Hilda took her hands and squeezed them hard.
“We will share this good fortune together.”
Before Leofgifu could protest, there was a disturbance at the rear of the hall as someone tried to push in past the guards. Hot words were exchanged and a dog barked. Ralph saw the newcomer and snapped a command.
“Let her pass!”
Emma was released by two of the men-at-arms and she curled her lip at them before proceeding down the hall. Ralph knew that she would venture into the town only on an errand of the greatest importance and so he took her aside at once.
“How is your arm?” he asked considerately.
“It is better, my lord.”
“No more threats from the town bullies?”
“They leave me alone now.”
“Yes,” said Ralph. “They needed a killer and Hugh de Brionne gave them one. That lifted suspicion from you. They no longer believe that your dog was the wolf of Savernake.”
“He is not, my lord. The wolf is still in the forest.”
“You have seen him?”
“I have come to take you to the place.”
Bedwyn Abbey felt the chill wind of ignominy blowing through its cloisters. Abbot Serlo was closeted in his lodging with Prior Baldwin and Subprior Matthew as he tried to assess the extent of their perfidy.
The absence of all three from Vespers made the singing flat and the obedientiaries dispirited. When their saint was angry, they all felt the weight of his displeasure. Brother Thaddeus was anxious.
“What has happened, Peter?” he asked.
“We will know in good time.”
“Father Abbot went into the town with good humour and came back in disarray. What can have upset him?”
“He will tell us when he chooses.”
“Someone will pay for this,” said Thaddeus, spying a personal angle in it. “Should I lay in a supply of fresh birch twigs, do you think?”
“It will not be necessary.”
“Father Abbot relies on my arm.”
“Save it to guide the plough,” said Peter.
They were walking across the cloister garth and talking in muted tones. Thaddeus wanted to probe deeper into the mystery of the abbot’s wrath, but Peter saw something which made him excuse himself and hurry away. Brother Luke was in conversation with Gervase Bret.
“You work in the bakehouse, I believe,” said Gervase.
“I learned the trade from my father.”
“Where does the abbey get its grain?”
“It used to come from the mill of Alric Longdon.”
Gervase heard what he expected, then turned to welcome Peter as the sacristan came up with an enquiring smile. Brother Luke was now in the presence of the two men he respected most in the world, but they pulled him in opposite directions. He could not choose between them.
“Have no fear,” said Gervase. “I have not come to seduce Luke away from the order. I merely require his assistance for a short while.”
“My assistance?” said Luke.
“Leofgifu suffers greatly over the death of her father. I have tried to counsel against it because it may only increase her woe, but she insists on going there.”
“Going where?” asked Peter.
“To the spot where he died.”
“In the forest?”
“Yes, Peter,” said Gervase with a sigh. “It was a grim place when Alric Longdon lay there, but now it has seen two hideous deaths. I hate to conduct her there.”
“Nor shall you,” said Peter firmly. “Leofgifu must not go. Her father is dead and she must mourn for him in the privacy of her house.
Stifle these wild thoughts of hers.”
“I have tried in vain.”
“Let me speak to her.”
“She refuses to see anyone else,” said Gervase. “I have to humour this madness and that is why I come to you. It was Luke who guided us to that dreadful part of the forest and we need his help once more.”
Luke was eager. “I will gladly give it, Gervase.”
“No,” said Peter, “you must stay here. Father Abbot would never give permission for you to leave.”
“How, then, will we find the place?” asked Gervase. “I must take Leofgifu there this evening. She will give me no rest until I do. And she can find no peace herself until she knows the worst about her poor father.”
“Let me go, Peter,” said Luke. “Please let me go.”
“Brother Thaddeus will teach them the way.”
“But I know it as well as he.”
Peter was adamant. “I will decide,” he said.
The novice was abashed. A last chance to spend more time with Gervase had just been crushed before his eyes. A final opportunity to seek advice from his new friend about the decision that confronted him had gone. He was forced to stay within the enclave. It made the pull of the outside world and its untold wonders even stronger.
Obedience was a virtue, but it was one that was starting to suffocate him. Did Brother Luke really want to spend the rest of his days in such a way?
It was a warm evening and the insects still droned. The river curled on down to the town and some wildfowl wheeled and dipped above it. A light breeze fingered the leaves. It was a time for lovers to walk hand in hand beside the forest, but Gervase Bret found himself in another station. Led by the plodding Brother Thaddeus, he and Leofgifu went slowly along the riverbank and past Alric’s mill. She was still in evident distress and had pulled her hood down to cover her face. Gervase offered his arm to support her.
Thaddeus made a few blundering attempts to comfort her, then fell into silence, striding out ahead of them and keeping an eye peeled for any suitable birch trees along the way. Peter had given him specific instructions and he did not deviate from them. When they reached the fork where the stream diverged from the river, their guide stopped and pointed.
“Climb up and follow the water.”
“Will you not take us?” said Leofgifu.
“I would be in your way, dear lady. This is between you and your father, and I would not intrude. I will stay here.”
“We will find it,” said Gervase.
They went into the trees and began the ascent. Gervase waited until they were out of sight of Thaddeus, then he smiled at her in gratitude. Leofgifu was showing bravery and composure. She was unaware of the real danger that lurked, because she could not be told.
She was simply doing what had been asked of her. Gervase knew the best route up the hill, but her slowness held him back. It took some time before they reached the point where the stream issued from the chalk. He drew her well back from the yew tree and indicated the patch of ground which had been churned up.
“Your father died here, Leofgifu,” he said.
“Where was he standing?”
“Right on this spot.”
Gervase Bret faced the bramble bushes as both Alric and Wulfgeat had done, but he was forewarned and forearmed in a way that they had not been. There was a hungry growl, then the head of a wolf came hurtling straight at him through the bushes. Leofgifu screamed in alarm, but Gervase was ready for his assailant. Flicking his head to avoid the snapping teeth, he grabbed at the body and got a firm hold. They fell to the ground and grappled madly. The teeth went for his throat, but he pushed the head aside with an arm. The struggle intensified. Gervase was no miller with his mind on his money. Nor was he a burgess with thoughts only of a charter. He was a strong young man with a dagger in his hand. When his first lunge drew blood, there was a yell of pain from a human mouth.
The wolf was driven to a frenzy and made one last effort to bite at his face. Gervase lay on his back, the animal astride him, holding it off with one hand while trying to stab it with the other. But the beast had a surge of manic power and the weapon was struck from Gervase’s hand. The great ugly head rose up to strike and the silver teeth opened wide in a smile of triumph.
But the attack never came. Before the animal could move an inch, a sword whistled through the air and its head was sliced off. It spun through the air and rolled to a halt in the bushes. Ralph Delchard stood over the fallen body and kicked it aside. Gervase was panting too heavily to speak, but he gave a smile of thanks as his friend helped him up.