“May we speak with him?”
“Is that needful?”
“I would like to hear his side of the tale.”
“It lies before you.”
“Brother Luke came upon the body after the wolf had left it. Only he will know exactly what state it was in at that moment of discovery.
It would interest me to hear his opinion.”
“Then I will seek permission for you to do so.”
“Thank you, Brother Peter.”
“We are glad to assist in every way,” said the other, then he shot a last compassionate glance at the tortured creature on the bier. “Have you seen enough here?”
“One moment longer,” said Gervase.
He was now accustomed to the grotesque sight of the wound and had transferred his attention to the face. Alric Longdon’s pallid complexion had anticipated death. Its sudden whiteness was the same as it had always been. A night in the river had done less damage to his features than might have been supposed, and Gervase was able to read something of the man’s character in that twisted mouth, that square jaw, that hooked nose, and those eyes that were set at different levels. The forehead was low and sharply lined, the cheekbones high and prominent. Gervase could almost hear the gruff voice that came from the nonexistent throat. The miller was a sly and secretive man, quick to accuse another but truculent in the face of accusation himself. There was a hard, unyielding, and unlovely side to this man. He deserved sympathy, but he was no paragon of virtues.
“We have seen enough,” said Gervase.
“So be it.”
Brother Peter led them out of the mortuary and back up into the clean air of a summer morning. They inhaled deeply to get Alric Longdon out of their nostrils. Ralph Delchard probed for more details.
“Has the sheriff been informed?”
“It was not felt necessary.”
“There was violent death here.”
“He is not the only victim of the forest,” said Brother Peter sadly.
“Edward of Salisbury is a busy man. He would not thank us if we dragged him here to examine every dead body that is brought out of Savernake. Last month, one of the foresters was killed by a wild boar.
In May of this year, a woodman was crushed beneath a tree that he was felling. At Easter last, two boys were drowned in the stretch of river within the forest boundary.” Brother Peter shrugged. “Our sheriff will ride hard to spy on murder, but we do not disturb him for every accident that occurs in Savernake.”
“What of the dead man’s family?” asked Gervase.
“His young wife, the lovely Hilda, is distraught. There is a son by his first wife, a boy of nine. This tragedy bonded them together in grief and desperation.”
“They are cared for?”
“Here in the abbey. They were received into the guesthouse by Brother Hospitaller and offered private quarters.” Brother Peter gave a wan smile. “We are used to mourning within these walls. Abbot Serlo has taught us how to medicine the troubled mind. Hilda and the boy will be well looked after here. They deserve no less.”
Ralph and Gervase found plenty more to ask and were satisfied with the candid helpfulness of the replies which they got. They learned all that they could from the amenable Brother Peter without divulging anything themselves. When the sacristan had gone off to seek permission for them to speak with Brother Luke, the two friends were able to compare their reactions to all that they had witnessed.
“Prior Baldwin is our stumbling-block,” said Ralph with a grimace.
“We shall hear more of that awkward gentleman when we sit in commission.”
“Abbot Serlo makes all the decisions. Everyone looks up to him.
You heard the reverence in Brother Peter’s voice when he talked of Father Abbot.”
“The sheriff may have to be called in good time.”
“Why, Ralph?”
“This is a case that merits his attention.”
“Edward will not stir from Salisbury for a careless miller who wandered by mistake too far into the forest.”
“There was nothing careless about this man,” said Ralph thought-fully. “I read his letters before we set out this morning. The man can write and write well, albeit in that crude language you call English.
How many millers can do that? It is an angry letter and one that is spiced with malice, but I judge it to be the work of a careful man. He was careful in his wording and very careful to urge his own part in this business.”
“You are right,” conceded Gervase. “That is the face of a man who could pen such strong letters. But this takes us no further. Will you summon a sheriff to arrest a wolf?”
Ralph looked around the cloister garth to make sure that they were not overheard, then he dropped his voice to a whisper to make doubly sure of privacy.
“Alric Longdon was born and bred next to Savernake. He has run his mill for twenty years at least and made more profit than all his rivals in the trade.”
“What are you saying?”
“He would not prosper by carelessness. I believe he went into the forest for a purpose and we can only guess at that purpose when we view the spot where he was killed. There is much more to this miller than his letters reveal.”
“He summoned us here; he dies.”
Ralph was grim. “We must find out how-and why.”
Bedwyn throbbed with unhappiness and dread. News of the wolf attack in Savernake Forest raced through the town and the surround-ing countryside. Shepherds tended their flocks with more concern, swine-herds became more alert, worried parents issued dire warnings to children, and eager lovers, who had hitherto used the forest for their clandestine sport, now took their search for wanton pleasure into barn and stable and shed. One wolf could alter the habits of a whole community.
Richard Esturmy had come to England in 1066 to fight for Duke William. When the latter became King of England, the former was made Warden of Savernake and took over several holdings in the area. He reacted to the situation with commendable speed and decision, sending out his foresters to hunt the wolf and follow it to its pack. Wolves had been a menace for generations and Esturmy’s house in the parish of Grafton bore testimony to this. It was called Wolf Hall. The royal forest was the preserve of royal deer, shy and retiring creatures who needed ranges that were undisturbed. Any animals which might be harmful to the deer were thus kept down and Esturmy had granted rights of warren to local men to kill foxes, hares, wildcats, and even squirrels. Wolves and boars were controlled by organised hunts with spear and net and mastiff.
The unkind death of Alric Longdon made people highly superstitious. Few outside the miller’s family spared more than a passing sigh for him and there were several who were content to hear of the demise of such an unpopular man, but the link between an arrival and a sudden departure could not be neglected. As the commissioners fell on Bedwyn, a harsher judgement fell on Alric Longdon. As the Norman wolves came to threaten the town, a lone animal seized its prey in the forest. To the impressionable townsfolk, the two events seemed to be inextricably connected. The miller was simply the first victim of the royal commissioners. Who-they wondered aloud-would be the next?
“Rex tenuit Bedvinde. Rex Edward tenuit. Nunc geldavit. Nec hidatafuit.…”
Canon Hubert was in good voice, declaiming the Latin phrases from the inventory made by the first commissioners who visited the area. Seated beside him, Gervase Bret took it upon himself to provide a translation in English for his listeners.
“The king holds Bedwyn. King Edward held it. It never paid tax and was not assessed by hide. There is land for eighty ploughs less one. In the lordship there are twelve ploughs and eighteen slaves. There are eighty villagers, sixty cottagers and fourteen freemen with sixty-seven ploughs. There are eight mills paying one hundred shillings.…”
There was a communal intake of breath. Only seven of those mill wheels now turned. The largest had been robbed of its master in the forest. Gervase had a pleasant voice that could be heard distinctly by everyone in the building.