Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm (4 page)

Might is Right

Canon William
Bradford waited outside the abbot's chamber. The door was ajar and
he could hear the chaplain conducting morning prayers. He couldn't
see the abbot but knew he would be propped up in bed, swathed in
warm quilts, fumbling his rosary with swollen fingers. A sickly
aroma hung in the air. An infusion of fenugreek, stale sweat and
other bodily excretions. William knew it from visits to the sick
and dying. It was an old man's smell ... the smell of death.

The chaplain
reached the end of the service. William heard the bed creak and
guessed the abbot was making use of his commode as he always did
after prayers. A bell rang and a woman went into the chamber. She
left with a pot covered by a linen cloth. William decided that the
morning ritual was complete and he could now enter.

'Pray be
seated.'

Abbot Brunyng
indicated a bench. For twenty years, he had stamped his will on
Sherborne. One of his greatest achievements was the rebuilding of
the abbey which was falling apart. The cost was staggering but his
will prevailed. Now he hardly had the strength to pick up a small
bowl. He coughed and black phlegm splattered the silver surface.
William guessed there would soon be an election for a new
abbot.

'Did you
question the bailiff?'

'I saw Walter
Gallor in his yard,' William replied.

'Did he
confirm what Brother Mathew said?'

'He did,
Father. Four ruffians were trying to drag the font into All
hallows. Three spoke Welsh. The other was a Lollard tinker.'

'This is
serious.'

'Aye, Father.
And it didn't happen by accident.'

'How do you
know?'

'Master Mason
Hulle came to me. His son was climbing on the scaffolding, playing
with a friend as boys will. They saw one of the parishioners use a
rope to pull the platform down. The priest, Richard Vowell, was
involved.'

'Can you vouch
for what Master Hulle said?'

'Aye, Father.
He told me he'd thrash his son to within an inch of his life if he
thought the boy was lying.'

'He's a good
man, that mason,' Abbot Brunyng coughed. 'He does good work and
knows where his loyalties lie.'

'He does,
Father, and so does the butcher. Walter Gallor has informers ...
people he can trust. They told him Vowell spent the evening in the
Julian with the Lollard tinker and some Welsh archers.'

'Plotting
something, no doubt.'

'Aye, to steal
the font. And there's more. Earlier in the day, Gallor saw Alice de
Lambert speaking to the tinker.'

'Who's
she?'

'The new
matron of the almshouse. She came here from the convent at
Shaftsbury. I have it on good authority that the local people
regarded her as a witch. The sisters were glad to see the last of
her.'

'Do you think
she is one of them ... I mean that tinker and the other
Lollards?'

'I do,
Father.'

'William,'
Abbot Brunyng clutched his rosary. 'This is taxing me beyond my
mortal strength. You must take whatever measures you see fit.'

***

Alice placed a
hand on William's knee. The boy was astride his horse and holding
onto the saddle with both hands. The colour had returned to his
cheeks but he looked weak and drowsy.

'Keep your
head covered and ride slowly,' she said. 'Your father has the
potion I prepared. It is made from the milk of the poppy and will
take away the pain. You are allowed two measures a day ... no
more.'

'Thank you,
Sister.'

'You are a
very fortunate boy, William. If there had been nothing to break
your fall, you wouldn't be with us now.'

'We must thank
God for that.'

She heard
Harald Gascoigne's voice.

'He watches
over us,' she replied automatically.

'And he sent
his guardian angel.'

'Guardian
angel? I don't know what you're talking about, Sir Harald.'

'We couldn't
have managed without you, Sister.'

'I'm sure you
would,' Alice looked embarrassed. 'The brothers would have
administered proper care.'

'They sent for
you, Sister.'

Her cheeks
grew red as he continued.

'I owe you a
deep debt of gratitude.'

'Sir Harald
... I don't know what you are talking about.'

'You have been
a guardian angel to us, Sister.'

Alice gathered
up the skirt of her gown and prepared to leave.

'I must bid
you farewell.' She sounded flustered.

'Can't you
tarry a while?'

'No ... there
are pressing duties at the almshouse.'

Harald tried
to find words and stuttered.

'God be with
you, Sister.'

She turned and
saw the pained expression on his face.

'God be with
you, Sir Harald.'

***

They travelled
at walking pace. Harald was in no hurry. He wanted to collect his
thoughts before plunging into the trials and tribulations that
awaited him back at the manor. He'd never wanted to be a country
squire. His ambition was to be a priest or lawyer but his parents
had other plans. Like most of their class, the Gascoignes ran the
family as a business. Marriage alliances were the cornerstones of
power and they expected total obedience from their children.

At sixteen, he
had been betrothed to eleven-year-old Judith Knowles. The marriage
was postponed for two years until the girl was judged to be of
suitable age and Harald had finished his studies at Oxford. Another
two passed before she became pregnant with William. Some said they
had waited so long for a son and heir because twenty-year-old
Harald had been slow in taking up his conjugal rights. Others went
so far as to claim that his fourteen-year-old brother, Guy, had
been called upon to perform the service.

Judith died in
childbirth and Harald still felt pangs of guilt over her death.
He'd confessed to a feeling of relief when he received news of her
passing and had done penance for it. He'd never liked the girl. It
wasn't just her silly, childish ways. She was vain and headstrong.
He'd tried to teach her to read but Judith had no time for
learning. She did, however, have time for Guy. In his darkest
moments Harald wondered if William was Guy's son.

His thoughts
returned to Alice. She had nothing in common with the female
members of his family. His mother and his aunts could scarcely read
and their knowledge of the world was confined to the petty
jealousies of the shire. Alice was gentle and caring. She spoke
Latin and French and was conversant with the writings of the saints
and the authors of antiquity. They had talked together for a long
time while they were keeping watch over William. Harald said he
would call on her services again when William's stiches needed to
be removed. He wondered what other excuses he could find.

***

Alice changed
into her matron's gown and took her place at the head of the table.
She said grace, broke bread and tried to concentrate on what she
was doing. Her mind was on other things. At twenty-eight years of
age, a man had entered her life. She had blushed when he'd called
her an angel and turned away lest he see her confusion.

The Gascoignes
lived in a place called Wolf Wood. Sir William and his son, Guy,
were fierce campaigners in the war with France and had a reputation
for brutality. Alice had assumed that the entire family was like
them. Now she knew she was wrong. It was like picking up a coin and
finding a demon on one side and a saint on the other. Harald was a
cultured, sensitive man. She thought how different life might have
been if their families had been better acquainted.

Her
aristocratic parents borrowed large sums of money to buy land. It
was an unwise move and her father had to find a way out. His
solution was to promise his baby son to the daughter of a rich
merchant. The boy was twelve years younger than the girl. Conjugal
bliss didn't come into it. One family needed to stave off
bankruptcy and the other wanted to join the land-owning
aristocracy.

The merchant
cancelled her father's debts. Two years later, her parents died and
her five-year-old bother was put through a form of marriage
ceremony with his seventeen-year-old bride. The merchant was now
her guardian and she was an unwanted guest in her former home.
Fortunately, her predicament did not go unnoticed. The Abbess of
Shaftesbury took Alice under her wing. She went to live with the
sisters and received an excellent education.

At the age of
nineteen, she contemplated taking holy orders. Again fate
intervened. Two requirements had to be met. One was a proven
dedication to the life of religious contemplation. The other was a
financial contribution to the upkeep of the establishment. Alice
was uncertain about the first and knew she lacked the second. With
nowhere to go, she remained at the convent but not as a full
member.

Like many others living there her role was that of a servant.
The lay sisters, as they were called, came from different
backgrounds and had different reason for entering a religious
house. Often it was the dangers of childbirth.
Better to die a virgin than bleed to death in
agony
. Alice had heard that many times but
did not agree. As a younger woman, she'd longed for a child at her
breast. Last night that longing was rekindled. She wondered if it
was not too late.

Wolf
Wood

Harald
Gascoigne grabbed his son's horse. William was standing in his
stirrups and looked ready to take on the world. His brother, Guy,
said that was a natural reaction to injury. Some force propelled
you to take an aggressive stance.

'We're
back!'

The boy yelled
at the top of his voice and Harald tried to calm him.

'Sister Alice
told you to stay quiet.'

At the mention
of Alice's name, William sank back.

'Sorry. I
forgot.' He turned to Harald. 'She is a beautiful lady. I think my
mother was like her.'

'She was
indeed.' Harald grasped the boy's hand and lied. 'Your mother was
beautiful and caring.'

'William!'

He heard his
mother's voice and saw her descending the stairway that ran down
the outside of the old house from her private suite of rooms. She
rushed to William's side.

'Godfrey said
you'd been hurt. He said you fell off a wall.'

'I fell of a
pulpitum.'

'A what?'

'A pulpitum,
Grandmother. It's part of the abbey. But I'm all right now. Sister
Alice stitched me back and I'm going to Dorchester to get my arm
checked out. It's my sword arm so it's important it gets done
properly or I won't be able to go to France with Grandfather and
Uncle Guy …'

William
babbled on and Harald led the horses to the stable. The yard
squelched under his feet. Piles of hay lay about, wasting in the
rain. He took his seeing glasses from their pouch and looked around
disapprovingly.

After only three days' absence the signs of neglect were
everywhere.
When the cat's away the mice
do play.
He muttered under his breath and
headed for the hall. Half-a-dozen young men were lounging about
half-dressed ... and they had a girl with them.

'Who are
you?'

He strode in
and bellowed at her.

'I'm the new
serving maid, Sire.'

The young
woman dropped a bundle of clothes and shuffled backwards.

'No, you're
not. I've never seen you before.' Harald pointed his riding crop at
the door. 'Get out. Go back to where you belong.'

He turned on
the boys.

'Get to
work.'

The girl
scuttled off and the boys followed her into the yard. Harald walked
around, peering behind partitions and turning over bedding to see
if there were anymore girls hiding there. The place smelt as if an
army had passed through. Scraps of bread littered the floor. The
table was sticky with beer and garments were strewn everywhere. He
looked for items of female attire and found none.

The contrast
with John Baret's house couldn't be more striking. John had
chimneys and his servants kept the place clean. Harald's father
believed chimneys were for weaklings. Real men warmed themselves by
an open fire. There was one burning at the end of the hall, adding
to the grime. The wood was damp and a cloud of smoke billowed above
it, blackening the wall before escaping through a louvered turret
in the roof.

A fine Arras
tapestry hung on the opposite wall. His brother had brought it back
from France as loot. It once graced the walls of a guildhall in
Rouen and had been seized when the English retook the city. Harald
wanted it moved to a place of safety. Guy wouldn't hear of it. For
him the tapestry was not a work of art. It was a war trophy and
belonged in the family hall. Harald hoped that, one day, he would
be able to return it to its rightful owners.