Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm (7 page)

***

Robin
displayed his new sword proudly. They were in the Julian with the
usual crowd. Richard was there with Betty and so were Thomas Draper
and John Tucker. The sword had been taken from one of Roger
Knowles' men and Robin was giving a blow-by-blow account of his
heroism.

'He looked
real surprised when I nipped him with my blade. He thought I'd come
unarmed.'

Thomas Draper
grinned across the table.

'The mole
would have been a bit surprised too. He'd never have guessed you
had that dirk strapped under your arm.'

'Jonnie Baret
wasn't. He saw I had it.'

Thomas nodded.
'He's all right, that Jonnie ... knows a thing or two.'

Betty tapped
Richard's arm. 'You listen to what Tom says. I've always said
Master Baret is a good sort ... no matter what you might
think.'

Richard turned
towards the door. An old woman was standing there with a tray of
spring flowers. She was poorly dressed and seemed hesitant. He
beckoned her to the table.

'Primroses and
cowslips for you and your ladies.'

She placed
some bunches before them.

'All picked
with my own hands from God's own garden.'

Richard
produced a silver coin.

She stared in
amazement.

'Sorry,
Reverence ... I don't have no change.'

Richard
squeezed the coin into her hand. 'Keep it and God be with you.'

The old woman
made the Sign of the Cross and shuffled backwards, touching her
forehead and bowing.

'God bless you
... God bless Your Reverence.'

She reached
the door and Richard called after her.

'Remember ...
don't give it to any old friar who wants to sell you absolution.
He'll only spend it on wine.'

'Yes ... I'll
remember.'

She touched
her forehead and vanished.

Richard handed
round the flowers.

Betty put hers
in a basket. 'I'll give them to Sister Alice when I go to the
almshouse for our meeting.'

'What
meeting?'

'It's for the
midwives ... You're not invited.'

'I thought the
almshouse was for old people.'

'It's for the
poor and needy ... That's what Alice says.'

'Struth! Has
she told Richie Rochell that?'

'Master
Rochell approves and so does Master Baret.'

'Hmm …'
Richard split the ends of the primroses and started to make a
flower chain. 'What are you going to talk about at your
meeting?'

'Babies and
how they get born.'

'I thought a
big bird brought them.'

'You're a man
... you would say that.'

Betty adjusted
her girdle.

'You don't
know anything about the suffering a mother has to go through. There
was a young girl this morning. Her poor little child was delivered
before time and she knew it wouldn't live. She was distraught. She
thought its soul wouldn't be received into the Kingdom of Heaven
because there was no priest there to baptise it. Alice said you
didn't need a priest. She said anyone could do it if the child
looked like it was going to die.'

Thomas Draper
leant forward

'What happened
then?'

'Alice did it.
She didn't even immerse the infant ... just made the Holy Sign and
spoke the Holy Words. She said them in English. You don't need
Latin because God speaks all languages. He'll understand no matter
what one you use ... That's what Alice says.'

'She's one of
us,' Thomas was ecstatic. 'The Good Lord sent her to dwell amongst
us.'

'The child was
dead when she baptised it,' Betty added. 'The brothers say it has
to be alive. Alice says you have to think about the mother. You
can't just cast her baby aside like it's worth nothing. God
wouldn't do that ... and He doesn't need no monk to tell Him what
to do.'

'The Lord be
praised.'

Thomas threw
out his arms and Richard continued to thread the primroses.
Religion bored him. People spoke such drivel when they got
passionate. Thomas was one of them. He didn't understand that
religion was about power. Abbot Brunyng and Bishop Neville knew
that.

Thomas
drivelled on, wandering from one topic to another like a drunken
horse on a blind date. Richard grew increasingly irritated. He'd
heard it all before ... speaking direct to the Lord ... speaking
your own words in your own tongue and not needing a priest.
Sometimes he thought they were trying to do him out of a job. He
banged on the table.

'They've taken
our font. They've narrowed our door. They're trying to smoke us
out. We have to decide what to do.'

'What you
going on about?' Betty said.

'They've got
Wat Gallor lighting fires in the nave. He's boiling up bones ...
making glue ... it stinks to high heaven.'

'It's because
of the bells,' Thomas said. 'Every time we ring 'em, Walter boils
up more glue. He says he'll stop if we do.'

'That's the
last sodding thing we'll do!' Richard clenched his fist. 'If your
enemies get threatening, you up the stakes. At Caen, when the Frogs
catapulted the heads of our supporters into our camp, we sent back
two of theirs for every one we got ... then three ... then
four.'

Betty looked
up from her platter.

'I hope you're
not planning anything like that.'

'Not with
heads,' Richard agreed.

'So why did
you bring it up? You're always telling us not to waste time with
things that don't matter.'

'I was looking
for ideas.'

John Tucker
raised a hand.

'How about we
finish the job they started?'

'What
job?'

'They narrowed
the processional door and put the font where it's nigh impossible
to use. So, why don't we fill in the door ... make All Hallows
separate from the abbey?'

'Very clever,
Master Tucker. Now tell us how we're going to do baptismals if we
can't get into the abbey. They've barred the abbey door and you
want us to block off the other one.'

'We could get
our own font.'

The woman
beside John looked alarmed. 'The bishop has forbid it. You'll get
us excommunicated.'

'The bish has
told us we can't take the old font into All Hallows,' John replied.
'He's not said anything about a new one. I know a mason who would
do a good job at the right price.'

***

John Baret
sifted through a batch of paper. The sheets bore the watermarks of
leading Italian manufacturers and were part of a consignment he had
received in settlement of a wool contract with Milanese merchants.
Most would be sold to retailers but some would be used as gifts for
business associates. He put four piles to one side. They were
intended for Sir Humphrey Stafford, John Fauntleroy and the two
members of their households who had supported Harald Gascoigne in
his confrontation with Roger Knowles.

Robin would
deliver them with letters of thanks. The young man now divided his
time between the Gascoigne manor and John's house where he had a
small room above the stables. It was an arrangement that suited
both parties. Robin had a comfortable place to rest his head while
in town and John had a reliable helper. He was writing a note to
Sir Humphrey when the front door opened and his wife, Elizabeth,
entered. She looked flustered.

'I've just
been round to the almshouse.'

'Is anything
wrong?'

'Yes. Mistress
Vowell alerted me to it.'

'Who?'

'Richard
Vowell's wife.'

'He's not
married.'

'John, I'm
talking about Betty ... the woman he lives with. She's a good soul
and she's worried about Alice.'

Elizabeth went
to the fire and sat down.

'We knew about
Alice's reputation as a free thinker. It was one of the reasons she
had to leave Shaftesbury. I thought I'd convinced her to keep her
views to herself. I was evidently wrong. She's been talking to the
townswomen.'

'Oh, my God!'
John clasped a hand to his forehead.

'They are
saying that she's told them they don't need priests and the
Scriptures should be written in English ... all the things the
Lollards are preaching.'

'Did you
manage to speak to her?'

'Yes ... she
says it's all a mistake. She was talking about baptising babies
that have no chance of life. She told the midwives they didn't have
to say the words in Latin ... English was good enough for the
Lord.'

John Baret
drew in a deep breath.

'She is
treading a very thin line. With her reputation she can't afford to
take risks. It would be appallingly easy to build a case against
her. There are women who have been burnt for making concoctions of
plants and muttering spells.'

'You're surely
not suggesting that Alice is in league with the devil.'

'No. I'm
saying it would be easy to build a case against her. She brews up
medicines from the strangest looking things.'

John took a
pair of scissors and cut the note to Sir Humphrey from his sheet of
paper. The three neatly penned lines came away as a narrow strip
which he folded as he continued to talk.

'Abbot Brunyng
is confined to his bed and William Bradford is in charge. Bradford
believes that Vowell is planning to install a font in All Hallows.
If he hears that Alice is baptising babies he'll think she's behind
it.'

'Is it true
that they're planning to get their own font?'

'I don't
know.' John placed the note in the package addressed to Sir
Humphrey and stuck in down. 'Bradford is paying for information.
The more damning it is the more he pays. I wouldn't give a crooked
penny for what it's worth but he's paying in silver.'

'We have to be
very careful,' Elizabeth said.

'Aye,' John
nodded. 'This could put everything at risk.'

He reached for
a candle and deposited a blob of sealing wax on the package. Then,
before it had set, he placed his signet ring upon it. The
impression looked good and he put the package to one side.

'Bradford is
collecting evidence to sabotage the charter for the new almshouse.
He doesn't care if it's true or false. All that matters is that
Bishop Neville should believe what he says and withdraw his
support.'

'Do you think
there's any risk of that?'

'Robert
Neville is no fool,' John said. 'Nor are the people who advise him.
But, they can't ignore accusations of this sort. Alice must learn
to curb her tongue.'

Spring passed
into summer. Primroses gave way to bluebells and swallows returned
from the south. Harald and Alice were frequent visitors to
Honeycombe Woods where they took notes while Brother Mathew
sketched.

The feud
between the abbey and the parishioners continued. The baptismal
service at Pentecost resulted in a near riot and an illegal font
was installed in All Hallows.

John Baret and
Richard Rochell worked diligently towards a royal charter for the
new almshouse. The illegal font had brought relations between the
parish and the abbey to breaking point and the prospect of a
serious disturbance was of major concern. They trod a difficult
path between the interests of the bishop and the local
community.

In France, the
fortunes of the English took a severe hammering and their armies
were forced to vacate the region about Paris and fall back on
Normandy. From Rouen, Harald's father sent an urgent demand for
funds to be raised by the sale of land.

In August,
Abbot John Brunyng died and preparations were made for the election
of his successor.

New
Abbot

William
Bradford paced back and forth in the chapter house and prepared to
dictate. Strictly speaking, the task should have been left to Prior
Henry who was nominally in charge of the abbey following the death
of Abbot Brunyng. William preferred to do the job himself. That way
there would be no silly disputes over the wording. A scribe sat at
a desk with a writing block and waited for him to start.

'It is to be
addressed to our lord bishop.'

A single mark
on the block sufficed to say that the letter was to be opened in
standard form. William started to dictate.

'Abbot John of
good memory went the way of all flesh. Soon after we had laid his
body to rest, our brothers and fellow monks set out with letters
patent to wait upon the king with tidings of our abbot's death and
seek the royal licence for the election of his successor.'

William
continued to pace and the scribe scribbled furiously, using a form
of shorthand developed for dictation and the transmission of
messages by carrier pigeon.

'When all had
been arranged, I, Prior Henry, sent letters to all the brothers of
our dependent cells, informing them of the date fixed and summoning
them to Sherborne so they might take part. This morning we gathered
and offered prayers for guidance. Having done so, we agreed that
the election should be conducted by a small body of delegates whose
duty is to nominate the brother considered most apt and suitable as
our pastor and father. The names of the seven delegates appear
below.'