Edward Marston - The Wolves of Savernake

“Nothing taken, nothing moved.”

“Only genuine coins leave this mint.”

“Then how did they do it!”

Ralph stamped a foot in exasperation, then moved to the window.

Evening was drawing in and the river was dappled with pools of darkness. A lone heron was skimming the water aimlessly. On the opposite bank, the little Saxon church had become a murky blur.

Somewhere in its graveyard, the body of Alric lay buried. Nobody would visit such an eerie spot at night and a boat which came downriver at that time would be in no danger of being seen. A boy who swam beneath the house with a rope around his shoulders would risk even less chance of detection. But what was the point of getting Cild inside the mint if nothing was to be taken from it? Ralph scratched his head in bafflement.

An acrid stink made him turn round again.

“You must go,” said Eadmer, licking a finger and thumb so that he could snuff out the tallow candles. “I am wanted elsewhere and you may not stay here alone.”

He extinguished another flame and the wick smoked on pungently.

Ralph Delchard watched him with growing curiosity, then a smile spread slowly across his face until he was beaming. Without knowing it, the moneyer had just provided the vital clue which his visitor was seeking. A daily chore had unlocked a nocturnal mystery. Surging gratitude made Ralph burst into wild laughter. His companion shrunk back in alarm.

“What is the matter, my lord?” he asked.

“Eadmer,” said Ralph, arms out wide, “I love you.”

It was nightfall by the time Gervase Bret finally picked his way back to the hunting lodge, and the servant who greeted him was carrying a blazing torch. While the man took the horse off to be stabled, the weary Gervase went into the building, to find his companion seated alone at the long table. Ralph Delchard was in a jovial mood. The remains of a roasted chicken lay on a pewter dish before him and he was washing it down with a cup of wine. He waved his friend across and Gervase sank gratefully down on the bench opposite him. Ralph reached for the jug to pour out a second cup of wine, then pushed it across the table.

“Drink deep and think of Normandy.”

“It is French wine?”

“No,” said Ralph, “it comes from the vineyard at Bradford-on-Avon, but its grapes were grown by a Norman hand and it will quench your thirst well enough.” He emptied his own cup, then refilled it. “It was the one great mistake that the Conqueror made,” he observed sagely.

“A Norman army marches on its supply of wine. When we set sail for England twenty years ago, no proper thought was given to the matter.

We landed at Pevensey and made our position secure before we headed across country towards Hastings. The army was hungry, so we killed and ate whatever lay in our way. We were also thirsty, but what little wine we had brought soon ran out and we had to drink their foul English water.” He grimaced at the bitter memory. “It did almost as much damage to our host as King Harold and his housecarls. That water poisoned our bellies and opened our bowels with a vengeance.

If William had only carried enough wine in his invasion fleet, we would have been in a fit state to win the battle of Hastings in half the time.”

Gervase smiled obligingly. He had heard the story before, but he did not mind the repetition. Ralph’s high spirits showed that his visit to the mint had been profitable. He was still glowing with pleasure, but he wanted to hear from his friend before he divulged his own news.

“Where have you been, Gervase?”

“To the forest.”

“Alone?”

“No, I had a piece of red sandstone with me.”

“Can you be serious?” said Ralph, sitting up. “When you took that rope and told me you were off to see a friend, I thought you had arranged a tryst with one of these lovely Saxon women. I hoped you were going to tie her down and have your way with her like any red-blooded Norman.”

“Do not make a jest of it, Ralph,” reproved Gervase. “You know my lineage and you know my fidelity. Alys waits for me in Winchester and no woman could take me from her.”

“Not even Leofgifu?”

It was a question that halted him and he took some time to compose his answer. There was more than a tinge of regret in his voice when he eventually spoke.

“No,” he said. “Not even Leofgifu.”

“So what did you do with this rock and this rope?”

Gervase gave a terse description of events and saw his friend’s amazement turn into apprehension. Ralph could not believe that he had been so careless of his safety.

“Two men have already been killed in Savernake.”

“Not by his hand.”

“How do you know that?”

“He is a gentle creature at heart.”

“Gentle!” exclaimed Ralph. “Can you call that thing of hair and fur which jumped out at us in any way gentle? I took it for a wolf, but you say it is a man. I hold to my conclusion, Gervase. The Welsh are untamed. They are far more animal than human. I have fought against them on the border and I know them to be savage barbarians with not an ounce of gentleness between them.” He shook his head in disgust.

“And you faced such an ogre on your own in Savernake!”

“He did not harm me,” said Gervase simply.

Ralph snorted. “I’ll take my men out at first light tomorrow and hunt this wild beast down.”

“No! I gave him my word.”

“Honour means nothing to the Welsh.”

“It means everything ,” retorted Gervase with fierce certitude. “To him and to me. My pledge will not be broken, Ralph. If you try to lift a hand against the man, I will stop you by any means that I have. He has not hurt me and he has not hurt anyone else. All he desires is to be left alone in peace. He is a hermit.”

“So why did you seek him out?”

“To ask for help.”

“From some madman in a filthy sheepskin?”

“He knows, Ralph. You were right about the wolf that Hugh de Brionne caught. It did not kill the two men. The hermit knows who did.”

“He told you?”

“I have not yet won his confidence.”

“Leave him to me, Gervase,” said Ralph. “I’ll make the villain talk. If he can shed light on this business, I’ll cut the truth out of him with my sword.”

“Touch that man and you lose my friendship forever!”

It was such a vehement and unexpected threat that Ralph was pushed back into his seat. Gervase was never unassertive in argument, but this issue went especially deep with him. It made the older man more reflective. Ralph made an effort to understand his companion’s viewpoint.

“Can you like such a monster?” he asked.

“I respect him for what he is doing.”

“Living as an animal in the forest?”

“Turning his back on the world to follow his beliefs. It is no more than the monks at the abbey are doing. They have retreated into a life of self-denial in order to serve God. The hermit serves another deity and his withdrawal is more complete. He needs no brothers to share his suffering. He is a holy anchorite who chooses to worship alone.”

“But the man is a heathen!” protested Ralph.

“He is not a Christian,” said Gervase, “that is true. His religion goes back well before the birth of Jesus and it may seem crude and ignorant to us, but it has weathered many long centuries. Any man who can live that way for the sake of his soul must have immense strength of mind and spirit. He has not just made vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. He has renounced everything . Can you not see why I am so interested in this hermit? He is a survivor from some ancient culture, Ralph. He is our guide to the past.”

“All we need is a guide to that charter.”