Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm (23 page)

The boy stood
sideways to his target.

That was
another good sign. Archers who faced straight on took up too much
room. Richard watched as an arrow was removed from the quiver and
fitted to the bow. The boy's left arm straightened and remained
rigid. Each complex movement flowed smoothly into the next. His
shoulders swept up and the muscles of his whole body came into play
as he drew back the bowstring. A slight adjustment of the arm and a
small movement of the feet were all that were needed. Three arrows
were in the air before the first landed. Richard wasn't surprised
to see them find their mark.

He called the
boy to the table. 'How old are you?'

'Seventeen at
Lent, Sir.' He spoke with a strong Lincolnshire accent and had
difficulty understanding what was said to him. That didn't matter.
He'd soon learn the speech and swaggering manners that identified
archers as a breed of their own.

Richard
selected a wooden stamp and wetted it with blue die.

'Hold out your
hand.'

The boy
extended his arm and received the sign of a wolf on his wrist.

'What's your
name?'

'Piers Wood,
Sir.'

Richard
entered the name in his ledger and placed the stamp beside it.'

'Sign
here.'

The boy drew
three trees.

'Right, lad.
Get up to the Julian in Cheap Street. You'll find Sir Guy Gascoigne
there. Show him the back of your hand and you'll soon be a member
of the Noble Company.'

The boy left
and Richard braced himself for his next encounter. Walter Gallor
was waiting patiently. The bailiff had either learnt manners or was
intimidated by the presence of so many archers. At any rate, he
didn't push his way forward as he usually did.

Richard looked
up from his ledger.

'Aim at the
nearest butt. Proceed in your own time. You will be judged on speed
and accuracy.'

Walter did his
best to maintain his dignity. 'Master Vowell. I am here at the
father abbot's command.'

Richard put
down his quill pen. 'Whose father did you say?'

'The Abbot of
Sherborne.'

'I thought
Billy's father was dead.' Richard scratched the back of his head.
'Didn't he die of the pox a few years back?'

The archers
roared with laughter.

Walter ignored
them.

'Master
Vowell. It is my duty to draw your attention to the damage that is
being occasioned by your use of this archery ground. By the laws
laid down by King Edward the first of that name since the Conquest
…'

'Third of that
name,' Richard cut in.

'By the laws
laid down,' Walter struggled on. 'The Tithing of Hound Street in
the Abbot's Fee of Sherborne, is required to establish and maintain
a ground where the noble art of archery may be practised by royal
command on the Sabbath and major feast days to the exclusion of all
other diberions.'

'Diversions.'
Richard corrected the faulty pronunciation.

Walter glared
at him. 'So what you doing about it?'

'About
what?'

'All this mess
you're making.'

'We'll clear
it up.'

'And … you'll
put the yew trees back to how they was and return the materials
what has been stolen from Master Hulle?'

'I wasn't
talking about that.'

'So what was
you talking about?'

'The archery
ground.'

'And all the
rest?' Walter pointed to the archers' camp. 'What are you going to
do about that?'

'Nothing,'
Richard shook his head.

'But it's your
people what has caused the destruction.'

'They're not
my people.'

'Yes they are.
You're signing them on. You can't deny that.'

'I am a
recruiting agent, Master Gallor.' Richard returned the hostile
stare. 'If you wish to pursue this matter, you should go up to the
Julian and speak to Sir Guy Gascoigne and his legal adviser.'

***

Piers Wood
entered Cheap Street and looked around. He had to find the Julian
Inn. Back home in Spalding that would have presented no problem.
He'd have asked the way. Trouble here was the way people spoke.
They rolled their arrs something awful and ran everything together
so you couldn't make out one word from the next. Piers concentrated
on the signs. They were useful if you couldn't read. More so if you
couldn't understand a sodding thing the locals were saying. His
archer mates had told him to look out for a sign showing a woman
with big tits and rouged cheeks. Piers found one and went
inside.

The woman at
the door looked like the one on the sign. He showed her the stamp
on the back of his hand but she wasn't interested. Instead, she
took him to a back room where some bored-looking girls were sitting
on a bench. One of them bared her breasts and gave him a toothy
smile. Piers decided he'd come to the wrong place and left to the
taunts of the girls.

Back outside,
he hurried up Cheap Street. Nearing the top, he recognised some
archers who had been ahead of him at the butts. They were wearing a
light sleeveless jacket over their own clothes and looked very
smart. Piers recognised the colours of the Earl of Huntingdon. He
showed them his wrist and was pointed to the inn across the
street.

Three men sat
at a table in the front parlour.

One was Sir
Guy Gascoigne. Everyone said the best thing was to join him. Pier's
mind fogged over as Guy leant forward and asked his name. He
replied and a man wrote it in a book. He signed beside it and Guy
clasped his arm.

'Welcome to
the Noble Company.'

Piers could
scarcely believe his luck.

Almost nothing
remained of the old Norman chancel. The massive structure that once
extended from the abbey tower to the Lady Chapel was demolished in
Abbot Brunyng's time. Now, under the direction of Robert Hulle,
much of the south wall had been rebuilt in the modern style.
Scaffolding, protected by tarred canvas, ran along its southern
side. Walter Gallor stood there with a man dressed in the heavy
leathers of a stonemason. He wore a crucifix of walrus ivory and
had an armband identifying him as a special constable. Pact Monday
Fair had ended and the archers' camp was abandoned. The mason
surveyed the scene of devastation.

'Filthy Sods.
They're no better than animals.'

'Far worse,'
Walter said. 'My dog knows better. He don't crap in his own yard.
He goes outside to do it.'

'Thank God
they're gone.'

'Amen to
that,' Walter spat onto the ground below. 'Now we're rid of 'em, we
can sort out those Lollards what thinks they runs this place. The
sods don't have no archers to protect them no more.'

'Master Hulle
says they've been pilfering from his site.'

'That's just
part of it.' Walter scratched his crotch. 'If you'd been here long
enough, you'd know what vile heretics they are. They've no respect
for their betters. They think they can defy the lord abbot and
argue with the learned brothers. They've even erected an illegal
font in All Hallows. The bishop has ordered its removal and they
are defying him.'

'That foul
font is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord,' the mason cut in.
'They have blasphemously written the words of Our Lord Jesus in the
common tongue.'

'You mean that
Suffer the Little
Children
bit round the top?'

'Aye. The holy
father in Rome has forbid it. They should be excommunicated for
what they have done.'

'The bishop
says he will excommunicate them if they don't get rid of that
font.'

'Then why
hasn't the lord abbot sent masons in to have it removed? I would do
it gladly and not expected payment.'

'You've got a
good point there,' Walter placed a hand on the mason's shoulder.
'As I said, the Lollards don't have no archers to protect them no
more. There's nothing to stop us going in there and reducing that
font to a pile of rubble. We'll leave them to clear up the
mess.'

'How do we
know the archers have gone?' the mason asked. 'We saw them leave
but that doesn't mean they won't be back.'

'Guy Gascoigne
had ships waiting at Weymouth, not ten mile from Dorchester.
They'll have boarded by now. The weather's good. You don't hang
around at this time of year. If the weather's good, you put to
sea.'

'Where are
they going?'

'Across to
Cherbourg to join the Duke of York.'

'How do you
know all this?'

'The father
abbot has his sources,' Walter replied knowingly. 'He's in with the
Beauforts. They've been keeping a close eye on Sir Guy from the
moment he arrived.'

'Why's
that?'

'Because the
Gascoignes owe allegiance to the Earl of Huntingdon who supports
Duke Humphrey. Right now, there's a big punch up between the
Beauforts and the duke.'

The mason's
mind strayed back to a more personal worry.

'What about
those other constables you recruited? You said there was twelve.
Where did they come from?'

'They're
archers Dickie Vowell turned down.'

'But, if he
turned them down, doesn't that mean they're no good?'

Walter shook
his head. 'Dickie caught 'em drinking in the George with me and the
lads. That's why he wouldn't have 'em. They're all good fellows.
They'll sort out Dickie and his mob … show 'em they can't flout our
authority.'

***

While the
bailiff was giving his version of events, a very different
conversation was taking place in a barn in a field near Dorchester.
Guy Gascoigne held a lamp and his lawyer, Sir Hugh Orpington,
unrolled a map. Guy peered over his shoulder.

'What do the
different colours mean?'

'Red shows the
lands united to the Gascoigne estate in accordance with the terms
of Judith's dowry. They are the lands Roger Knowles continues to
dispute.'

Hugh pointed
to some black crosses.

'These mark
farmsteads that have declared allegiance to the Knowles family
despite the court ruling in your favour. You are at liberty to
enter these properties, expel the tenants and seize goods to the
value of all monies owed. Should you raze the buildings to the
ground then that is your choice. The law will also support you if
you act in self-defence. It recognises your right to resist
physical assault with physical force.'

Guy ran his
finger along the boundary lines.

'The Knowles'
lands are in green. What do the shaded areas mean?'

'They're held
by tenants. Your brother insists that no action be taken against
them. Since you require his future cooperation, I recommend that
you comply with his wishes.'

'But we've got
to get them off the land.' Guy stabbed a finger at the map.
'There's no money in tenants. The future is in sheep. Everyone
agrees to that.'

'I agree with
what you are saying. But I urge you not to alienate your brother
anymore than you have done already. You need Harald to run the
estate. He is very good at that. You should give credit where
credit is due.'

Guy considered
the point. 'Aye, you're right.'

'Harald's
connections with Duke Humphrey, through Mistress Alice, could be
valuable in years to come,' Hugh continued. 'If anything should
happen to our frail young king … God forbid the thought.' He
crossed himself. 'Humphrey will be king and Eleanor might even be
his queen. Think what it would mean to have a brother whose
mistress is a confidant of the Queen of England.'

Guy didn't
need any convincing.

'The boys are
ready. Is there anything we've forgotten?'

'Nothing. So
long as you understand the need to comply with the law.'

Guy eyed him
coldly. 'One day I'll take you over to France, Hugh. We don't have
much time for lawyers there. You'll soon learn what it is to live
in a place where swords count for more than words.'

***

Shouts
interrupted Roger Knowles at his morning prayers. A man had entered
the manor yard yelling that his farm had been attacked. Roger ran
from the chapel and recognised him as one of the loyal tenants of
Judith's dower. He tried to calm him.

'Whatever has
happened?'

'It's the
Gascoignes. They'd have killed us.'

'Tell me
exactly what they've done.'

'They rode up
at daybreak just as I was getting the firewood.'

'How
many?'

'About ten …
they're led by that young William.'

'You mean my
nephew?'

'Aye. The one
what's meant to be Guy's son.'

'Did you
recognise any of the others?'

'There was
those kids what stole the cartwheels and that Robin what gave us
all the trouble before. He shot one of my dogs and the Welsh boy
shot the other. They said they'd been killing their sheep.'