Edward Marston - The Wolves of Savernake

“What would you like to buy? What do you need? Have you ever had money of your own to spend before?”

Cild had not and the flame of curiosity was ignited. Wulfgeat did not rush. He fanned it gently until it leapt and danced. His method of approach had been completely wrong until now. Logic had failed and bullying had produced only a deeper resistance and resentment. An offer of money put an end to the long negotiation at last.

“Show me where the charter is,” said Wulfgeat, “and I will give you more money than you have ever seen before.”

Cild glared at him stonily for a couple of minutes.

“How much?” he grunted.

The afternoon released them from their deliberations. Lesser witnesses were due to give statements, and Canon Hubert was more than capable of collecting the evidence alone and ordering anything of value to be recorded by Brother Simon. It had been a productive day so far. Hugh de Brionne had been effectively quashed and the abbey representa-tives had been more or less demolished. Four hides in the Bedwyn returns were spreading utter chaos.

Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret mounted their horses. It was a dull afternoon, with dark clouds trying to shoulder the town into submission. Ralph looked up.

“This is a day to stay within-doors,” he said. “Where do you go now, Gervase?”

“To visit the widow.”

“I visit a wife.”

“Ralph!”

“She sent me word. I cannot disappoint her.”

“Think of her husband.”

“He is my chiefest reason for going. That self-serving reeve deserves to be cuckolded. It is my bounden duty.”

“Consider the lady.”

“I have considered nothing else since we met.”

“Pull back before it is too late.”

“Did I obstruct you when you courted Alys?”

“Well, no, but that is different. We are betrothed.”

“So are Ediva and I.” He beamed. “For today.”

He rode away before Gervase could offer more protest. Two of his men followed, but the others remained in the shire hall to act as ushers and guards. Ralph and his escort kept up a steady canter until they reached the hunting lodge. He went inside to wash and to change his attire, glad to shake off the day’s business in favour of pleasure. Ediva was awaiting him. All else paled beside that promise.

One of his men knocked on the door of his chamber.

“She is here, my lord.”

“Here!” The tryst had been arranged elsewhere.

“She waits in the stable.”

“Stable!” He would not roll in the hay with a woman of her quality.

“What does she say?”

“Only that we must fetch you instantly.”

“No more?”

“She became unruly.”

Ralph liked nothing that he had heard and he hurried downstairs with some apprehension. The soldier was at his heels. They came into the stable-yard and looked around. Ralph could see nothing but a huge pile of rags in one corner. Only when it moved did he realise that he was looking at Emma of Crofton. It was her message that had been relayed and which had brought him down so speedily. He grimaced at the thought of a rendezvous with her. The hirsute face emerged from the bundle and she dragged herself up. Something lay on the ground like a nest of eggs on which a hen has been sitting.

Emma reached down to pick it up and offer it to him. It was a basket of wild fruit.

“For me?” said Ralph, pleased.

“I picked them.”

“Thank you, Emma.”

“No, my lord”-she gave him the basket-“thank you .”

“Where did you pick all this?”

But she was already gone. A bark showed that her dog was waiting for her in the trees. Ralph was both moved and delighted. Emma had walked all the way from Crofton to deliver her gift and taken severe risks to get to him. This was a rare act of gratitude for the help he had given.

He looked down at the fruit and selected a red berry.

“No, my lord!” exclaimed the soldier. “The woman is a witch. That may be poisoned.”

“I rescued her,” said Ralph, popping the berry into his mouth without hesitation. “Even witches do not poison their saviours.” He offered the basket. “Try one….”

Hilda’s anxieties were soon put to rest by Gervase Bret. He was young and personable and spoke in her own language. He was not there to accuse or interrogate; indeed, he told her much more than he asked and his questions were merely gentle enquiries. Sensitive to her distressed condition, he was tender and unhurried. Hilda was so used to hearing bad opinions of her husband that it was refreshing to be with a man who accorded him the respect due to all the dead. She let him win her over and slowly dropped her guard.

If Hilda was reassured by their visitor, Leofgifu was greatly impressed. Her father had spoken slightingly of the commissioners and she had a Saxon’s wariness of any Norman, but Gervase did not conform at all to her idea of a member of the king’s household. He was altogether too honest and considerate and unjudging. The mixed parentage so obvious in his appearance gave him an insight into the heart and temperament of the Saxons. Though he was there on a serious errand, she found herself hoping that she could detain him later with an offer of refreshment.

Absorbed with Hilda and her predicament, Gervase was not unaware of his attraction to the daughter of the house. It was mutual. He could see her quality at a glance and sensed the total dependence of the other woman on her. Leofgifu was an act of compassion in herself and truly personified her name of “love-giver.” They provided a stark contrast. Both were beautiful women who had suffered a bereavement.

Sadness rested upon them with almost tangible force, but the resemblance ended there. Hilda’s looks had been extinguished by her ordeal and only the remnants of her handsomeness remained. Leofgifu was different. The pain of loss had somehow enhanced her charms and given her whole face a wistful glow that was quite enchanting. Gervase was reminded of his first meeting with Alys.

The information he had to impart was private, but Hilda insisted that her friend remain to hear it. Leofgifu could be trusted. Neither she nor Gervase even questioned the widow’s wishes. All three stayed sitting where they were.

“We need that charter,” Gervase said with soft emphasis. “It tells the truth about the contested land and puts your future in a kinder light.”

“My future?” Hilda was lost.

“The document names you.”

Alarm flickered. “Me?”

“Your father or his heir, to be precise,” he resumed. “And since your father is now deceased, the holding passes to the next in line.

Women may inherit just as men.”

“But not as often,” said Leofgifu with asperity.

“Thus it is,” he said, taking it stage by stage so that she would not be too confused. “Heregod of Longdon was given that land by royal grant. King Edward the Confessor gave him four hides adjoining Savernake Forest.”

“Why there and not in Worcestershire?” asked Leofgifu.

“We do not know for certain, but the king was fond of hunting.

Even piety likes to chase a deer through a wood.” The remark left Hilda baffled, but Leofgifu smiled. “King Edward knew and liked this shire. He came to Bedwyn with his retinue and stayed at the hunting lodge where we now rest our heads. His gift was land that stands nearby. Heregod of Longdon brought his family to a new home in Bedwyn.” He gave a sigh. “It was not a happy move.…”

Hilda was entranced. Facts which had been kept from her by her father now tumbled out in profusion. Impressions she had gathered as a child and as a wife now took on substance. The detail confused her and the interplay between events and the passage of time left her further bewildered, but a vague sense came through to her of what she stood to gain. Another thing became clear. Gervase Bret was on her side. This only served to increase Leofgifu’s admiration. A blunter recital of the facts could cause Hilda great pain. Gervase chose his words with utmost care, gliding over the courtship that had taken place in Queenhill in such a way as to conceal its essence. Alric Longdon had not married her out of love and his clumsy wooing had been crude pretence. He bought his wife from a dying man so that he could regain the holdings that his father had lost. Hilda was no more than an agreeable factor in a financial transaction.