Edward Marston - The Wolves of Savernake

And much more may await us before we are done.”

“You are too philosophical,” said Ralph bluntly. “I am no gardener, but I know the way to deal with bindweed.” His sword flashed and the yew tree was freed from its coils. “Cut it away without mercy.”

Gervase was ready to head back to the town, but Ralph was in an exploratory mood. He wanted to see more of Savernake. If the dead wolf had not been responsible for the two deaths, then something else had, and the only place they would find it would be in the forest.

With his sword still at the ready, he climbed farther up the hill until he reached the top. He and Gervase could now survey a wooded slope that swept down into a valley that was more densely timbered. His inquisitiveness was inflamed even more.

“Let us go down there,” he volunteered.

“It will take too long, Ralph.”

“Are you frightened?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you wish to borrow my weapon?”

“I have a dagger in my belt.”

“You are afraid of the exercise, then?”

“That is not so, Ralph.”

“So why do you drag your feet? Am I to tell Alys that you were either too weak or too worried to take a walk among the trees?” He gave a coarse laugh. “If she were with you at this moment, you would stroll through the forest all day.”

“The hunt has already been through here this morning,” said Gervase reasonably. “What can we possibly find that thirty men and a pack of hounds contrived to miss?”

“A great deal,” promised Ralph. “Follow.”

The gradient was steeper on the other side of the hill and they had to grasp at the trunks of saplings to steady themselves. When they reached the valley floor, they heard a stream bubbling nearby and they traced the sound until they found the water. It was a much deeper and wider stream than the one which they had just left and it provided them with a meandering path through this thicker part of the forest. Trees rose up all around them and the overhanging branches sometimes excluded all light, giving a sense of privacy in the half-dark. Birds and insects abounded and smaller animals would occasionally dart from cover for a second before vanishing just as swiftly.

Ralph felt a vague sense of menace that kept his sword up, but Gervase began to warm to this new habitat and to be glad that his friend had made him come on the visit. This section of Savernake was enclosed and well protected. It held no threat for him.

While Ralph Delchard shouldered his way unceremoniously through the undergrowth, therefore, Gervase Bret took the time to look and listen. He played with leaves, he fingered bark, and he picked the wild fruit. He liked the brush of grass against his shins and the swish of bushes against his arms. There was so much to see and enjoy that he wanted to slow down to absorb it all properly, but Ralph was restless. When they stepped into a small clearing, the older man gave it no more than a glance before crossing towards a clump of birches.

“Wait!” said Gervase.

“Why?”

“Hold there!”

“For what reason?”

“Can you not see?”

“No. Let us move on.”

Gervase grabbed him. “Look around you, Ralph!”

He did as requested but still saw nothing that should detain him.

The clearing was oval in shape and no more than thirty yards in diameter. Around its perimeter was a number of mounds of earth that had grassed over. Ralph Delchard had dismissed them with a glance, but Gervase Bret was intrigued. Running to the first misshapen lump, he bent down to examine it, then pulled away the turf which had been used to cover it. What had looked like a natural mound was, in fact, a piece of red sandstone set carefully in the earth. The stone was no more than eighteen inches high, but it had been crudely dressed to shape. Gervase was thrilled with his discovery. He scam-pered around the clearing and snatched the turf away from each of the mounds until all were uncovered, then he moved to the centre of the clearing with Ralph. The grassy lumps on the ground were now revealed as a circle of stones set at regular intervals. Gervase was fascinated.

“It is like Stonehenge!” he said.

“Yes,” agreed Ralph with a grin. “This must be Eadmer’s home. It is a Stonehenge for dwarves.”

“See there!” said Gervase, pointing. “That stone has not yet been dressed. It has only just been put into position. What we saw on Salisbury Plain was a dead place, but this is alive. Can you not feel the presence of worship?”

“No, Gervase.”

“I sense it very strongly.”

“All I see is a random collection of stones.”

“Look for the pattern. Follow the scheme.” Gervase moved to the largest stone and bent to try its weight. “I cannot even budge it. What strength must have been needed to bring it to its resting place?”

Ralph Delchard could not resist a physical challenge.

“Leave it to me,” he said, sheathing his sword.

He crouched down to get a firm hold on the sandstone before jiggling it to and fro to loosen it from the earth. Then he gathered all his energy and put it into one mighty heave that saw him lift the object right up from the ground. It was an appreciable feat of strength, but Gervase was not allowed to admire it for long. No sooner did Ralph strain to stand upright than there was a roar of protest from the undergrowth and a startling figure came bursting out to confront them.

It was short, stocky, and quivering with rage. There was so much hair and so much fur, both heavily clotted with filth, that it was impossible to tell whether the creature was human, animal, or some outlandish compound of the two.

It roared with anger again and bared pointed black teeth at the intruders. Ralph Delchard dropped the sandstone at once and grabbed his sword. Gervase reached for his dagger. Before either of them could strike, however, the newcomer let out a dark babble of noise, then vanished into the trees. They went after it, but they had no chance of catching it in such a warren of trees. Both were breathless when they abandoned the chase and leaned against an outcrop of chalk for support.

“I was right,” said Ralph proudly. “That lame animal was no more than sport for Hugh de Brionne and his men. The real killer lives here in this place. We have just been face-to-face with the wolf of Savernake.”

Ralph Delchard spoke as a soldier who had just been roused to combat. When an enemy appeared, his only thought had been to reach for his weapon and attack. Gervase Bret had listened as well as seen.

The creature’s loud gabble had just been a howl of anger to his friend, but he had caught something of its meaning.

“That was no wolf, Ralph,” he said confidently.

“You saw the creature stand right in front of me. Wolf or bear or whatever it was- that was the killer we seek.”

“I think not.”

“We had to fight the monster off!”

Gervase shook his head. “It was a man.”

“You heard its roar; you marked those teeth. I’ll wager a month’s pay that that was no human being. It was some freak of nature who haunts the forest like a foul ghost.”

“No animal would build a circle of stones.”

“He howled with fury when we invaded his lair.”

“He was only defending his temple,” explained Gervase. “And he did not attack us. He merely sought to frighten us away with that noise. It may have sounded like the cry of an animal to you, but I could pick out words from it. He is a man, Ralph, of that there is no question. He spoke in Welsh.”

Brother Luke’s tribulations did not become any easier to bear with the passage of time. Indeed, the closer he came to the end of his novitiate, the worse was his anguish of body and soul. It made him careless and unreliable in his devotions, so the wrath of the master of the novices was visited upon him with greater severity. Luke smarted with indignation and took the earliest opportunity to seek out his one haven of rest in the abbey. Brother Peter, as ever, was bent over the table in his workshop as he put the final touches to his silver crucifix. He gave his own young friend a cordial welcome, waved him to a stool, then sat opposite him. Though Luke was caught up in his agonising, he did notice that the sacristan was still moving stiffly and with barely concealed pain.