Edward Marston - The Wolves of Savernake

“Wulfgeat was mauled by a huge wolf,” he said.

Ralph was unpersuaded. “Did you see the animal?”

“No, my lord, but I heard it.”

“That distinctive howl?”

“It was more like a scream of triumph.”

“Wolves do not scream.”

“This one did, my lord.”

“Then it was no wolf. A fox might make such a noise. Or at least, a vixen might during mating. But foxes would never attack a man in that way. Was that the sound you thought you heard? A high-pitched cry?”

“I did hear it, my lord. Clear as a bell.”

“Shriek or howl?”

“A scream.”

“Animal or human?”

“I took it to be animal.”

“You are a forester, man. You should know .”

“It frighted me out of my wits,” said the forester as he rubbed his rough beard. “I thought it was the beast, but it might have been Wulfgeat himself, calling out for help.”

“How would he do that with his throat bitten away?” said Ralph irritably. “If Wulfgeat had time enough to yell out, then he had time to draw his weapon; yet his sword was still in its scabbard when you found him.”

“That is so, my lord.”

“You saw nobody else?”

“Nobody.”

“And no sign of a sudden departure?”

“Some fur caught on the brambles, that is all.”

“How was he lying?”

“Upon the bare earth.”

“But at what angle? Facing what direction? How close to those brambles? How near to that yew tree?” Ralph put a hand on his shoulder. “Steady your nerves and tell me the truth. Much may depend on it. Give me no more talk of huge wolves and wicked witches.

Speak only of what you saw . Now, you came rushing upon him by that stream. Describe how he lay.”

Ralph Delchard slowly dragged the details out of him and gained an approximate knowledge of what had taken place. The man was still far too scared to give an objective report, but he no longer slid into assumptions about a phantom wolf which had been conjured up by the black arts of the Witch of Crofton. Something had killed Wulfgeat and the forester was the first on the scene. His garbled account yielded a number of valuable facts.

Their discussion took place near the abbey gatehouse and so they were on hand to hear the mild commotion that ensued as eager visitors arrived. A distraught Leofgifu was demanding to be admitted to the mortuary chapel to view the body of her father and to confirm the terrible news which had just reached her. Hilda was trying to hold her friend back and Gervase Bret was doing all he could to persuade the stricken daughter against such a course of action. The porter attempted to calm them down, but Leofgifu insisted on her rights as next of kin. Ralph Delchard stepped in to introduce himself and to add his voice to that of the others.

“Lady, you have my deepest sympathy,” he said quietly.

“Where is my father?”

“Beyond recall. Let him rest in peace.”

“I must see him.”

“It is not a sight fit for your young eyes.”

“I am his only child.”

“Then remember him for his goodness and do not vex his poor body now. There is nothing you may do to bring him back and the manner of his death will haunt you forever if you persist in looking upon him once more. Spare yourself that agony.”

“Come away, Leofgifu,” said Gervase gently. “This is no place for you.”

She was adamant. “I wish to see my father.”

“Let Gervase take you home,” advised Ralph. “You will live to thank me for this wise counsel. I have seen the body and it is no longer that of the man you once knew. Your father’s soul is in heaven. Pray for him.”

But even the concerted efforts of four people could not dissuade her from her intent. Fired by a duty that grew out of a sense of guilt, Leofgifu stood her ground. They had no power to prevent her from seeing the body. Her voice became shrill as she reaffirmed her demands.

Monastic authority interceded in the dispute.

“What means this unseemly noise?” asked Prior Baldwin as he swooped down on them. “Peace, peace, good lady!”

Leofgifu was finally subdued. The sight of the prior and the sacristan had a calming effect on her and their words added further balm.

Ralph had no respect for monks, but he had to admire the practised way in which both Baldwin and Peter offered their condolences to the bereaved daughter. They were professionals in the service of death.

They knew exactly what to say and exactly how to say it. All of Leofgifu’s truculence disappeared and they talked her out of her purpose before she even had chance to state what it was.

Prior Baldwin’s tone had a distant condescension in it, but Brother Peter’s voice was soft and sincere. When he looked at Leofgifu, there was a world of sadness in his expression. He spoke as a monk, but she heard him as a friend. She could only respect Baldwin. It was Peter who inspired trust and who offered her real support. He told her that she was to call on him at any time if she needed spiritual sustenance or practical help of any kind, and she knew that it was no idle invitation. During her brief stay at the abbey, Hilda had been greatly buoyed up by the gentle assistance of the sacristan. Now it was Leofgifu who felt his natural generosity reaching out to her.

Something in his manner both rallied her and confused her, lifting her up from total despair and yet adding a new bewilderment to her situation. Leofgifu wanted his help but was somehow unable to grasp at it. Prior Baldwin tried to ease her on her way, but Peter detained her with further promises and advice. It was to the latter that she addressed her final question.

“Was he killed by a wolf?”

“We believe so.”

“May I see him?”

A kind pause. “We think not, Leofgifu.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, as if she was in great pain for a second, then she nodded her agreement. Prior Baldwin offered her accommodation at the abbey, but Leofgifu had no reason to be there any longer. Her mind had been slightly eased. Her father was forever beyond her now. Supported by Hilda, she turned towards the gate and went through it. Ralph Delchard collected his horse, then followed with Gervase Bret in order to lend assistance if needed, but Hilda was in control now. Having been helped through her own ordeal by Leofgifu, she could now return that loving kindness.

The men dropped back a little so that they could converse without being overheard by the two women ahead of them.

“What did you learn?” asked Gervase.

“He was killed on the same spot as Alric.”

“By a wolf?”

“By an animal of some kind.”

“What was Wulfgeat doing in such a place?”

“There is only one explanation,” decided Ralph. “He knew about the hiding place in the yew tree. Wulfgeat was Alric’s accomplice.”

“But they hated each other.”

“A mask to their true relationship.”

“No, Ralph,” said the other. “I talked with the miller’s widow and I could see that the hatred was genuine on both sides. Those men would not have worked together no matter what rewards were offered.

Look for some other reason that puts them both in the same part of Savernake when they died.”

“There is no other reason.”

“There must be.”

They walked in silence for a while and saw Hilda’s arm tighten around Leofgifu’s shoulders as the first tears of remorse began to flow. Ralph still felt that there was some collusion between miller and burgess, but Gervase pursued a different line of thought.

“Why did Wulfgeat visit that spot?” he resumed.

“To search for the chest.”

“If he had been Alric’s accomplice, he would have known that the chest was not there. All that the yew tree holds is a block of wood in a sack. Why go after that?”