Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm (14 page)

'I have a room
where I prepare healing balms.'

'Let us go
there.'

'It is in a
state of some disorder.' Alice indicated the way. 'The abbot's men
did more damage than I care to think about.' She opened the door of
the infirmary. 'The mess has been cleared up but, as you can see,
the table is still in pieces.'

Eleanor
surveyed the damage. 'Did they give reason for their visit?'

'They told me
they were looking for forbidden books and potions.'

The reply
produced an immediate response.

'You know why,
don't you, Sister?'

She grasped
Alice's hands and held them tight.

'They are
frightened of you. They fear your powers. They fear the ancient
wisdom which they have rejected. Most of all, they fear you because
of what you are.'

Alice gazed
into the other woman's eyes.

'They are
blind to the true ways of the Lord.'

'They are,
Sister.'

Eleanor looked
around the room.

'Did they take
anything that could cause trouble?'

'They were
disturbed before they could make a thorough search.'

'How did that
happen?'

'I called to
the young man who brought you here. I was over by the window and
the bailiff, a giant of a man, dragged me back and assaulted
me.'

Alice pulled
back her gown to reveal a bruise on her shoulder.

'The young man
and his friends came to my rescue and were attacked by the bailiff
who was intent on doing them grievous injury. I truly believe that
a divine hand intervened to save them for the bailiff fell and was
himself injured.'

'The duke
shall hear of this.'

Eleanor
reached for a piece of paper.

'Pray, write
down the names of these people so there can be no doubt as to who
they are. The abbot will be made to pay for what he has done.
Humphrey is a dear man. He does not tolerate violence towards
women.'

***

Richard
Rochell led the way and the dean followed. As the most senior
member of the bishop's administration, he was making a tour of
parish churches in the Salisbury diocese. His visit to Sherborne
had special significance in view of the recent ordinance aimed at
healing the rift between the parish and the abbey. He had just
interviewed the vicar and it was his first opportunity to speak to
Richard in private. The two men knew one another well. They walked
to the end of All Hallows and examined some repairs to the south
wall. The dean was pleased with what he found.

'I must
compliment you on the excellent state of the fabric of All Hallows
and its furnishings, Master Rochell. I wish the same could be said
for all the parishes on my circuit.'

'It is the
parishioners who merit the praise … not me.' Richard pointed to a
metal-bound box with a slot in the lid. A sign said it was for the
upkeep of All Hallows and a picture showed carpenters mending the
roof.

'The vicar
tells me that your receipts are up on previous years.'

'They are,'
Richard nodded.

'The father
abbot complains that his are down.' The dean pointed to a second
box. A sign said it was for the salvation of souls and a picture
showed angels plucking naked figures from the gates of hell.

'We have
noticed a certain reluctance,' Richard said tentatively.

'In what way …
reluctance?'

'There is some
uncertainty about what happens to monies placed in the father
abbot's box.'

'Could you be
more explicit?'

'Our boxes are
opened in the presence of witnesses and donations are recorded. Our
accounts detail receipts and expenditures and are available for
inspection. They can be challenged. The same does not apply to
monies donated to the abbey.'

'Are you
saying they are being put to improper use?'

'I am saying
we don't know how they are being used.' Richard chose his words
carefully. 'There are those amongst us who think they might be
funding the father abbot's rebuilding program. They argue that if
we are to pay for the services of masons and carpenters then they
should be working on All Hallows ... not on the abbey.'

The dean
jotted a note on his writing block. 'Thank you, Master Rochell.
That has been most helpful.' He turned to the illegal font. 'I came
here expecting to see that removed.'

'That had been
our intention,' Richard said.

'And you
changed your mind?'

'Certain
events made it difficult for us to undertake our instructions with
the immediacy required of us.'

'What were
these events?'

'One was an
outrageous assault by the abbot's bailiffs on the matron of the
almshouse. It has caused immense indignation within the parish and
has been the subject of a formal complaint to Bishop Neville.'

'It has also
come to the notice of the Duke of Gloucester.' The dean said. 'Can
you comment on how His Majesty was informed?'

'Eleanor
Cobham visited the almshouse after the incident. She was
accompanying the duke when they passed through Sherborne on their
way to Westminster.'

The dean
jotted a note on his pad.

'You mentioned
other impediments to the removal of the font. What are they?'

'I think you
should see for yourself.'

Richard opened
the door leading into the abbey. The partition had changed since
he'd last seen it but not for the better. The ugly wickerwork was
now covered by dirty canvas. The dean's reaction was immediate.

'That is
totally unacceptable. Leave the matter with me, Master Rochell. I
shall see that your grievances are properly addressed.'

***

Canon Simon
glanced at Abbot Bradford's stony face. He had come straight from a
meeting with the dean. The abbey was risking further censure. Simon
wondered if he could get that simple fact into William Bradford's
stubborn head.

'The dean is
adamant.'

He used his
most persuasive voice.

'We must take
immediate steps to reconcile ourselves with the parish and do
nothing to inflame passions. The incident with Sister Alice was
extremely harmful. The impression created by that appalling
partition was the last straw.'

The two men
were standing at the window of the abbot's chamber, looking down
into the cloister. A cover over the underground conduit had been
removed. Earlier in the day, dogs had been sent down to kill rats
that had taken up residence in the elaborate system of channels and
drains that supplied water to the monastery and removed effluent.
The measure had been undertaken at the instigation of Brother
Arnold who had been alerted to the health risk by Sister Alice.

'The woman's a
witch.'

The words
exploded from William's lips.

'Who are you
talking about?'

'Both of them
… the Cobham woman and that matron. I don't believe those bruises
are real. She put them there by sorcery.'

'That sort of
talk did not go down well with the dean.'

William
ignored the interruption.

'One day you
will remember what I've said and you will wonder why you did not
have the wit to recognise it.' He pointed an accusing finger.
'Eleanor Cobham will be the ruin of Good Duke Humphrey and I can't
wait for that to happen.'

'That may be
the case,' Simon mused. 'But we have to deal with the present. As
we now speak, Humphrey is the most powerful man in the land.'

'I would
dispute that.'

Simon tried
another tack. 'The dean insists that a more acceptable partition be
erected. Master Hulle says his original recommendation was for a
screen covered in good quality sailcloth, painted with scenes from
the gospels.'

'That's not
what he told me.'

'Nevertheless,
it could provide a way out of our present difficulty at low cost. I
have spoken with the brothers in the scriptorium. Brother Paul is
keen to take on such a commission.'

William
considered the proposition.

'You say it
will be low cost?'

Simon
nodded.

'And it will
be modest? I won't brook anything that makes it look as if we are
going out of our way to appease them.'

'It will be
sufficient to satisfy our lord bishop.'

'Very well.'
Abbot Bradford raised a dismissive hand. 'You have my permission to
do whatever you think fit, so long as you keep it within the bounds
I have specified.'

Betrothal

Margery
Gascoigne pulled her skirt up to her knees and strode across the
farmyard. She wore riding boots and a cape to protect her from the
wind. The boots were not for walking but were the best she had to
guard against mud and slime. Harald walked by her side. Margery was
determined to show her son what could be achieved by resolute
action. His pussyfooting never ceased to infuriate her. Hugh
Orpington had won the case at Dorchester and hefty damages had been
awarded against Roger Knowles. He had chosen to pay in the form of
sheep and the first consignment had arrived.

'There you
are, Harald.' She pointed over the wall. 'That's what happens when
you do things properly. The reeve's men brought them this morning.
They're the first of the delivery Roger Knowles has been ordered to
make.'

Harald peered
to where a hundred or so woolly beasts were munching at the grass.
A glance told him all he needed to know.

'Aren't they
fine?'

'No,
Mother.'

'Harald,
you're only saying that out of spite.'

'I'm saying it
because they're no use to us.'

'Harald,
they're beautiful and fat.'

'The value of
sheep is in their wool, Mother. You can only kill a sheep once and,
when you do, you have to sell the flesh at the local market. You
can shear a sheep many times and find a market for its wool as far
away as Damascus. That's how John Baret makes his money but he
doesn't buy his wool from people who waste good fodder on a mangy
bunch of animals like these.'

'You mean you
don't intend to keep them?'

'No. I'll send
them to market in Dorchester.'

'Why not sell
them to the abbey? Peter says Abbot Bradford intends to increase
his flocks and is prepared to pay in silver.'

'I'll have no
dealings with that man.'

'You're
starting to sound like Richard Vowell. I thought you didn't agree
with his campaign against the abbey. Has he changed your mind?'

'Abbot
Bradford has changed my mind.'

'What's he
done now?'

'His bailiffs
committed an act of violence against a lady.'

A twinkle
appeared in Margery's eye. 'Are you referring to Alice de Lambert?
A little bird told me you are seeing a lot of her.'

'What little
bird was that, Mother?'

'A little bird
that lives in Honeycomb Woods.'

Harald
shuffled his feet.

'There's no
need to look sheepish, Harald. You should take a mistress. A nun
would be an admirable choice. The poor things have so little joy in
their lives. You could provide something that's missing.'

'Sister Alice
is not a nun.'

'Oh.' Margery
looked surprised. 'I'd been told she was in holy orders.'

'No, Mother.
Alice has not taken any vows.'

A look of
satisfaction appeared on his mother's face and Harald felt foolish.
He'd fallen for one of her old tricks. She'd say something she knew
to be untrue. You'd correct her and, before you knew what was
happening, you'd divulged everything she wanted to know.

Margery walked
back towards the house and Harald followed.

'The Lamberts
used to have money but that's all gone so there can be no question
of marrying her. In any case, your father has found a wife for you
in France.'

'I thought
we'd agreed that a French marriage was too risky.'

'That was when
we were losing. We're winning now that the Duke of York has taken
control. They say we'll be back in Paris by Easter.'

'Mother, the
talk is about the appalling cost of the war.'

'I thought it
was paying for itself. Your father isn't complaining about lack of
funds. He's doing very nicely.'

'Father is
doing very nicely because the Duke of York put up the money for the
latest campaign. He did so on the understanding that he'd be paid
back and that hasn't happened.'

'I know
nothing about that.'

'No, Mother.
But it's no less true.'

They detoured
to avoid a puddle.

'The duke's
commission ends in April,' Harald continued. 'There's little chance
he'll take a second term and that will place Suffolk in command.
He's in with the Beauforts and they want nothing more than to make
peace.'

'Harald, you
do speak such nonsense. You should read your father's letters. He's
there … he knows what's going on.'

They reached
the external stairs that led up the side of the old house to the
apartment where his mother had her lodging. Harald followed and
entered the porch at the top. He regarded the outside stairs as an
anachronism, a primitive hangover from the past. If he got his way,
they'd be removed and the doorway converted into an oriel
window.

His mother's
companions were nowhere in sight. Harald guessed the women had
taken up residence in the new guestroom. With luck he'd be asked to
add an entire new wing to the manor, complete with modern amenities
and proper furnishings.

His mother
went to a chest and removed some papers.

'Here are the
latest of your father's letters. He has found a wife for you. She
is the daughter of his loyal friend and companion-in-arms, Henri de
Maupassant.'

Harald opened
the letters and found a miniature of a young woman.

'That is a
likeness of your intended.'

The girl
looked about seventeen. Harald didn't doubt that it was not a true
likeness. He knew the Seigneur de Maupassant's daughter was a
spotty-faced twelve-year-old and he wasn't going to be fooled by an
artist's rendering.