Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm

by Mike Dixon

  'That's right. If you're young enough to hear the bats then you're young enough to take me to the maypole dance.'

  'But that's for fifteen-year-olds.'

  'Don't be ridiculous,' she prodded him playfully. 'Ralph and Henry are going.'

  'You mean the monks?'

  'Yes. And they want us to go with them.'

  'But monks aren't allowed to go to dances.'

  'Oh, Harald. Monks do lots of things they're not supposed to … especially if they work in a scriptorium.'

  'But they'll be recognised and so will we. People will start talking. They don't expect to see the matron of the almshouse on Dancing Hill. The vicar has preached sermons on it. He says the maypole is a representation of the male member and an abomination in the eyes of the Lord.'

  'John Duffield gets lots of things wrong.'

  Alice gave him another prod.

  'The maypole represents a tree. The festivities are about new growth. That's why people make costumes of leaves. Ralph and Henry have made costumes for us. You'll love yours. No one will recognise you when you put it on.'

  Chapter 21

  May Day

  William squatted beside the wheels. The Draper boys had arrived with the tallow but there was no sign of Geoffrey Hulle. That didn't worry him. He'd written Geoffrey out of his plans. The vile traitor would be hiding in his den, scared to go out because of his parents. William wasn't scared of anyone. Mistress Baret had told him to stay in his room but he wasn't going to take orders from her. Robin could have stopped him but he had been given the evening off. Robin was down at the maypole with some girls.

  The Draper boys wrapped straw round the spokes of the wheels and coated them with tallow. William occasionally intervened, telling them when to bind tighter and when not to bind so light. If the need arose he would do it himself but leaders didn't do that unless they had too. Leaders kept a close eye on what was happening and told others what to do.

  He took his tinderbox from his belt and checked the cord. It was smouldering robustly and the tinder was dry. Satisfied, he returned the box and looked around. The maypole was set on a grassy knoll. A band was playing and people were gathered around. Most were wearing garlands of flowers and leaves. Others had gone to a lot more trouble. There were people dressed as animals and people wearing costumes made entirely of leaves.

  His attention settled on a group of four. There was something oddly familiar about them. At first he couldn't tell why. Then one of them made a gesture that was unmistakable. William could scarcely believe his eyes. The mole was down there fiddling nervously with his seeing glasses. He'd stopped thinking of Harald as his father. Guy was his father. He'd known that all along. Even as a little boy he could feel the bond.

  He identified the other members of the group as Sister Alice and a couple of randy monks. They probably thought no one would notice them. That was a laugh. They stood out like daisies on a mule's arse. William was reminded of the costumes the mummers wore when they came to town to do sexy plays about Robin Hood and his merry men. The mole looked like a leafy version of Friar Tuck and Sister Alice reminded him of Maid Marion.

  Down on the grassy knoll, Harald felt ill at ease. The people crowding around weren't merely younger, they belonged to a totally different class. Some of his servants could be amongst them. The thought of being recognised was mortifying. On top of that, he didn't like dancing. His feet never moved with the music and his poor eyesight could never cope with the half-light that seemed to be an essential part of such gatherings.

  His costume was another source of worry. Ralph said a cape of leaves and a painted mask were normal attire for the May Day festivities. Harald wasn't so sure. No one else had gone to so much trouble. The girls made do with flowers and the boys were content with bits of greenery they'd torn from the hedgerow on the way to the dance. Harald's inclination was to grab Alice and run. They were ridiculously dressed and far too old to be prancing around with a mob of smelly adolescents. He turned to Alice.

  'I think we should leave.'

  She looked vexed. 'But it's not started yet.'

  'I don't think we should be here.'

  'Harald, pray, don't spoil this evening for me. I've always wanted to dance the maypole. I've never had the chance before.'

  'We're too old.'

  'Don't say that. We're young enough to have fun and do all sorts of things.' She took his hand. 'Do you know what to do?'

  Harald shook his head.

  'Then I'll tell you.' She pointed to the maypole. 'Do you see those cords?'

  Harald squinted into the setting sun and saw a cluster of red and white ropes hanging down from the top of the pole.

  'When the Green Man blows his horn you must run out and grab one.'

  'Why do I have to run?'

  'Because, if you don't, some big lad will get there first.'

  Harald couldn't think of anything more dangerous than fighting a twenty-year-old for possession of a rope. His heart sank as she led him to where Ralph and Henry were standing. The two monks took up positions on either side of him.

  'Do you know what to do?' Ralph asked.

  'Yes,' Harald replied irritably. 'When the Green Man blows his horn I've got to run in there and get one of those ropes.'

  'No.' Ralph grabbed his arm. 'If you do that, you'll be left behind. As soon as he looks like he's going to blow … you take off.'

  'How will I know that?'

  Ralph gave up. A man dressed as a gamekeeper had entered the circle of dancers. Ralph signalled to Henry and they grabbed Harald. The man in green raised his horn and the crowd surged forward before he could put it to his lips. Harald was swept along in the stampede. The two monks elbowed their way to the maypole, thrust a rope into his hand and propelled him back to Alice.

  'My Valentine!'

  She kissed him on the lips as confusion raged all around. Victors were triumphant. The vanquished downcast. A boy with a bloodied nose was comforted by a sympathetic girl. Another was being vilified for returning empty handed. Ralph and Henry stood nearby, flaunting their ropes as if they were parts of their male persons.

  A group of girls, decked out in daisy chains, stood nearby. They wore little bells on ribbons that hung from their waists. Two of them skipped forward … bells jangling.

  'Who be thee then?'

  Their country accents were so extreme Harald could hardly understand them. Ralph and Henry had no such problem. They dropped the plummy tones, favoured in the monastery, and replied in broad Dorset.

  'We be tree sprites.'

  The girls advanced a step. 'What be thee doing here then?'

  Ralph fluttered his leaves. 'We be come on this special day to bestow our bounty on the first mortal maid who doeth speak to us.'

  'That sounds all right,' the girls said.

  Harald listened to the patter. They were no more than fifteen but there was nothing innocent about them. And the monks' intentions were all too obvious. He wondered how they'd tricked Alice into an evening of debauchery. One of the girls attached herself to Ralph and another to Henry. Harald clutched Alice, determined to shield her from harm.

  Fights were breaking out … mostly amongst the girls. There weren't enough ropes to go round. Lads who had one were in high demand. Harald's heart went out to the others. He knew how they felt. His entire life had been sacrificed to males with bigger muscles and better eyesight.

  The boy with the bloodied nose was sobbing nearby. He wondered if he should surrender his rope to him and make a dash for safety with Alice. Then he remembered what had happened to Robin and rejected all idea of leaving the protection of Ralph and Henry. The thought of being stripped naked by lustful peasant girls was mortifying.

  Eventually, the fighting died down. Those without ropes went to the outer circle. Unlucky girls joined unlucky boys. Tears were wiped from eyes and blood from noses. The losers formed a circle about the winners and began to sway from side to side. A flute sounded and everyone began to sing.

&nbs
p; 'Here be we in the greenwood, greenwood

  Here we be in the greenwood in the merry month of May

  Here we be a wandering, wandering

  Here we be a wandering in the merry month of May.'

  The flute gave way to pipes and the boys began to shout.

  'In and out and round about …'

  They held up the ends of their ropes and pranced back and forth with their partners, singing in deep base voices.

  'In and out. In and out …'

  The girls sang the refrain in high-pitched squeaks.

  'Do it again. Do it again …'

  Alice joined in and Harald was deeply shocked. It was like a nightmare come true. Bewitched was not too strong a word. Evil forces were unleashed at this time of the year. Ralph and Henry had taken advantage of them. What they had done was inexcusable. They were in holy orders. They knew Alice had been reared in the genteel seclusion of a convent and would be innocent of the sexual innuendos of the words she was so innocently using.

  He would have agonised more if he'd not been occupied in a desperate struggle to stay on his feet. One moment he was dragged forward and the next back. In the failing light he could see little of what was happening. He clasped Alice's hand and hung on.

  'In and out. In and out …'

  The dancers stopped prancing and started to circle the maypole. In and out became round about and that was followed by round about and out and in. There was no end to it.

  Alice pulled and Ralph pushed. They could see but he was as blind as a bat. Or, should he say blind as a mole? Harald didn't care. All that mattered was to hang on and that was getting harder and harder. Every time they completed a circle the dancers were pulled closer together.

  He didn't doubt the outcome. An orgy would ensue. They would be trapped in a seething mass of adolescent peasantry. Hands would grope and unspeakable abominations would occur. In the past, he'd ignored the vicar's remonstrations about the evils of the May Day festivities. Now, he realised they were fully justified.

  His companions didn't share his concern. The lustful monks and their lustful partners were enjoying every moment of it. And so was Alice. In a sudden rush of understanding, he realised why. She was yearning for what had been denied her. Alice had been robbed of her youth and was trying to grasp the little that remained. It might be witchcraft or the guiding hand of the Holy Mother. Harald decided on the latter and felt guilty for denying Alice what she so much desired.

  From his position on the ridge, William looked down at the gyrating mass of humanity and considered his next move. Guy had taught him that a good commander should marshal his resources and apply them to maximum effect. His resources were two cartwheels, primed with combustible materials. His objective was to create an incident that would be talked about for years.

  He squatted on his haunches and gnawed on a hunk of meat he had stolen from the Baret kitchen. There was no hurry. Knights didn't hurry. They knew timing was everything. If you couldn't understand that you weren't worth a coot's fart … that's what Guy said.

  The minutes passed. The sun slipped towards the horizon and the dancing got wilder. William watched the mole stumble around, supported by Alice and the monks, and couldn't stop laughing. It was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. He wondered if the mole would fall over and get trampled underfoot. It would serve him right if he did.

  He turned to the Draper boys. They were at their stations and knew what to do. They weren't like poncy-nosed Geoffrey Hulle who thought himself so clever because his father was a master mason. The Draper boys knew they took orders from knights and didn't act like they were above their station. It was now quite dark. The dancers were bunched together and the pipes had quickened. It was time to act.

  William rose to his feet.

  'Prepare for action.'

  The Draper boys heaved at the first of the wheels.

  'Aim as directed.'

  They pointed the wheel at the maypole. William opened his tinderbox and removed the smouldering cord. Everything had to be got right. He checked the alignment of the wheel and judged it to be correct.

  'Stand by.'

  He applied the cord to the tallow and the flames spread.

  'Release!'

  The boys let go and the wheel rolled down the slope, spurting fire. The second followed moments later. They sped towards the maypole and the dancers scattered. William watched them flee into the bushes and heard the excited screams that followed. One wheel set a haystack alight and the other burned furiously in a ditch.

  Ralph and Henry fled with a pack of giggling girls and found a grassy patch amongst the briars. 'You'll be safe with us in the greenwood,' Ralph told them. 'We tree sprites know all about forest fires.'

  'Be tree sprites made like mortal men?' one of the girls asked.

  'When they appear to mortal maids they be.'

  'But there be six of we. Can thee please us all?'

  'When the sap rises!'

  Ralph let out a roar and was pulled to the ground.

  A hand probed his leafy parts.

  'It's risen alright.'

  'Here, let me 'ave a go …'

  Ralph tried to fight them off. Henry was having the same problem. Peasant girls weren't just big and buxom. They were big and strong. And they didn't mess around. He'd lured damsels into the greenwood. Now it was his turn to be undressed. The girls sat on his chest and fingered him all over. He didn't mind that but there was no give and take. It was all take. His mask came off. That worried him more than the loss of his linen undershorts. Men are recognised by their faces not by their other parts.

  'Brother Paul!'

  They let out excited screams.

  His feathered hat was ripped away and his baldpate exposed.

  'It's him alright … he be one of them monks.'

  The girls seemed more excited than shocked. They tore off his remaining clothes and fled with them. Ralph crawled to where Henry was lying and found him similarly exposed. He put a finger to his lips.

  'Over there … can you see him?'

  Henry pointed towards a crouching figure silhouetted against the burning haystack. It had a donkey's head and was staring straight at them.

  Chapter 22

  Summoner

  William Bradford sat in his high-backed chair and returned Friar Ashley's look of horror. 'You say they were stripped of their raiment and left as naked as the day they were born.'

  'That is how I found them, Father Abbot.'

  'Appalling … wouldn't you say?' William turned to Canon Simon. 'Had not the good friar chanced upon the brothers they might still be there, hiding in a ditch, clothed only in rude cloaks made of leaves and straw.'

  'A true Samaritan.' Simon beamed at the friar. 'You attended to their wounds and found garments to hide their shame.'

  'It was the least I could do,' Friar Ashley nodded gravely. 'Two holy men returning from a mission of mercy to a dying relative, attacked by a lustful crowd and robbed of all their possessions, even their very clothes.'

  'I blame it on the maypole.' William cleared his throat and spat into the silver bowl by his chair. 'It is the work of the devil and I'd have it banned if I had my way. I have put that to our lord bishop but he won't listen.'

  'You say the summoner was there?' Friar Ashley said.

  'Aye, Bailiff Gallor informed me that the summoner attended the dance disguised as a donkey in priest's garb. I don't doubt there will be work a plenty for him in the days to come, summoning the evil doers in our midst to make account of themselves before the bishop's court. And that's not all. The good bailiff informs me that his dog was cruelly slaughtered by one of Master Baret's servants on May Eve. He says the same servant was earlier exposing himself before a crowd of young women outside the New Moon Inn.'

  'Truly, the devil has come amongst us.' Friar Ashley reached for his rosary. 'I ask myself is there any succour I can provide to you holy brothers in your struggle against the servants of darkness.'

  'There is, since
you mention it.'

  William reached for the bursar's report.

  'Our receipts from the parish are sharply down on previous years. You could help find a remedy. They've stopped putting money in our box and are making donations to All Hallows instead.'

  'I don't see how I can do much about that.'

  'You could preach against it.' William smoothed the pile of the silken carpet that graced his table. 'Tell the parishioners that they should put their money where it's going to work for them. You friars are educated men. The people listen to you. They know their parish priests are dolts ... men of little learning who speak without real authority.'

  The friar looked sceptical.

  'You could hear confessions as well,' William continued. 'Collect penances. Make a little money for the noble causes of your order.'

  Friar Ashley reconsidered the proposal.

  'I suppose I could … if that is acceptable to you.'

  'Perfectly acceptable. Every penny you receive is one less in the coffers of All Hallows. The parishioners do not have unlimited funds. They are very frugal when it comes to good causes.'

  'Where do you want me to preach?'

  'In front of the Julian Inn would be ideal. You can start as soon as you like. There's no point in wasting time.'

  ***

  Harald left the almshouse and was walking towards John Baret's house when he became aware that he was being followed. Footsteps sounded on the cobbles behind him. It was late evening and he felt vulnerable. There were far too many undesirables in Sherborne. Vagrants passed through the town. Many were old soldiers who had been injured in the French wars. He quickened his pace.

  'Sir Harald Gascoigne. I would have a word with you.'

  The voice was oafish and demanding. No one of any manners would accost a member of his class in such a way. His brother, Guy, would react violently. Harald turned and saw a scrawny man in buckled shoes and a tacky gown.

  'Pray, read this.'

  A piece of parchment was thrust into his hand.

  Harald fumbled for his reading glasses.

  'Don't bother. I'll read it for you.'