Edward Marston - The Wolves of Savernake

“Down with the Normans!” someone dared to shout.

“Wulfgeat was right! Never surrender!”

“Drive them out!”

“Grind them under the heel!”

“Save a Saxon town for true Saxons!”

“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.