Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm (26 page)

The ram came
to an abrupt halt.

Dust billowed
from the porch. Richard jumped from his horse and went to survey
the damage. The apprentices were already there. He peered over
their shoulders and could scarcely believe his eyes.

'Holy
Shit!'

'The door's
still there ... isn't it, Dick?'

'Too sodding
right, it is.'

'They said
they'd have it down in one hit.'

'Useless
bastards!'

'That why
Billy Hulle sacked 'em, Dick.'

'The sod's
can't be trusted.'

'You tell 'em,
Dick.'

Richard
rounded on the masons.

'You arseholes
told me you'd have it down in one hit.'

'What was
that?'

'You said the
iron wasn't bedded in properly.'

'So it wasn't,
neither.'

One of the
masons strode into the porch and thrust a hand into the gap between
the door and the stonework. He pulled it out and blew dust in
Richard's face.

'We got it off
its hinges just like we said.'

'But it's not
open.'

'That's
because they packed rubble behind it.'

'Why didn't
you tell me?'

'I didn't
know.'

'It was your
duty to know.' Richard grabbed the man by the neck. 'If this was
the army, you'd be hanged.'

'Well. It's
not the sodding army.'

The mason
broke loose and went to the front of the porch.

'Everyone out.
Big mouth didn't check what was behind that door. There's no way we
can get it open ... and the sod's blaming us.'

'Deserters!'

The veterans
drew their daggers and the better-dressed townsmen took to their
heels. Richard left the porch and clambered onto the ram to get a
better view. On one side, the veterans were intimidating the
masons, threatening to kill them if they didn't cooperate. On the
other side, the apprentices who were removing tools from the
masons' cart.

Richard
shouted down to the boys.

'What you lads
doing?'

'We're going
to get the font, Dick.'

'You can't get
into the abbey.'

' We're going
in through the Saxon door, Dick.'

'What
door?'

'The one
behind the old picture in All Hallows.'

Richard felt
stupid. A bunch of kids was getting the better of him. No one had
told him there was a second way into the abbey. He jumped down from
the ram and felt a searing pain. His old injury had come back. He
tried to stand and his leg would scarcely bear his weight.

'Come on,
Dick.'

The boys found
a spade and he used it as a crutch.

'We've got it
off, Dick.'

They yelled
excitedly and led him into All Hallows. A painted panel lay in
tatters on the floor. Boys with sledgehammers were assaulting a
door. The ancient timbers crumpled and they burst through into the
abbey nave.

'Come on,
Dick.'

He followed
them inside. The font stood at the far end of the nave, bathed in
sunlight. The Holy Grail could not have aroused greater passions.
Richard hobbled towards it and heard Walter Gallor's booming
voice.

'You've gone
too far this time, Master Vowell.'

Richard
guessed that Walter was on the scaffolding, at the end of the nave,
with his special constables. They would be watching him from behind
the huge canvas that Ralph Knowles had painted with scenes from the
Bible.

'You come down
here and speak to me, Wat Gallor.'

'No, Master
Vowell. I shall remain here and await the arrival of the Earl of
Salisbury. The abbot's pigeons have flown and none of your archers
managed to shoot them down. They'll be in Salisbury by now. The
earl will send his men to enforce the king's law.'

'We're
defending the king's law.'

'No, Master
Vowell. You're leading an insurrection.'

'We're here to
claim what is rightly ours.'

'You've come
to steal the font.'

'It is our
birthright.'

'The lord
abbot protects the birthright of the good people of Sherborne ...
not you, Master Vowell.'

Richard heard
Walter Gallor's voice but the words could have come from Friar
Ashley. He guessed the friar was up there on the scaffolding,
behind Ralph Knowles' painting, whispering in the bailiff's ear.
Wat was an ignorant oaf. A few well-chosen words would always shut
him up. Now the sod was answering back.

His next
utterance sounded more like him.

'I have a
dozen archers with me. I'll give the order to shoot if you act in
viobration of the law.'

Richard stared
back defiantly. 'I know who's up there with you, Wat Gallor. You've
got a farting friar and a bunch of eunuchs pretending to be
archers. I wouldn't give an ant's fart for the whole sodding lot of
them …'

A flight of
arrows cut him short. Richard stumbled back as steal-tipped shafts
peppered the wooden lid of the font in an impressive display of
archery. The boys fled and he was suddenly alone.

'Best you go
too, Dickie.'

'I'm not going
anywhere.'

An arrow
passed within inches of his head.

'Get your arse
out of here, Dickie.'

'Don't tell me
what to do.' Richard gave the archers' two-finger salute. 'I fought
at Agincourt. I've served two kings.'

'Don't you
give us that.' Walter thrust his head through a hole in the
painting. 'We've had more than a belly full of you and your
Agincourt crap. My boys don't believe a word of it. They reckon you
couldn't shoot straight to save your fuckin life.'

Richard's face
reddened.

'I'll teach
you sods a lesson.'

'No, Dickie.
You're not going to teach us anything. This place is built like a
castle. We'll stay put until the earl arrives. Then we'll hand you
over to him for execution.'

'That's what
you think.'

Richard
hobbled back into All Hallows. The apprentices crowded round. He
pushed past them and went into the vestry. It was where he kept the
archery equipment for Sunday practice. He selected a longbow and
fire arrow and pushed his way outside, striking flints as he went.
His tinder was smouldering when he left the porch and his touch
cord was alight soon after.

'What you
going to do, Dick?'

Richard
ignored the boys. The time for talking had passed. Words didn't
change anything. It was actions that counted. For years the monks
had bled the common people of Sherborne. Schools, bridges,
infirmaries and roads could have been built with the stone and
timber they had appropriated for their monastery. The greedy sods
took everything and gave nothing. Now it was their turn to have
something taken from them.

He knew the
archery ground like the back of his hand. Countless hours had been
spent there, instructing the young in the noble art. The butts were
usually placed up by All Hallows and the trainees down by the
almshouse. It was a good arrangement for beginners. They shot at
things they could see. He would be shooting blind.

The archers in
the tower could pick him off with ease if he showed himself. That
meant he'd have to stay close to All Hallows where they couldn't
see him. By the same token, he couldn't see them. That didn't
matter. He knew every stone of the ancient building and could hit
anyone of them.

He felt the
breeze on his cheek and glanced at the flag on the chapel tower.
Wind would affect the arrow but that wasn't a problem. A good
archer allowed for it without thinking. Today the wind was blowing
from the south. With luck the flames would spread and engulf the
entire monastery before the fat brothers could do anything about
it.

He lit the
fire arrow. It would strike a blow for the common people. The
incendiary charge spluttered. He waited for a blue flame to appear,
adjusted his stance and went into the movements needed to launch
the perfect shaft.

The arrow left
his bow and he watched it rise past the pigeon coops and descend
towards the thatched roof between the abbey nave and the tower. He
didn't see it land but knew it had found its mark. White smoke
appeared and was followed by black. He guessed the tarred canvas on
the scaffolding had caught alight. The archers in the tower would
be fleeing for their lives. The sods would know just how well he
could shoot.

***

Canon Simon
lay in his sickbed, trying to shut out the noise. Like the abbot
and many of the other monks he had fallen victim to a malaise that
was sweeping the monastery. Father Ashley blamed it on the drains.
Abbot Bradford said the Almshouse Witch had cursed them with a
spell.

There was a
riot going on. He heard Walter Gallor bellowing, telling the mob
the Earl of Salisbury was coming with soldiers. That was
reassuring. Simon pulled his blanket over his head and was nodding
off to sleep when he smelt burning. That was worrying.

He put on his
shoes and went to the door. His head was far from clear and he felt
weak as he made his way downstairs, stumbling from one step to the
next. The extent of the disaster became apparent when he reached
the cloisters. Flames were leaping from the abbey roof. Smoke was
billowing from windows. He groped his way to the abbey nave.

The scene
inside was like a vision from Dante's Hell. Scaffolding was ablaze
and figures were dashing about in the flames, pulling equipment to
safety. They reminded him of Dante's demons. He recognised Robert
Hulle amongst them. The master mason's face was blackened and his
hair singed. He ran across to Simon.

'This will
cost a pretty penny.'

Simon stared
back in stunned surprise.

'That's my
formwork burning up there. You people don't realise how much goes
into a modern building. It's not all stone and mortar. You need
centrings to put up vaulting. I spend a fortune on timber that
never gets seen.'

He was
interrupted by the collapse of the centrings. The massive timbers
crashed and joined the inferno below. The stone vaulting followed,
dragging the belfry with it. There were bells amongst the flames.
Simon saw them for a moment. Then they vanished in a flow of yellow
metal that ran over the flagstones and mixed with molten lead
raining down from the roof.

'The tower's
acting like a chimney.' Robert yelled. 'If something's not done it
will be the end of us.'

He shouted
over the din and a figure appeared, swathed in bedclothes and
carrying his staff of office. Abbot William Bradford loomed before
them like an Old Testament prophet preparing to bring down the
judgement of heaven.

'It is as I
foretold.'

William
brought down his staff on the flagstones.

'I warned
Bishop Neville of the witches and heretics that walk amongst us.
Now our lord bishop must face the facts. A mob of archers is
halfway up Cheap Street, looting and destroying property. They were
brought here by a priest of All Hallows and are supported by
townsmen wearing the badge of the new almshouse. They have set fire
to the abbey and are committing numerous acts of abomination.'

He turned to
Simon. 'You wished to appease Master Baret and the almshouse
heretics. Now, see where that policy would have led us. Your idiocy
has been laid bare. There will be no new almshouse and no new
charter. Sherborne will never become a royal borough and Alice de
Lambert will burn as a witch.'

End
of Part One

The fire of
Sherborne abbey was extinguished before it spread to the monastic
buildings and the chapel of All Hallows but immense damage was done
to the abbey church. Bishop Neville conducted an inquiry and laid
blame on the parishioners and a body of archers serving with the
Earl of Huntingdon. The archers were beyond his reach in France and
the parishioners were required to pay for the damage. Richard
Vowell went to France with the archers and so did Robin and the
Welsh boys.

Back at Wolf
Wood, Harald supervised an extensive building program, financed
with loot his brother sent from France. Alice gave birth to a
healthy boy named Steven. Eleanor Cobham insisted on being the
child's godmother. She was now recognised as Duke Humphrey's wife
and bore the title Duchess of Gloucester.

The feud between the Beauforts and the duke became more
vicious.
Abbot Bradford exploited it in
his feud with the parish and his quest to have Alice condemned as a
witch. Years passed before an opportunity arose. When it did, he
set his spies to work and Alice's life was changed
forever.

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