The Wolves of Savernake Read online

  “But I know it as well as he.”

  Peter was adamant. “I will decide,” he said.

  The novice was abashed. A last chance to spend more time with Gervase had just been crushed before his eyes. A final opportunity to seek advice from his new friend about the decision that confronted him had gone. He was forced to stay within the enclave. It made the pull of the outside world and its untold wonders even stronger. Obedience was a virtue, but it was one that was starting to suffocate him. Did Brother Luke really want to spend the rest of his days in such a way?

  It was a warm evening and the insects still droned. The river curled on down to the town and some wildfowl wheeled and dipped above it. A light breeze fingered the leaves. It was a time for lovers to walk hand in hand beside the forest, but Gervase Bret found himself in another station. Led by the plodding Brother Thaddeus, he and Leofgifu went slowly along the river-bank and past Alric’s mill. She was still in evident distress and had pulled her hood down to cover her face. Gervase offered his arm to support her.

  Thaddeus made a few blundering attempts to comfort her, then fell into silence, striding out ahead of them and keeping an eye peeled for any suitable birch trees along the way. Peter had given him specific instructions and he did not deviate from them. When they reached the fork where the stream diverged from the river, their guide stopped and pointed.

  “Climb up and follow the water.”

  “Will you not take us?” said Leofgifu.

  “I would be in your way, dear lady. This is between you and your father, and I would not intrude. I will stay here.”

  “We will find it,” said Gervase.

  They went into the trees and began the ascent. Gervase waited until they were out of sight of Thaddeus, then he smiled at her in gratitude. Leofgifu was showing bravery and composure. She was unaware of the real danger that lurked, because she could not be told. She was simply doing what had been asked of her. Gervase knew the best route up the hill, but her slowness held him back. It took some time before they reached the point where the stream issued from the chalk. He drew her well back from the yew tree and indicated the patch of ground which had been churned up.

  “Your father died here, Leofgifu,” he said.

  “Where was he standing?”

  “Right on this spot.”

  Gervase Bret faced the bramble bushes as both Alric and Wulfgeat had done, but he was forewarned and forearmed in a way that they had not been. There was a hungry growl, then the head of a wolf came hurtling straight at him through the bushes. Leofgifu screamed in alarm, but Gervase was ready for his assailant. Flicking his head to avoid the snapping teeth, he grabbed at the body and got a firm hold. They fell to the ground and grappled madly. The teeth went for his throat, but he pushed the head aside with an arm. The struggle intensified. Gervase was no miller with his mind on his money. Nor was he a burgess with thoughts only of a charter. He was a strong young man with a dagger in his hand. When his first lunge drew blood, there was a yell of pain from a human mouth.

  The wolf was driven to a frenzy and made one last effort to bite at his face. Gervase lay on his back, the animal astride him, holding it off with one hand while trying to stab it with the other. But the beast had a surge of manic power and the weapon was struck from Gervase’s hand. The great ugly head rose up to strike and the silver teeth opened wide in a smile of triumph.

  But the attack never came. Before the animal could move an inch, a sword whistled through the air and its head was sliced off. It spun through the air and rolled to a halt in the bushes. Ralph Delchard stood over the fallen body and kicked it aside. Gervase was panting too heavily to speak, but he gave a smile of thanks as his friend helped him up.

  Leofgifu had been terrified by the suddenness of it all and had not dared to look at the fierce struggle. When Gervase put a consoling arm around her, she opened an eye to peep at the dead carcass and saw that it belonged to a man. The wolf of Savernake was no more than the head, skin, and paws of a real animal. A cunning craftsman had used his skill to construct a set of vicious silver teeth which were fitted into the mouth and which operated on a spring. The hands which had made an exquisite silver box in which to store frankincense could also produce this lethal device. A trusted sacristan with access to all the robes and vestments in the abbey had sewn the pelt of the wolf onto some rough dark cloth so that it formed a complete disguise for the wearer. He had even fixed silver spurs to the creature’s claws so that it could tear its prey more readily. Designed and made in the abbey, the death garb was hidden near the place where it would be needed. When it was put on, it turned a thwarted lover into a wild animal.

  Alric Longdon and Wulfgeat had indeed been savaged by the wolf of Savernake, but he was known by another name. The only person who could have lured him to that same part of the forest again was Leofgifu, and Gervase had used her quite deliberately for that purpose. Ralph had been stationed nearby to lend his help, but that did not lessen the horror of it all for Leofgifu. She was petrified. Clinging to Gervase, she stared down in disbelief at the face of the man she had once loved and whom her father had forced her to abandon. The person who had wanted to be her husband had degenerated into a manic killer. Murder had come full circle. Brother Peter now lay on the very spot where his victims had perished. The wolf of Savernake was slain.

  Epilogue

  IT WAS THE SECOND FUNERAL IN A WEEK TO BE HELD IN THE PARISH CHURCH AT Bedwyn, but it was very different from the first ceremony. Alric Longdon had been buried as the prey of a wolf and sent into his grave by a handful of mourners. Wulfgeat had been buried as a murder victim and dispatched by half the town. The old Saxon priest had read the service over the proud Saxon burgess before commending him to his Maker. The coffin had then taken its grisly secret six feet down into the earth. Sorrow and revulsion had jostled those who watched.

  Leofgifu was now truly in mourning. Her father had been killed by the man he had forbidden her to marry. Robbed of his happiness and forced to watch his beloved take another man as her husband, the silversmith had sought refuge behind the cowl, but it had not stilled his rage. His hatred of Wulfgeat had grown with the passing years and it had been expressed in the most appalling way in Savernake Forest. Leofgifu felt that she had to take some responsibility for the tragedy. As she wept over her father’s corpse, she was steadied by the hand of Hilda. They were united in misery now. Their lives would henceforth be shared and the boy who had been corrupted by a malignant father would be redeemed by two loving mothers.

  Brother Luke watched it all from the corner of the churchyard. The revelations about Brother Peter had been a shattering blow to him and he had prayed for guidance in his travail. When the funeral party began to disperse, Gervase Bret walked across to the novice for a parting word.

  “Forgive him, Luke,” he counselled. “Brother Peter was sick in his mind. He is to be pitied as well as reviled.”

  “My pity goes to Alric the Miller and to Wulfgeat.”

  “One was his friend and one was his enemy. He worked with Alric to produce those counterfeit coins and he put his share into the abbey coffers. It was a heinous crime, but Brother Peter was using foul means for a fair purpose.”

  “Why did he murder his accomplice?” said Luke.

  “Because of the charter. Because Alric’s money was used to purchase something which could threaten the abbey. That charter was bought with false coin. Peter was unwittingly helping to undermine the house which had taken him in and saved him from despair.”

  “So Alric betrayed him.”

  “Yes, Luke. That is why he was killed.” Gervase glanced over at Hilda. “And maybe there was another reason.”

  “What was it?”

  “Jealousy.”

  “How could Peter be jealous of a man like Alric?”

  “Because of a woman like Hilda. When they devised their scheme to make counterfeit money, Peter saw it as a way to help the abbey. Not only did Alric spend his share on that troublesome charter; he use
d it to buy a beautiful wife.”

  Brother Luke understood. His erstwhile friend had fled into monastic life when the woman he loved was wrested away from him. Peter then had the galling experience of seeing an ugly and unprepossessing miller find himself an attractive young wife to share his bed. The worm of jealousy inside him grew into a writhing serpent and devoured all his scruples and restraints. Brother Peter struck out with envious brutality at another man’s happiness.

  Luke now realised something else as well. He saw that in asking him about the grain supply at the abbey, Gervase had been trying to establish a link between Alric and the sacristan. A miller with a reason to pay regular visits to the house could easily contrive meetings with his partner. Counterfeit coin could be hidden in an empty flour sack that was taken back to the mill. The accomplices had planned their villainy with care, but they were operating from different motives. That was what finally sundered them.

  The novice’s fresh face was crumpled with grief and disgust, but some good had come out of the hideous evil.

  “I have made my decision,” he announced.

  “To leave the order?”

  “To remain within it, Gervase.”

  “But why?”

  “I take my example from Peter.”

  Gervase was stunned. “You admire a murderer?”

  “No,” said Luke, “but I seek to fathom the darkness of his mind. Inside the abbey, he was my dearest friend and the kindest soul in the world; outside it, he was a vicious fiend with a taste for blood.” He looked up at Gervase. “Can you hear what I am saying?”

  “Very clearly.”

  “Goodness lives within the order.”

  “Step outside it and terrible things may happen.”

  “It is the same with me, Gervase. I am a weak vessel. This cowl gives me strength and offers me a purpose that is worthy of me. If I forsook it, I would be led astray into all manner of transgression. I will stay where I am safe.”

  The clack of horses’ hooves made Gervase look over his shoulder. His colleagues had come to collect him and had brought his mount with them. It was time to leave. Gervase turned back to the novice.

  “I must be on my way, Luke,” he said with reluctance. “You have chosen well and for the right reason. If I pass this way again, I will visit you at the abbey.”

  “You will always be welcome.”

  “And forgive Brother Peter in the fullness of time.”

  “I will try,” said Luke. “His favourite quotation will serve to help me.”

  “What is it?”

  “‘Cum dilectione hominum et odio vitiorum …’”

  “St. Augustine,” said Gervase nostalgically.

  “‘With love for mankind and hatred of sin.’”

  “There is another translation, Luke, and it fits Peter’s case more neatly: ‘Love the sinner but hate the sin.’”

  They embraced, then parted. Gervase crossed to the waiting horse and hauled himself up into the saddle. After a wave to Brother Luke, he set off with his companions on the road out of Bedwyn. They collected half-smiles and nods of gratitude as they went. The town would never love them, but it had learned to respect them. Injustice had been righted. They had confronted the might of an abbey and exposed wickedness at its very heart. Servants of a Norman king, they had not been afraid to denounce a Norman lord.

  Ralph Delchard rode beside Gervase and boasted of their other successes in the town.

  “We solved two murders and unmasked forgery,” he said with a chuckle. “And all because I saved poor Emma from being torn apart by that mob.”

  “Come, Ralph,” argued Gervase, clicking his tongue. “It was not as simple as that. My visit to the hermit turned our fortunes. It was he who took the chest from the yew tree and distributed the coins among the poor of the town. It was he who found that charter locked away with the money. Because I dragged that piece of sandstone to him, he gave us both chest and charter.”

  “Emma showed us where the wolf-skin was hidden.”

  “But who showed Emma?”

  “My witch deserves all the credit.”

  “My hermit was the true hero.”

  “A Welshman would never aid a Norman!”

  “This one did.”

  “Only because Emma put a spell on him.”

  They bickered happily for a mile, then agreed to see the whole visit to Bedwyn as a collective triumph.

  “Everyone helped,” said Gervase. “Brother Luke helped by telling me about the abbey; Brother John helped by talking of his days as a rent-collector; Leofgifu helped by letting me see her father’s papers.”

  “I, too, was helped,” Ralph pointed out. “Saewold helped by going away to Salisbury and Ediva by staying at home. It was she who brought down Hugh de Brionne.”

  “Do not forget Hilda.”

  “It was she who gave us the name of Brother Peter.”

  “Only because Leofgifu had confided in her the details of her broken romance.” Gervase grew sad again. “Now I see why Leofgifu pressed me so closely about life in an abbey. That was where her lover had been driven by desperation and she wanted to know exactly the kind of life that he had been leading since their enforced separation.”

  Ralph looked at him. “Do you still want to be a monk?”

  “No, Ralph.”

  “Do you not pine for the celibate life?” he teased.

  “No, Ralph.”

  “Would you not like to be another Abbot Serlo? There is a golden halo waiting for such a man.” Ralph grinned and nudged him. “Be honest with me, Gervase. Do you not harbour a secret desire to emulate him? Would you not love to be revered by all as a saint?”

  “Indeed, I would,” confessed Gervase.

  Then he remembered that Alys awaited him in Winchester.

  “But not yet….”