who transgressed. In what way?”
“I do not know, Father Abbot.”
“Is there any link between them?”
“None save the heat of their enmity.”
“They were yoked together in wickedness.”
“I fail to see how.”
“Think hard, Prior Baldwin.”
“I am exerting my brain to its utmost limit.”
“The answer stands all around you.”
“Does it, Father Abbot?”
“That is my conjecture.”
His eyelids closed to narrow his gaze to the merest dot, but there was no loss of power. Indeed, Baldwin began to feel distinctly uncomfortable beneath the force of the scrutiny and it helped to concentrate his mind.
“All around me?” he said.
“Even so.”
“You speak of the abbey?”
“Of what else?”
“How are the two men implicated?” wondered Baldwin. “Both were brought here, it is true, and both have lain in our mortuary chapel to await a Christian burial. But neither has been a friend to us. Indeed, it was Alric who brought these inquisitive commissioners down upon us once more.”
Serlo nodded imperceptibly. “That is my point.”
Baldwin finally understood. Alric had challenged the abbey and he had died. Wulfgeat was no benefactor of the order and there had been a series of acrimonious disputes with him over the years. Both men would have been in a position to embarrass the abbey further in front of the new commissioners, yet both had been eliminated from the enquiry in the most dramatic way. Baldwin smiled inwardly. God did indeed work in mysterious ways. Weak minds fell back on superstition in times of stress, but strong hearts held true to their Maker. The wolf of Savernake was no agent of the Devil trying to avenge personal slights on behalf of a miserable outcast woman from Crofton. It was a hound of heaven sent down expressly to lend aid to Bedwyn Abbey in a time of trial. In accusing the monks, Alric and Wulfgeat had overstepped the bounds of decency and they had to be chastised firmly for their audacity. The wolf was a sign from above. Notwithstanding its precarious position, the abbey would still secure a victory in its fight against other claimants. God was self-evidently on their side and a thousand commissioners could not prevail against His might.
Abbot Serlo watched a sense of profound relief seep its way through his prior. No more required to be said on the issue. He could now leave it once more in Baldwin’s hands. The abbot indicated the little altar which stood in the corner of the room and they knelt beside each other in prayer. Serlo went into his normal ritual, chanting quietly to himself in Latin, exuding purity of heart, rehearsing for sainthood, eyes hooded but mind wide open to view the full wonder of God. Here was prayer as true supplication.
Baldwin likewise went through a set order of worship, but he soon diverged from it. While his abbot was on high beside him, the prior had more earthly concerns. He was not yet ready to advance his claims to canonisation. What he was praying for was another murderous attack from another wolf in Savernake Forest and he nominated the victims.
Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret.
The two friends spent a dull morning in the shire hall with their colleagues, taking statements about the disputed land from a variety of witnesses and building up a more complete picture of the situation. It was uninspiring work and Ralph Delchard seized the first opportunity to unload it on Canon Hubert and Brother Simon. As soon as he heard the uproar in the marketplace that was occasioned by the return of the hunting party, Ralph was on his feet and shuffling his papers. Gervase Bret, too, wanted to be nearer the centre of the action. They excused themselves politely and aroused no protest by their withdrawal. Hubert was delighted to resume control of affairs once more and Simon felt that his own status was also now elevated. The questioning continued.
Ralph and Gervase reached the
marketplace as the crowd was clustering around the dead wolf. Hugh de Brionne was savouring his moment of celebration and he gave them a mock bow when he saw them. Ralph was anxious to examine the wolf itself and forced his way through the press, but Gervase was more squeamish and lurked on the fringes. There was no pleasure for him in the sight of a mangled animal and he could not understand the blood-lust which seemed to excite everyone else who was present. Ralph spoke with the lord of the manor of Chisbury, then left him to enjoy his sudden prestige and made his way back to Gervase. He took his friend aside so that they could speak in private.
“Let us go,” he suggested. “I am out of place here.”
“Why, Ralph?”
“Because I am a heretic among believers.”
Gervase grinned. “That is nothing new.”
“Those who wanted a wolf have now found one.”
“The animal has terrorised the whole town.”
“No, Gervase. What they have been frightened of is the idea of a wolf. Hugh de Brionne has simply put flesh and blood on that idea by dumping a carcass in the marketplace.” He glanced over his shoulder at the happy throng. “I would not trust that arrant knave for a second. How Alric and Wulfgeat were killed, I do not know, but of one thing I am quite certain. That bleeding mess on the cobbles did not attack either man.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Look at his huntsmen and his hounds,” said Ralph. “They would be heard from miles away and smelled long before they got close enough to corner the beast. Hugh admitted to me that the wolf was lame. My guess is that that is why it was driven out of its pack and forced to hunt alone. And that is why the hounds were able to track it down and overhaul it. A wolf with a damaged front paw did not make those marks on the chest of the dead men.” A rousing cheer went up as Hugh de Brionne rode off with his retinue. “Let him have his hour, Gervase. He has caught a wolf in Savernake but not the wolf—if, indeed, such a creature exists.”
“Something must have been up in those trees, Ralph.”
“I believe it is still there. Let us search for it.”
“Now?”
“Would you rather sit in commission with Hubert?”
Gervase chuckled. “Lead on….”
They found their horses and set off, leaving the four men-at-arms in the shire hall to bolster Canon Hubert’s authority and to enforce his wishes. Ralph and Gervase rode along the river at a rising trot. The heavy rain of the previous day had left the leaves damp and the ground sodden, but sunshine was slowly drying everything out. Birdsong seemed much louder and more melodious. They went past Alric’s mill without comment and rode on until they reached the point where the stream fed into the river. Dismounting from their horses, they tethered the animals and continued on foot. Though the woodland was suffused with light and vibrating with the happy buzz of insects, Ralph nevertheless drew his sword as they began the ascent. Alric and Wulfgeat had made this same journey without due care for their safety. Whatever else happened, Ralph would not be taken unawares.
He led the way uphill, picking a route through the undergrowth and using his sword to lever himself along. They eventually reached the blasted yew tree beside which two men had already met their deaths. There were clear signs of a struggle. Wulfgeat had put up more resistance than Alric and the earth was churned up into mud where the burgess had apparently wrestled with his attacker. Wisps of fresh fur were caught up in the brambles to suggest that the bush had once again been the place from which the ambush had been launched. Ralph applied his imagination to the facts he had gleaned from the forester and he walked through a version of the fateful encounter, pretending to be man and wolf by turns and experimenting with possible positions. Gervase watched with interest and admiration. A death-grapple belonged firmly in his friend’s province. His own territory lay in the thickets of the law where the wolves walked on two legs and savaged their prey with charters.
Ralph Delchard was eventually satisfied with his improvisation. It had proved conclusively to him that the wolf captured by Hugh de Brionne had not been the killer. He now turned his attention to the yew tree which had brought both men to that spot in the first place. Alric had come to deposit silver coin, but Wulfgeat was there in search of something to take away. Ralph was about to thrust a hand into the dark hollow when a sixth sense warned him. He used his sword to probe around and the steel saved him from a very painful end. The sack into which it cut suddenly burst into life and threshed around inside the trunk. Pushing Gervase back out of the way, Ralph jabbed his sword point into the sack, then lifted it right up and tossed it onto the open ground. Its angry inhabitant became even more agitated and the sack twitched violently.
Ralph’s curiosity made him reach forward to tug at the twine around the neck. He stepped back instantly, but there was no response at first. It seemed as if the creature inside the sack was either dead or spurning the opportunity to escape. Gervase moved in for a closer look, but Ralph’s blade stopped him in the nick of time. Out through the folds of the sack came the head of the snake, its eyes alert and its tongue darting. Its slither was slow and measured until it saw them, then it quickened its pace considerably, making a determined wriggle towards Ralph’s ankles. Its fangs were bared to inflict a venomous bite, but it never got close enough to him. His sword point came down with stunning accuracy and pierced through the back of its neck, sinking deep into the ground and leaving it impaled lifelessly.
“That creature was waiting for Wulfgeat,” said Gervase.
“How do you know?”
“Look at the sack.”
“Another from the mill.”
“It was put there to welcome Wulfgeat’s hand.”
“Who would want to set such a trap?”
“Alric’s accomplice.”
“And who is that, Gervase?”
“The same person who gained entry into Eadmer’s mint.”
“You told me that it might be a boy.”
“It was. Cild, son of Alric. This is also his work.”
They handled the sack to make sure that it had come from the same mill and noted Alric’s mark upon it. Ralph now retrieved his sword to make further careful investigation of the yew tree, but there were no more poisonous snakes guarding the absent treasure. All that remained was the block of wood and purse that he himself had put back inside the original sack. Wood and sacks were replaced inside the tree as the two friends considered their next move.
“We must question this boy closely,” said Ralph.
“Not yet,” argued Gervase. “Cild needs time to recover from the shock. He conducted Wulfgeat to this part of the forest, then waited while he came in search of the chest. The boy expected to find him dying from a snakebite and instead stumbles on his half-eaten remains. No wonder he was still reeling with horror when he returned to the house.”
“Speak to him when you judge it to be fit. You have access to the place. A softer tongue than mine is needed in a house of mourning.”
“I will wait and watch. Cild is still a boy, but he has the cunning of a grown man. He will not confess easily. It will have to be wormedpainstakingly out of him.”
Ralph nodded, then turned back to the tree, staring down at the thick tendrils which encircled it with such proprietary zeal. Gervase gave a wry smile.
“This town was well christened,” he said.
“Bedwyn?”
“Its name derives from the Latin for bindweed. Look at this yew tree and you have a symbol of our stay here. All is intertwined confusion.” He gazed back in the direction of the town itself. “A simple assignment brought us here. There was an irregularity in the abbey returns. That is all we knew. Yet from that one tiny seed of doubt has grown this endless convolvulus that twists and turns its way through the whole community. We have met death and decay, fraud and forgery. And much more may await us before we are done.”
“You are too philosophical,” said Ralph bluntly. “I am no gardener, but I know the way to deal with bindweed.”
His sword flashed and the yew tree was freed from its coils. “Cut it away without mercy.”
Gervase was ready to head back to the town, but Ralph was in an exploratory mood. He wanted to see more of Savernake. If the dead wolf had not been responsible for the two deaths, then something else had, and the only place they would find it would be in the forest. With his sword still at the ready, he climbed farther up the hill until he reached the top. He and Gervase could now survey a wooded slope that swept down into a valley that was more densely timbered. His inquisitiveness was inflamed even more.
“Let us go down there,” he volunteered.
“It will take too long, Ralph.”
“Are you frightened?”
“Of course not.”
“Do you wish to borrow my weapon?”
“I have a dagger in my belt.”
“You are afraid of the exercise, then?”
“That is not so, Ralph.”
“So why do you drag your feet? Am I to tell Alys that you were either too weak or too worried to take a walk among the trees?” He gave a coarse laugh. “If she were with you at this moment, you would stroll through the forest all day.”
“The hunt has already been through here this morning,” said Gervase reasonably. “What can we possibly find that thirty men and a pack of hounds contrived to miss?”
“A great deal,” promised Ralph. “Follow.”
The gradient was steeper on the other side of the hill and they had to grasp at the trunks of saplings to steady themselves. When they reached the valley floor, they heard a stream bubbling nearby and they traced the sound until they found the water. It was a much deeper and wider stream than the one which they had just left and it provided them with a meandering path through this thicker part of the forest. Trees rose up all around them and the overhanging branches sometimes excluded all light, giving a sense of privacy in the halfdark. Birds and insects abounded and smaller animals would occasionally dart from cover for a second before vanishing just as swiftly. Ralph felt a vague sense of menace that kept his sword up, but Gervase began to warm to this new habitat and to be glad that his friend had made him come on the visit. This section of Savernake was enclosed and well protected. It held no threat for him.
The Wolves of Savernake Page 18
