Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm

by Mike Dixon

  'That foul font is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord,' the mason cut in. 'They have blasphemously written the words of Our Lord Jesus in the common tongue.'

  'You mean that Suffer the Little Children bit round the top?'

  'Aye. The holy father in Rome has forbid it. They should be excommunicated for what they have done.'

  'The bishop says he will excommunicate them if they don't get rid of that font.'

  'Then why hasn't the lord abbot sent masons in to have it removed? I would do it gladly and not expected payment.'

  'You've got a good point there,' Walter placed a hand on the mason's shoulder. 'As I said, the Lollards don't have no archers to protect them no more. There's nothing to stop us going in there and reducing that font to a pile of rubble. We'll leave them to clear up the mess.'

  'How do we know the archers have gone?' the mason asked. 'We saw them leave but that doesn't mean they won't be back.'

  'Guy Gascoigne had ships waiting at Weymouth, not ten mile from Dorchester. They'll have boarded by now. The weather's good. You don't hang around at this time of year. If the weather's good, you put to sea.'

  'Where are they going?'

  'Across to Cherbourg to join the Duke of York.'

  'How do you know all this?'

  'The father abbot has his sources,' Walter replied knowingly. 'He's in with the Beauforts. They've been keeping a close eye on Sir Guy from the moment he arrived.'

  'Why's that?'

  'Because the Gascoignes owe allegiance to the Earl of Huntingdon who supports Duke Humphrey. Right now, there's a big punch up between the Beauforts and the duke.'

  The mason's mind strayed back to a more personal worry.

  'What about those other constables you recruited? You said there was twelve. Where did they come from?'

  'They're archers Dickie Vowell turned down.'

  'But, if he turned them down, doesn't that mean they're no good?'

  Walter shook his head. 'Dickie caught 'em drinking in the George with me and the lads. That's why he wouldn't have 'em. They're all good fellows. They'll sort out Dickie and his mob … show 'em they can't flout our authority.'

  ***

  While the bailiff was giving his version of events, a very different conversation was taking place in a barn in a field near Dorchester. Guy Gascoigne held a lamp and his lawyer, Sir Hugh Orpington, unrolled a map. Guy peered over his shoulder.

  'What do the different colours mean?'

  'Red shows the lands united to the Gascoigne estate in accordance with the terms of Judith's dowry. They are the lands Roger Knowles continues to dispute.'

  Hugh pointed to some black crosses.

  'These mark farmsteads that have declared allegiance to the Knowles family despite the court ruling in your favour. You are at liberty to enter these properties, expel the tenants and seize goods to the value of all monies owed. Should you raze the buildings to the ground then that is your choice. The law will also support you if you act in self-defence. It recognises your right to resist physical assault with physical force.'

  Guy ran his finger along the boundary lines.

  'The Knowles' lands are in green. What do the shaded areas mean?'

  'They're held by tenants. Your brother insists that no action be taken against them. Since you require his future cooperation, I recommend that you comply with his wishes.'

  'But we've got to get them off the land.' Guy stabbed a finger at the map. 'There's no money in tenants. The future is in sheep. Everyone agrees to that.'

  'I agree with what you are saying. But I urge you not to alienate your brother anymore than you have done already. You need Harald to run the estate. He is very good at that. You should give credit where credit is due.'

  Guy considered the point. 'Aye, you're right.'

  'Harald's connections with Duke Humphrey, through Mistress Alice, could be valuable in years to come,' Hugh continued. 'If anything should happen to our frail young king … God forbid the thought.' He crossed himself. 'Humphrey will be king and Eleanor might even be his queen. Think what it would mean to have a brother whose mistress is a confidant of the Queen of England.'

  Guy didn't need any convincing.

  'The boys are ready. Is there anything we've forgotten?'

  'Nothing. So long as you understand the need to comply with the law.'

  Guy eyed him coldly. 'One day I'll take you over to France, Hugh. We don't have much time for lawyers there. You'll soon learn what it is to live in a place where swords count for more than words.'

  ***

  Shouts interrupted Roger Knowles at his morning prayers. A man had entered the manor yard yelling that his farm had been attacked. Roger ran from the chapel and recognised him as one of the loyal tenants of Judith's dower. He tried to calm him.

  'Whatever has happened?'

  'It's the Gascoignes. They'd have killed us.'

  'Tell me exactly what they've done.'

  'They rode up at daybreak just as I was getting the firewood.'

  'How many?'

  'About ten … they're led by that young William.'

  'You mean my nephew?'

  'Aye. The one what's meant to be Guy's son.'

  'Did you recognise any of the others?'

  'There was those kids what stole the cartwheels and that Robin what gave us all the trouble before. He shot one of my dogs and the Welsh boy shot the other. They said they'd been killing their sheep.'

  'What else did they do?'

  'They told us to get out?'

  'You mean Robin and the Welsh boy?'

  'No. William. The boy's out of his mind … charged about with a firebrand saying he'd burn the place down and us with it.'

  'Where's your family?'

  'In the woods … I left them and came straight here.'

  Roger went to the gate and looked towards the valley. A thin column of smoke rose above the trees. At first it was no different from the early morning fires lit to burn fallen leaves. Then the smoke thickened and turned black.'

  'You little sod, William.' He drew in a deep breath. 'You may be my sister's child but that won't stop me killing you.'

  ***

  The farm was where Roger had been humiliated a year earlier by Harald Gascoigne and his servant, Robin. He'd been humiliated again at the Dorchester assizes when Hugh Orpington turned up with a force of thirty armed men. This time he was prepared. He'd recruited a force of fifty. They were in the service of the Earl of Salisbury and waiting to cross to France to join the Duke of Suffolk.

  He arrived at the head of the valley and eyed the scene below. The farmhouse was ablaze and a band of adolescents was charging about wildly, rounding up cattle. They seemed unaware of the powerful force descending upon them. Roger wondered how close he could get before the silly brats saw him.

  He signalled to his men to move forward and came within bowshot of the boys before one of them let out a terrified scream and dashed for the cover of the barn, followed by his juvenile companions.

  It was the sort of behaviour Roger expected. Full of bravado one minute and terrified the next, the silly kids had little understanding of the real world. They could have gone into the woods and found safety amongst the briars and thornbushes. Instead, they'd sought refuge in a building. He raised his baton and his men halted.

  His legal adviser had warned him about the use of excessive force. An attempt must first be made to resolve the issue peacefully. The door of the barn was open. He approached within hailing distance, keen to sound like a concerned relative, eager to sort out an unfortunate misunderstanding.

  'Come out, Nephew. There's no need to be frightened.'

  William appeared at the door.

  'What do you want?'

  'We need to talk.'

  'Very well. Get on with it.'

  The boy seemed anything but frightened. Roger had never heard such insolence from a thirteen-year-old. 'I'm ordering you and your young companions to leave that barn.'

  'Why should I?
It's my property.'

  'Do as you are told, William.' He spurred his horse forward. 'I'm taking you into custody. You will be released when your father has paid for all the damage you've done.'

  The boy stepped outside.

  'Get off my land. You're trespassing.'

  Roger's patience snapped. 'William. I have fifty armed men with me and they're itching for a day's sport.'

  'I have three hundred, Uncle.'

  'Don't try to frighten me with your silly nonsense.' Roger stood high on his horse and eyed the boy coldly. 'You're not back at the manor now playing games with your little friends. You're not King Arthur with his knights.'

  'I do not play games, Uncle.'

  There was an icy chill to William's voice. He raised a hand and Robin and Gareth appeared from the shadows. They had two arrows in the air before Roger knew what was happening. The shafts struck the turf on either side of his horse and the frightened animal bolted. It would have fled the field if his sergeant hadn't come to the rescue. He eyed Roger reproachfully.

  'You could have been killed back there.'

  'I was trying to talk sense into them.'

  'Well, you didn't. Those boys got the better of you.'

  The sergeant pointed to the barn.

  'Do you want them out?'

  'Yes,' Roger nodded.

  'Then we'll have to use fire.'

  'Is there no other way?'

  'Not unless you want to get killed.'

  Roger was speechless. He'd paid good money for his force of mercenaries and he was being treated with disrespect. Worst of all, there was nothing he could do about it. He followed the sergeant up the slope, trying to appear as if he was still in command.

  Some archers were lolling around on the grass.

  'Right lads,' the sergeant went up to them. 'They won't parley so we're going to have to smoke 'em out. They're only kids so there's to be a minimum of aggravation. None is to get hurt. Do you understand?'

  'Aye, Sarge.'

  'We'll stay well out of range.'

  'Aye, Sarge.'

  Roger watched as a gigantic bow was produced and handed to a burly archer. The man sank onto the soft turf, raised his knees to his chest and grasped the bow with his toes. Everything was done in a casual manner as if there was no hurry. A huge fire arrow was produced. The archer continued to chat with his companions as the arrow was fitted. He waited for it to be lit then thrust out his legs and bent the bow with the full strength of his body.

  Only one shot was needed. It rose in a shallow arc before dropping towards the barn. Roger estimated the distance at over three hundred yards. The accuracy was astounding. The shaft struck the roof and the incendiary charge lodged in the thatch. All they had to do now was wait. The flames spread slowly but the outcome was never in doubt. Smoke billowed from the building. Roger imagined the boys inside, too terrified to leave.

  Eventually, the door flew open and they came tumbling out. He watched as they squirmed around on the ground, gasping for breath. Then, on a signal from William, they jumped to their feet.

  'Guy! Guy! Guy!'

  They set up a chant and William blew his horn. A trumpet sounded in reply and a glint of steel appeared amongst the trees.

  'You stupid arsehole!'

  The sergeant grabbed Roger's arm.

  'Those are Guy Gascoigne's men.'

  He pointed to where a line of horsemen had appeared.

  'You said they were in France.'

  Roger gasped as armoured horsemen streamed from the woods. Archers ran beside them, hanging onto stirrup straps. Others rode pillion. The speed of the manoeuvre was frightening.

  The sergeant mounted his horse.

  'You can stay if you want. We're leaving.'

  Roger watched in horror as his escort left the field then ran to his horse and sped after them.

  The manor was in uproar when he got there. Servants were fleeing and taking his best horses. He retreated into the manor barn with his wife and child and the few people who had remained loyal. The building was equipped with arrow slits and designed to withstand attacks by robbers. It was totally inadequate against the force of heavily armed men heading his way. He could see them coming down the road, marching to the sound of pipe and drum.

  His nephew, William, rode in front on a warhorse. The boy had a banner in one hand and a sword in the other. Roger glanced at his small son who was cowering in his mother's arms. If anything happened to the child, William would be the natural heir to the Knowles' estate. The threat posed by the malevolent thirteen-year-old was terrifying.

  He returned his attention to the advancing troops. The column had reached the main gate. As he watched, a cavalry unit detached and proceeded towards the manor house. The rest of the force came to a halt before the barn. Roger's chaplain tapped his arm.

  'If you agree, I'll go out under a flag of truce.'

  'Yes … do that.'

  Sweat poured down Roger's face.

  'I'll renounce all claims to Judith's dower.'

  The chaplain tied a white surplice to a hayfork and left by a side door. Roger pressed his face to an arrow slit and saw William ride forward. The encounter was brief. The boy listened for a few moments then pointed to a group of men coming up at the rear.

  The chaplain hurried back.

  'They've got cannon.' He dashed inside. 'They'll blast us to pieces if we don't do as they say.'

  'What do they want?'

  'We must go back to the house. Guy is waiting there.'

  Roger climbed the stairs of the family home. His worst fears were realised. His father's alliance with the Gascoignes had been a terrible mistake. It was like embracing a serpent. You never knew when the creature would turn and bite you. He had struggled to match their vicious nature and failed.

  The familiar objects of his childhood decorated the walls. There were pictures of his parents, painted by roving Flemish artists. An old suit of armour stood on the landing. It had been made for his grandfather when he was a boy. Roger had fought mock battles in it with his young friends. Now, it was hopelessly outdated ... a sentimental relic from the past.

  Guy was waiting for him in the hall. The younger of the Gascoigne brothers sat at the high table as if he was lord of the manor. Sir Hugh Orpington stood on one side and a tall man, in French armour, stood on the other.

  Sir Hugh indicated a bench.

  'Roger Knowles,' he spoke in his lawyer's voice. 'My client intends to lay charges against you for the invasion of his land and the attempted murder of members of his household, going about their lawful business. What say you to that?'

  'They were destroying valuable property.'

  'But the property belongs to them.'

  'The property is in dispute.'

  'And you tried to stop them?'

  'That was my avowed intention.'

  'No, Sir Roger. They sought refuge in the only building that was left standing and you set it afire. You tried to murder them. We can bring a hundred witnesses to vouch for that.'

  'I shall contest any charges before the King's Bench.'

  'That will be very costly and unlikely to succeed.'

  Sir Hugh dropped his voice and adopted a conciliatory tone.

  'My advice is to accept the generous offer my client intends to make. We were on our way to put it to you when we stumbled upon your brazen assault.'

  Sir Hugh produced a rolled parchment.

  'My client offers you the handsome sum of four hundred and fifty marks, in coin or equivalent, for your entire estate. His only stipulation is that you renounce all claims to any property held by him and remove yourself and your family from the county of Dorset.'

  'That is preposterous.'

  'On the contrary, Sir Roger, it is a most generous offer.'

  'The land alone is worth twice that amount.'

  'Land is worth very little these days, Sir Roger.'

  Guy did a rapid translation for Philip de Maupassant and the Frenchman replied in a tone that Roge
r found intimidating.

  Guy grinned. 'My friend asks about the little boy at the bottom of the stairs. He wonders who he is.'

  Roger's heart missed a beat. 'He is the son of my ploughman.'

  Guy translated and Philip roared with laughter. An explosion of guttural noises escaped the Frenchman's lips and Guy turned to Roger. 'My friend says the lad is very well dressed for a ploughman's son. He wonders if the ploughman would accept a payment for him. We have a boat sailing for Tangier. The Moors value pretty boys with fair hair.'

  Suddenly, Roger Knowles knew what it was like to be a country squire in France and receive a visit from the Gascoignes. He gulped back the vomit forming in his throat.

  'Five hundred marks … no less.'

  'Accepted.'

  Sir Hugh rolled up the parchment.

  'We'll go at once to Dorchester. His Majesty's Commissioners are there. We'll finalise the agreement and make payment.'

  Chapter 28

  People's Font

  While Roger Knowles was on his way to Dorchester, Richard Rochell was on his way to All Hallows with John Duffield and John Sprotert. The three men were on routine church business. The collection boxes had to be emptied and strict procedures had to be followed. Richard was there as parish accountant, John Duffield as vicar and John Sprotert as a witness.

  Richard produced a key and inserted it in one of the two locks that secured the lid of the box. John Duffield produced a second key and inserted it in the other lock. They turned the keys together and the lid popped open. Coins of every denomination appeared, many of them French. John Duffield was unable to contain his surprise.

  'Wherever has all this come from?'

  Richard Rochell gazed at the glint of silver.

  'I can think of only one explanation. Harald Gascoigne told us to expect a handsome donation from his brother. It would be Guy's way of repaying us for all the trouble he's caused.'

  'I heard that.'

  A voice boomed from the porch and Walter Gallor appeared. He was accompanied by a man dressed as a stonemason and wearing an armband that identified him as one of the special constables appointed by Abbot Bradford. He wore an ivory crucifix and carried a sledgehammer.