The Wolves of Savernake

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 used 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 unprepossess-ing 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 meet-ings 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….”