“Did you become a novice at the abbey?”
“In the fullness of time.”
“For how long did you stay?”
“Six months or more.”
“What made you leave?” asked Luke with keen interest.
“Gervase must tell you another time, lad,” intervened Ralph as they came to a fork in the river. “You spoke of a stream to the left. Is this the place?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Lead on. We follow hard on your heels.”
Luke began the uphill climb, with the others behind him. Ralph winked knowingly to Gervase. They had not only made a friend inside the abbey, they had chosen one untutored in the arts of debate and prevarication of which monks like Prior Baldwin were so patently masters. The novice was a useful ally. By the same token, he would not lose at all by their acquaintance. He had evidently been drawn to Gervase when the latter’s history was recounted, and there was clear affinity between them. Brother Luke was experiencing the kinds of anxieties and misgivings that had afflicted Gervase himself in a similar position. There would be more talk between the two of them in private.
“It is not far now,” said the pathfinder.
“You are a true forester,” praised Ralph.
“The stream goes below ground here, but we will find it again a little higher up.”
It was early evening and the sun was still slanting its rays down through the trees. Birdsong surrounded them and the cheerful buzz of insects swelled the effortless music of the forest. There were other, louder, unexplained noises in the middle distance, but they did not delay the little trio. At length, they reached the ruined yew and looked upon the bank where Brother Luke had first found the dead body of the miller.
“It was here,” he said, pointing an index finger.
“Be more precise, lad,” said Ralph. “Which way did he lie? Where were his body, his feet, his head?”
“He was on his back, my lord, and his head was in the stream.
I will show you if you wish.”
“I do, Luke.”
The youth needed no more encouragement. He lay on the ground beside the stream and adjusted himself so that he was hanging over it. Stretching out too far, he lost his balance and fell backwards, submerging head and shoulders in the water. Ralph gave a hearty laugh, but Gervase dived forward to grab the novice by the folds of his cowl and pull him back up onto the bank. Sodden and spluttering, Brother Luke was not distressed by the mishap.
“That was how I found him, sirs,” he explained. “Even as I was then. On this bank and in that stream.”
Ralph became serious and moved him aside. Taking up the same position, he looked all around him and saw the bushes to the side of the yew. A wolf concealed in those could launch a surprise attack, but its coat might leave some memory of its passage through the brambles. Ralph instituted a careful search and quickly found what he expected.
“Fur,” he said triumphantly. “Our wolf lurked here and leapt upon the miller to push him backwards. This much seems certain. But there are still two larger questions.”
“What are they?” asked Gervase.
“Wolves kill for food or when they are threatened. That heavy body in the mortuary chapel would have made a good meal for a hungry wolf and its family. Why did it take only one bite of its supper?”
“Perhaps it was disturbed,” suggested Gervase.
“In as quiet and lonely a spot as this?”
“Another wolf may have disputed the carcass. They may have chased each other away. Foresters may have been on patrol. Their scent would be caught well before they came to this exact place.”
Ralph was back among the brambles again, finding another piece of fur and holding it to his nose to sniff. He located a third tuft and repeated the process.
“It smells like a wolf,” he said, “and, then again, it does not. I wonder if we are naming the wrong animal as the murderer. A mad dog would kill for the sake of it and leave a victim to bleed to death.”
He crouched behind the bushes, then jumped up by way of demonstration. “If it sprang up high enough and hard enough, it could knock him flat, then sink its fangs into him.”
“You forget something, my lord,” said Luke diffidently.
“What is that?”
“Those marks upon his chest.”
“Front paws would leave such grim reminders.”
“Not in Savernake,” continued the novice. “Forest law is strict. All dogs in and around Bedwyn are lawed. They must have three claws removed from each of their front paws so that they may not bring down game.”
“Even hunting dogs?” said Ralph.
“Only a few escape the rigour of this law.”
“And who would own such mastiffs, excepting the Warden of Savernake himself? This is a royal forest, but the king cannot ride here often. Who else has hunting privileges?”
“None but the lord of Chisbury.”
Gervase was curious. “Hugh de Brionne?”
“The same. He keeps a pack of hounds.”
Ralph and Gervase exchanged a meaningful glance. When the problem of the abbey lands came before them on the next day, Hugh de Brionne would be called as a principal witness. They had so far liked nothing that they had heard of the domineering lord, and the fact that one of his mastiffs might possibly have killed an innocent man did not endear him to them any the more. Ralph put his first question aside and turned to the other, but he did not wish to ask it in the presence of Brother Luke. When the novice got back to the abbey, he would be catechised by the prior about his walk in Savernake Forest. Ralph did not wish the abbey to be party to all his researches.
“Walk further on, Gervase,” he said casually. “If wolf or dog came down this way, find the route by which it left. It would seek cover in its flight. See if you can choose its direction.”
Gervase understood that he was being asked to get Luke out of the way and did so with such natural ease that the youth did not suspect for a moment why he was being taken farther up the hill by way of a ruse. To help in the search for clues gave the novice a sense of excitement, but it paled beside the chance of being able to question Gervase further about his release from his vows in Eltham Abbey.
As soon as they were out of sight, Ralph took out his sword and used its point to describe the shape of Alric Longdon as he lay on the bank beside the stream. Why had the miller come to such a place alone? It was not an area of the forest into which anyone could stray accidentally. He stood on the chest of the dead man and looked around with utmost care, but not even the ghost of an answer flitted across his path. He turned to gaze down into the stream. Gushing out of its underground passage, it was no more than six or nine inches deep, but he was unable to see the bottom of its channel. The foliage above formed such a complete covering that the stream was in shadow even on the brightest day.
He used his sword point to prod through the water and test its chalk base. Ralph jabbed the weapon in a dozen different places, as if he were trying to spear fish, and his enterprise was eventually rewarded. The sword met resistance and he jiggled the point around before thrusting hard to penetrate the object. He brought his hand up slowly to see what he had caught. It was no fish but a far more valuable catch. What was impaled on the end of his sword was a dripping leather pouch. Its draw-string was loosened and it was empty, but Ralph’s mind was racing now. If the miller had been tumbled into the stream with the pouch in his hand, its contents might even now be still resting on the bottom.
Putting sword aside, he knelt down and thrust an arm into the stream. Groping fingers soon located a prize and he brought it out. It was a coin of high value, much more than would normally be paid for a sack of flour. When he dipped in his hand again, he came up with three coins of the same kind. Two minutes of stretching and feeling about beneath water earned him a substantial amount of money and one more item which helped to explain the hoard. Ralph Delchard found a key. Alric Longdon finally spoke to him.