Edward Marston - The Wolves of Savernake

All was as the boy had explained.

He flung off his cloak so that he could untie the sack unencum-bered, but his hands never even reached the twine. As he stretched upwards to fling back the garment, a creature of fur and teeth and claws came leaping from the bushes to bowl him over and snap at his unguarded throat. Wulfgeat was strong, but the force of the attack overpowered him within seconds. His neck and face were eaten vora-ciously away and his twitching carcass soon lay still in a pool of gouting blood.

When Cild crept up on him twenty minutes later, he did not even recognise the man. Nose and eyes had both gone and the head was almost severed from the body. Wulfgeat’s clothing had been ripped apart by claws and one of his hands had been bitten half-away. The boy screamed out in horror.

The wolf of Savernake had another victim.

Gervase Bret was needed elsewhere, but he was quite unable to leave.

Conversation with Leofgifu was so interesting and so pleasur-able that an hour slipped past with the speed of a minute. She was indeed an unusual young woman with qualities that reminded him of his dear Alys back in Winchester-thus causing him a twinge of guilt-but these were offset by characteristics that were entirely her own. What astounded him was her complete lack of bitterness. Most daughters who had been through her ordeal would have been alien-ated from their fathers, consumed by self-pity and animated by deep resentment at the severity of their fate. Leofgifu, by contrast, was an image of acceptance. She was honest about her unhappiness, but she did not thrust it upon all around her. She had learned how to suffer in silence and to find relief in helping others whose predicament was worse than her own. Gervase was entranced. He felt that he was watching true heroism on display and it moved him.

By the same token, Leofgifu was increasingly attracted to him. His youthful candour was underpinned by a restraint and discretion that were uncommon in someone of his age. Because Gervase was so unthreatening, she was able to relax with him and to talk openly in a way that she had not done for years. Leofgifu had never been short of male attention. As soon as she was widowed, she sensed lecher-ous eyes falling upon her once more and it was not long before lonely and desperate men were whispering in corners with her father about the possibility of a second marriage. The very notion of tying herself to another man appalled her and she treated all approaches with an icy contempt that her father’s entreaties had been unable to melt.

Leofgifu had earned and now cherished her independence. Yet all those emotions which had once made her want to yield totally and uncritically to a man came flooding back as she talked with Gervase.

He was not for her, but she could share briefly in the joy of his life.

“Are you betrothed?” she asked softly.

“Yes.”

“What is her name?”

“Alys.”

“She is most fortunate.”

He smiled. “Alys does not always think so.”

“When will you marry?”

“When we may find the time.” He hid his frustration in a sigh. “My work must come first and it keeps me away from Winchester too often and too long. Ralph tells me that a man can understand real love only when he is separated from his beloved, but it makes for much suffering as well.”

“I know.” Wistfulness descended. She studied him for a moment before speaking. “You said earlier that you entered the abbey at Eltham.

Why did you leave?”

“Alys.”

“Was she the sole reason?”

“No.”

“What else drove you out?”

“I was too weak to withstand the monastic discipline.”

“Too weak or too worldly?”

“Both,” he said. “I failed the test. Self-denial was too high a price for me to pay.”

“How do you look at monastic life now?”

“With admiration.”

“And with regrets?”

“No, Leofgifu. With fear. I am in two minds about this assignment of ours in Bedwyn. Part of me is still drawn to the beautiful simplicity of life within the cloister, but another part of me shudders whenever I see the abbey. It is too demanding, too searching, too overwhelming.

I could never envisage taking the cowl again.”

“Supposing that you had never met Alys.”

“I would still have escaped the order.”

“How?”

“By meeting you.”

It was such an innocent and natural expression of affection that she was lit by a glow of uncomplicated delight. Years suddenly fell away as she recaptured, for an instant, another time with another man when this same feeling had infused her. Leofgifu and Gervase stared at each other for a long while before they realised that they were still holding hands. Self-consciousness made them loosen their grasp and sit apart.

It was only then they became aware that they were no longer alone.

Standing in the open doorway was a sorry figure with the rain beating at his back. Cild was drenched. He was panting with his exertions and bent double by his woes. But it was his face that caused real alarm. It had turned to such a ghastly whiteness that he looked positively ill and his mouth was agape with frozen terror. Gervase and Leofgifu rose at once and moved across to him with concern.

The boy collapsed in a heap before them.

Bedwyn was drowned in a sea of hysteria. The first wave had come with the death of Alric Longdon, but this, it now appeared, had merely lapped at the communal fears of the town. When the news of Wulfgeat’s grisly end spread, it was a tidal surge that swept all before it. Every man, woman, and child gibbered helplessly as gushing water claimed them. Bedwyn was doomed. The whole community was at the mercy of some supernatural creature which could take its prey at will and with complete impunity. There was nowhere to hide. The wolf of Savernake would eat its way through the entire town.

A forester had heard the scream from half a mile away and ran to the spot where the faceless Wulfgeat was splattered upon the ground.

Nobody else was in sight, but the shadow of the animal still seemed to lie across its victim. The forester raced madly to the town to summon help and he set off the typhoon which now engulfed them. Only the monks from the abbey had courage enough to venture into the danger area to rescue the fallen man. The brutalised remains of Wulfgeat were borne back to the mortuary chapel with all due haste. Those who were charged to clean the body had never been given a more repellent task. As they tentatively bathed the mutilated torso, they were convinced that they were dealing with the work of the Devil.

The Witch of Crofton came quickly back into fashion as the most likely suspect. It was Wulfgeat who had first pointed to her as the author of the first outrage. This was plainly Emma’s revenge. She had killed Alric because he had beaten her and she had murdered Wulfgeat because he had instigated the raid upon her. Nothing could be clearer. Her dog was the agent of her heinous crimes. Transformed by a spell into a giant wolf, it patrolled the forest and lured its victims to an isolated spot so that it could savage them to death. It then resumed its form as the black dog which kept the witch company as her familiar. Hatred of Emma reached new heights, but it was moder-ated by naked fear of repercussions. Those who wished to ride off again to slay her and her hound now thought about possible consequences. Alric and Wulfgeat had both offended her and both had died as a result. Even from beyond the grave, her potent charms could mean damnation. Her destruction had to be plotted with great care.

Ralph Delchard did not even consider the name of Emma. Witchcraft did not intrude upon his common sense and he was still grateful for the basket of wild fruit which Emma had picked for him. Such a gesture could not have come from the cold-blooded monster created by common report. When the news of Wulfgeat’s death was brought to him at the hunting lodge, he called for his horse to be saddled and galloped to the abbey, arriving in time to see the body while it was being washed and to scrutinise its wounds without revulsion. He then spoke with the forester who had discovered the corpse. The man had just given a full account to Abbot Serlo of what he had seen and hazy impressions had already hardened into solid fact. A sturdy fellow of middle years, he trembled as he went through the details again.