“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.
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.