Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm

Wolf Wood

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012
Mike Dixon

Sherborne Abbey

Easter Sunday 1436

Alice walked
up the cobbled path towards the abbey. The old building was
undergoing renovation and the scaffolding had recently been removed
from the south side of the tower. The work was being undertaken at
huge expense to the parish and was a major cause of friction
between the abbot and the local people. On that chilly April
morning, the new stonework shone brightly in the crisp light of a
cloudless day.

She wore a
warm gown with a badge that identified her as the matron of the
parish almshouse. She had recently arrived in Sherborne from the
convent in nearby Shaftsbury. Her friends, Elizabeth and John
Baret, had arranged for her to take up the appointment.

They had
rescued her from a situation that was becoming unbearable. Alice
was a free thinker and that was something you kept quiet about if
you lived in a convent. She knew Latin and Greek and had taught
herself Arabic.

Arabic was
strictly forbidden but she was prepared to take the risk. The
language of the Moslem unbelievers had opened up a whole new world.
The Arabs were skilled at healing. She had trained as a midwife and
was intent on using her new knowledge to save the many poor women
who died in childbirth.

She was on her
way to All Hallows, which was a church-like building attached to
the west end of the abbey. A crowd was gathered there. From the
sprinkling entering the porch, it was evident that today's
congregation was handpicked. Apart from the distinguished guests
and their attendants, they were solid, respectable townsfolk who
could be relied upon to behave.

The Easter
Service always aroused passions. The abbey owned most of the town
and the abbot interfered in the daily lives of the people. To their
immense annoyance, he even extracted a fee for baptisms. They were
not allowed to have a font in All Hallows. Instead, they had to pay
to use the font in the abbey nave.

Easter was the
time when the peasants flocked into town from the surrounding
countryside. They brought produce for sale at the Easter Fair and
got drunk on the proceeds. They also brought their babies for
baptism. The ceremony was always a noisy affair. A band heralded
the infants into the bosom of Christ and its members took every
opportunity to stir up resentment towards the abbey. Last year, its
antics resulted in a near riot.

A crowd of
peasants was gathered on the abbey green. It was early in the day
and they were relatively sober. Alice saw Elizabeth Baret amongst
them. She was with another woman, whom she recognised as Lady
Margaret Gough. Dressed in their smart gowns, the two women stood
out like brightly coloured birds amongst the dull greys and browns
of cottage homespun.

Alice felt a
tinge of alarm. Elizabeth had told her that Lady Margaret wanted to
be with the women when they took their babies to the font. It
looked as if she was determined to carry out her wish. She turned
to the vicar, who was standing nearby.

'Can't you do
something about it, Vicar?'

'About what,
Sister?'

'The band.
It's hardly appropriate for a christening.'

'The baptismal
band is part of a time-honoured tradition.'

'But the drums
and trumpets … they sound like an army on the march. The brothers
find it offensive. There have been occasions when they have feared
for their safety.'

'I'm sure
there is no reason for that.'

'We are
worried about what Lady Margaret might think.'

'Lady
Margaret?'

'You are
surely aware that she is here to make a donation for the new
almshouse. What will you tell your fellow trustees if she changes
her mind?'

Alice turned
her attention to a group of men on the abbey green. They had
musical instruments but didn't look as if they were about to take
part in a religious service. None wore surplices. Some wore
military uniforms.

Sherborne was
an important base in the war with France and many of its men had
served in the companies that crossed the Channel to fight in the
king's name. The men in the band looked capable of anything. Alice
wasn't surprised the monks were afraid of them.

For the
moment, they seemed more interested in the abbey tower than the
monks. Alice followed their gaze to a pair of boys on a narrow
walkway. One was the son of Master Mason Robert Hulle. The other
was not known to her. From the way he clung to a guard rail, she
guessed he was unaccustomed to heights.

Baptism

William
Gascoigne knew he shouldn't be there and was beginning to
understand why. With an awful suddenness the solid stonework of the
abbey tower ended in a sea of scaffolding. A maze of ladders
stretched before him, filling the void beneath the bells and
reaching down into the main body of the church. He looked up and
saw patches of sky through holes in the roof. When he looked down
he felt dizzy.

'Come on. You
won't fall.'

He heard
Geoffrey Hulle's voice and saw him on a ladder.

'My dad's
checked it out … it's safe.'

Geoffrey
disappeared onto a walkway and William followed. He'd climbed
ladders before and got to the top without difficulty. Then his
fears flooded back. He expected to see planks but found hurdles.
They were woven from hazel and looked like those used for sheep
pens on his father's estate. Geoffrey was in the middle, forty feet
above the ground.

'Come on. It's
fun.'

He grabbed the
side rails and jumped up and down.

The hurdles
flexed and William shut his eyes.

'I want to go
back.'

'You're not
scared … are you?'

The jibe
struck William to the core. Being scared was something peasants
did. Boys of his class were never scared. They rode horses and went
to war as soon as they were old enough. He opened his eyes and
climbed onto the walkway, determined to stride fearlessly across.
Then he remembered something his father said about prudence being
the better part of valour and sank to his knees and crawled
across.

Geoffrey was
waiting on the other side. It was his idea they should go up the
tower and see the work his father was doing. The boy danced around
and pointed to a rounded arch with dogtooth carving.

'This is some
of the old stuff. We'll be leaving it because it can't be seen from
the ground and it's still in good nick.'

The boys'
clothes were tailor-made and smart: little different from those of
a well-dressed adult. Felt hat with a narrow brim that turned up
stylishly at the front. Short-sleeved jacket, tight about the chest
and worn with a shirt of contrasting colour. Brightly coloured
stockings fastened to linen underwear. Snug leather shoes. It was
the dress of boys from prosperous families ... not that Geoffrey
and William belonged to the same social class.

Geoffrey's
father was a master mason. As such, he combined the roles of
architect, engineer and building contractor. Master Mason Hulle was
renowned for his work on Winchester Cathedral and Sherborne Abbey.
His strength lay in his business competence and membership of the
powerful Master Masons' Guild. Geoffrey was a sensitive lad with
light brown hair and freckles.

William
belonged to the landholding, military gentry. His family owned
property in England and France. The Gascoignes campaigned under the
banner of the Earl of Huntingdon and their strength lay in their
ability to make a profit out of the war in France. William was a
powerfully built lad of twelve with blue eyes, blond hair and a
pugnacious nature.

Geoffrey was
keen to show him the changes his father was making to the abbey.
William was more interested in climbing the abbey tower.

'Have you ever
been to Salisbury?' Geoffrey asked.

'My father
took me once,' William said.

'Well. You'd
have seen the pointed arches in the cathedral. They were done in
the old style. They're better than the rounded stuff the Normans
did but not up to much. We're going for a total remake.'

William didn't
care how buildings were put up. He wanted to know how to knock them
down and get to the valuables inside.

Geoffrey
opened a small door.

'Take a look
at that.'

William leant
forward and found himself staring into space. It was as if a slice
had been cut from the end of the nave. The roof was missing and so
were the beams that had once supported the wooden ceiling.

'We took it
off so we could put up the scaffolding,' Geoffrey explained. 'We'll
be putting on a temporary roof when it's finished. There's no point
in making it permanent because the nave is in for a total remake.
Just look at those ugly pillars the Normans put up.'

William wasn't
interested in what the Normans did hundreds of years ago. He wanted
to know what was going on right now. A door at the end of the nave
had opened and a man with a baldhead had appeared.

'That's Thomas
Draper,' Geoffrey whispered. 'My dad says he's a troublemaker.'

William
watched the baldhead proceed down the aisle and stop before a
wooden platform.

'We put it up
yesterday,' Geoffrey said.

What's it
for?'

'The
baptismal. It's where they take the money. When the babies have
been put in the holy water they go up there so their names can be
written in a book. They can't go to heaven if that's not done.'

William wasn't
interested in books or babies. His eyes were on the man. He watched
carefully. His uncle Guy had taught him to do that. Guy said
lawyers and priests buried their heads in books. Soldiers watched
and listened. It wasn't what people said that mattered … it was
what they did.

The man knelt
beside the platform.

William's eyes
narrowed.

'He's got a
rope.'

'Are you
sure?'

'Yeah. He's
tying it on.'

As they
watched, a figure emerged from the shadows. He was wearing a
surplice and the top of his head was shaved like a priest. A lot of
parish priests wore surplices. Usually you saw black stockings and
buckled shoes. This one was wearing green stockings and flared
boots. He went over to the baldheaded man who was now hiding behind
a pillar.

'Have you tied
it properly?'

William
recognised the voice and grinned.

'Yeah … don't
worry about that, Master Vowell. It has been properly secured as
you instructed. I shall now sit here where I cannot be seen and
await your signal.'

'And what will
that be, Master Draper?'

'A long and
melodious fart …'