Edward Marston - The Wolves of Savernake

The questioning continued.

Ralph and Gervase reached the marketplace as the crowd was clustering around the dead wolf. Hugh de Brionne was savouring his moment of celebration and he gave them a mock bow when he saw them. Ralph was anxious to examine the wolf itself and forced his way through the press, but Gervase was more squeamish and lurked on the fringes. There was no pleasure for him in the sight of a mangled animal and he could not understand the blood-lust which seemed to excite everyone else who was present. Ralph spoke with the lord of the manor of Chisbury, then left him to enjoy his sudden prestige and made his way back to Gervase. He took his friend aside so that they could speak in private.

“Let us go,” he suggested. “I am out of place here.”

“Why, Ralph?”

“Because I am a heretic among believers.”

Gervase grinned. “That is nothing new.”

“Those who wanted a wolf have now found one.”

“The animal has terrorised the whole town.”

“No, Gervase. What they have been frightened of is the idea of a wolf. Hugh de Brionne has simply put flesh and blood on that idea by dumping a carcass in the marketplace.” He glanced over his shoulder at the happy throng. “I would not trust that arrant knave for a second.

How Alric and Wulfgeat were killed, I do not know, but of one thing I am quite certain. That bleeding mess on the cobbles did not attack either man.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Look at his huntsmen and his hounds,” said Ralph. “They would be heard from miles away and smelled long before they got close enough to corner the beast. Hugh admitted to me that the wolf was lame. My guess is that that is why it was driven out of its pack and forced to hunt alone. And that is why the hounds were able to track it down and overhaul it. A wolf with a damaged front paw did not make those marks on the chest of the dead men.” A rousing cheer went up as Hugh de Brionne rode off with his retinue. “Let him have his hour, Gervase. He has caught a wolf in Savernake but not the wolf-if, indeed, such a creature exists.”

“ Something must have been up in those trees, Ralph.”

“I believe it is still there. Let us search for it.”

“Now?”

“Would you rather sit in commission with Hubert?”

Gervase chuckled. “Lead on….”

They found their horses and set off, leaving the four men-at-arms in the shire hall to bolster Canon Hubert’s authority and to enforce his wishes. Ralph and Gervase rode along the river at a rising trot.

The heavy rain of the previous day had left the leaves damp and the ground sodden, but sunshine was slowly drying everything out.

Birdsong seemed much louder and more melodious. They went past Alric’s mill without comment and rode on until they reached the point where the stream fed into the river. Dismounting from their horses, they tethered the animals and continued on foot. Though the woodland was suffused with light and vibrating with the happy buzz of insects, Ralph nevertheless drew his sword as they began the ascent. Alric and Wulfgeat had made this same journey without due care for their safety. Whatever else happened, Ralph would not be taken unawares.

He led the way uphill, picking a route through the undergrowth and using his sword to lever himself along. They eventually reached the blasted yew tree beside which two men had already met their deaths. There were clear signs of a struggle. Wulfgeat had put up more resistance than Alric and the earth was churned up into mud where the burgess had apparently wrestled with his attacker. Wisps of fresh fur were caught up in the brambles to suggest that the bush had once again been the place from which the ambush had been launched. Ralph applied his imagination to the facts he had gleaned from the forester and he walked through a version of the fateful encounter, pretending to be man and wolf by turns and experimenting with possible positions. Gervase watched with interest and admiration. A death-grapple belonged firmly in his friend’s province. His own territory lay in the thickets of the law where the wolves walked on two legs and savaged their prey with charters.

Ralph Delchard was eventually satisfied with his improvisation. It had proved conclusively to him that the wolf captured by Hugh de Brionne had not been the killer. He now turned his attention to the yew tree which had brought both men to that spot in the first place.

Alric had come to deposit silver coin, but Wulfgeat was there in search of something to take away. Ralph was about to thrust a hand into the dark hollow when a sixth sense warned him. He used his sword to probe around and the steel saved him from a very painful end. The sack into which it cut suddenly burst into life and threshed around inside the trunk. Pushing Gervase back out of the way, Ralph jabbed his sword point into the sack, then lifted it right up and tossed it onto the open ground. Its angry inhabitant became even more agitated and the sack twitched violently.

Ralph’s curiosity made him reach forward to tug at the twine around the neck. He stepped back instantly, but there was no response at first. It seemed as if the creature inside the sack was either dead or spurning the opportunity to escape. Gervase moved in for a closer look, but Ralph’s blade stopped him in the nick of time. Out through the folds of the sack came the head of the snake, its eyes alert and its tongue darting. Its slither was slow and measured until it saw them, then it quickened its pace considerably, making a determined wriggle towards Ralph’s ankles. Its fangs were bared to inflict a venomous bite, but it never got close enough to him. His sword point came down with stunning accuracy and pierced through the back of its neck, sinking deep into the ground and leaving it impaled lifelessly.

“That creature was waiting for Wulfgeat,” said Gervase.

“How do you know?”

“Look at the sack.”

“Another from the mill.”

“It was put there to welcome Wulfgeat’s hand.”

“Who would want to set such a trap?”

“Alric’s accomplice.”

“And who is that, Gervase?”

“The same person who gained entry into Eadmer’s mint.”

“You told me that it might be a boy.”

“It was. Cild, son of Alric. This is also his work.”

They handled the sack to make sure that it had come from the same mill and noted Alric’s mark upon it. Ralph now retrieved his sword to make further careful investigation of the yew tree, but there were no more poisonous snakes guarding the absent treasure. All that remained was the block of wood and purse that he himself had put back inside the original sack. Wood and sacks were replaced inside the tree as the two friends considered their next move.

“We must question this boy closely,” said Ralph.

“Not yet,” argued Gervase. “Cild needs time to recover from the shock.

He conducted Wulfgeat to this part of the forest, then waited while he came in search of the chest. The boy expected to find him dying from a snakebite and instead stumbles on his half-eaten remains. No wonder he was still reeling with horror when he returned to the house.”

“Speak to him when you judge it to be fit. You have access to the place. A softer tongue than mine is needed in a house of mourning.”

“I will wait and watch. Cild is still a boy, but he has the cunning of a grown man. He will not confess easily. It will have to be wormed painstakingly out of him.”

Ralph nodded, then turned back to the tree, staring down at the thick tendrils which encircled it with such proprietary zeal. Gervase gave a wry smile.

“This town was well christened,” he said.

“Bedwyn?”

“Its name derives from the Latin for bindweed. Look at this yew tree and you have a symbol of our stay here. All is intertwined confusion.” He gazed back in the direction of the town itself. “A simple assignment brought us here. There was an irregularity in the abbey returns. That is all we knew. Yet from that one tiny seed of doubt has grown this endless convolvulus that twists and turns its way through the whole community. We have met death and decay, fraud and forgery.