Susanna Gregory: A Wicked Deed

Suffolk, April 1353

Twigs slashed at alice quy’s face and arms as she raced through the undergrowth, certain that the dog that chased her would bring her down at any moment. She tripped over a tree root, tumbling head over heels down a leaf-strewn slope, until coming up hard against the trunk of an old beech. She could not see the dog, with its small glittering eyes and its shaggy white coat rippling as it moved, but she knew it was behind her. She scrambled to her feet, sobbing in terror, and ran towards the river.

She knew she should never have come to the woods that night. It was true that she had been well paid, and that the money would help to buy the new cow her family needed, but money would be no use to her if the huge dog that snapped and slathered at the top of the slope were to catch her: she could not spend the gold coins that jangled in the purse at her waist if she were dead. She glanced behind, aware that the animal was beginning to gain on her, loping through the woods in a deceptively unhurried gait that was faster than anything two legs could achieve.

She had heard stories in the village about the massive white dog that haunted the abandoned plague village of Barchester. It was known to be a ferocious beast, given to tearing out the throats of its victims, and it was said that even to catch sight of the thing was sufficient to set a person on the road to doom and disaster. Alice Quy tried not to think about it, forcing herself to concentrate on where she stepped as she reached the River Lark, and waded across it, falling headlong as the cold water that surged around her legs slowed her down. Gasping for breath and dashing the droplets from her eyes, she splashed through the shallows on the other side, and began to force her way through the trees on the opposite bank.

Suddenly she was out of the woods that surrounded Barchester, and was at the edge of the neat strip-fields that belonged to Roland Deblunville, the lord of the manor whose land abutted on to that of her own village of Grundisburgh. She knew what would happen if he caught her trespassing on his land and trampling his ripening barley, but she did not care. Her only concern was to escape the white dog, the hot breath of which she could almost feel on the back of her neck, as she left the trees and began sprinting across the ploughed earth.

It was a dark night, and the moon was obscured by a thick covering of cloud. She stumbled over one particularly deep furrow and fell, grazing her elbows and knees on the stony soil. Terrified, she clambered upright and plunged on, too frightened to look behind to see if the dog were still in pursuit. The ground was becoming more uneven, and she fell again almost immediately. This time, she did not rise, but lay on the ground, weeping with fear and exhaustion.

Gradually, as she lay motionless on the cold earth, her breathing began to return to normal, the thudding of her heart subsided, and the blind terror began to recede. She had escaped! Scarcely daring to believe her good luck, she slowly relaxed her tensed muscles, and sat up to peer around her in the blackness. She could see nothing in the dark, but it seemed as though her prayers had been answered, and that the dog had abandoned the chase and allowed her to live another day. Almost dizzy with relief, she climbed unsteadily to her feet, and started to stumble away from Master Deblunville’s land before he or his men caught her.

She had not taken more than a few faltering steps when she heard a noise behind her. Heart pounding again, she looked around her wildly, trying to penetrate the velvety blackness to see what it was. She could see nothing, but the sound was there sure enough — soft, slithering footfalls as someone or something inched its way toward her, slowly and carefully, like a wolf stalking its prey.

Was it the dog that approached her so stealthily? Or was it one of Deblunville’s guards, slinking up behind a trespasser on his lord’s lands? Alice Quy was almost at the point where she did not care. She started to run, but her legs were too weak to carry her, and she fell on to her knees. The slithering sound was closer now. Desperately, she tried to crawl, oblivious to the sharp stones that cut into her hands and legs.

It was hopeless. She could hear breathing now, slow and even. She was almost paralysed with terror, and collapsed in a heap on the ground’, shuddering uncontrollably and aware that the footsteps were coming closer and closer. And then something reached out and touched her shoulder.

Alice Quy found she was unable to do so much as flinch: fright had finally paralysed her, like a deer caught in the light of a hunter’s flaring torch. She felt herself rolled on to her back. She did not look at her captor, but gazed up at the black sky with eyes that were fixed and dilated with fear.

Two weeks later

It had been a busy day for James Freeman, the butcher. Lady Isilia from Wergen Hall had sent him two pigs to be slaughtered, and the landlord of the Half Moon had bought a sheep that needed gutting in order to feed the rough group of men who had been hired to weed the village’s ripening crops. And in a couple of weeks’ time there would be the Pentecost Fair with its feasts — the butcher was always inundated with work for that. The Pentecost Fair was the highlight of the village’s year, a much-loved occasion that was eagerly awaited by everyone after Easter. The villagers were not expected to work from Saturday to Monday — an almost unheard-of luxury in a time when labour was scarce and landlords demanding — and there would be music, dancing and feasting. But James Freeman was not interested in the Fair this year, because he knew he would not live the two weeks to enjoy it.

Lethargically, he hacked at a sheep leg bone with his meat cleaver, muscles bunching under his bloodstained shirt. He saw his wife watching him with an odd mixture of pity and wariness. He had tried hard to pretend that he was not afraid of what might happen, but they had known each other since childhood, and he sensed she had not been deceived by his blustering attempts to shrug off the inner fear that gnawed at him day and night. How would he die? he wondered, as he raised the cleaver again. Would his hand slip as he butchered an animal, severing some great vein so that his life blood would drain away? Would he choke over his food one night for no apparent reason? Would he stumble as he walked along the road, and be crushed under the wheels of a passing cart? He shuddered, and pushed such thoughts from his mind, aware that his wife was coming toward him.

‘Do not think about it, James,’ she said, seeing in his face what was going through his mind. ‘If you do not think about it, it might not happen.’

They regarded each other sombrely, both knowing her words were meaningless: James Freeman would be dead within a few days just as surely as would the pig that blithely awaited execution in the yard outside.

He summoned a wintry smile and looked away. ‘Alice Quy tried not to think about it, but look what happened to her. We all thought she had escaped when she returned from Barchester that night, but she died — just as I will.’

‘No, James,’ protested his wife, although he could not but help notice that her voice lacked conviction. He knew that, as far as she was concerned, he was already dead. He also knew that she had started to look to her future without him, and he had seen her flirting with Will Norys, the pardoner.

Still, Freeman thought, if she married Norys at least he could go to his grave knowing that she would be properly looked after. Being a widow was not easy in rural Suffolk, and the pardoner’s trade had been booming since the plague — everyone wanted forgiveness for sins when no one knew when the pestilence might strike again. Norys would provide her with all she could want, and she would not be forced to eke out the rest of her life in miserable poverty, stewing animal skins and nettles to eat, like some widows.