Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm

by Mike Dixon

  Richard's face reddened.

  'I'll teach you sods a lesson.'

  'No, Dickie. You're not going to teach us anything. This place is built like a castle. We'll stay put until the earl arrives. Then we'll hand you over to him for execution.'

  'That's what you think.'

  Richard hobbled back into All Hallows. The apprentices crowded round. He pushed past them and went into the vestry. It was where he kept the archery equipment for Sunday practice. He selected a longbow and fire arrow and pushed his way outside, striking flints as he went. His tinder was smouldering when he left the porch and his touch cord was alight soon after.

  'What you going to do, Dick?'

  Richard ignored the boys. The time for talking had passed. Words didn't change anything. It was actions that counted. For years the monks had bled the common people of Sherborne. Schools, bridges, infirmaries and roads could have been built with the stone and timber they had appropriated for their monastery. The greedy sods took everything and gave nothing. Now it was their turn to have something taken from them.

  He knew the archery ground like the back of his hand. Countless hours had been spent there, instructing the young in the noble art. The butts were usually placed up by All Hallows and the trainees down by the almshouse. It was a good arrangement for beginners. They shot at things they could see. He would be shooting blind.

  The archers in the tower could pick him off with ease if he showed himself. That meant he'd have to stay close to All Hallows where they couldn't see him. By the same token, he couldn't see them. That didn't matter. He knew every stone of the ancient building and could hit anyone of them.

  He felt the breeze on his cheek and glanced at the flag on the chapel tower. Wind would affect the arrow but that wasn't a problem. A good archer allowed for it without thinking. Today the wind was blowing from the south. With luck the flames would spread and engulf the entire monastery before the fat brothers could do anything about it.

  He lit the fire arrow. It would strike a blow for the common people. The incendiary charge spluttered. He waited for a blue flame to appear, adjusted his stance and went into the movements needed to launch the perfect shaft.

  The arrow left his bow and he watched it rise past the pigeon coops and descend towards the thatched roof between the abbey nave and the tower. He didn't see it land but knew it had found its mark. White smoke appeared and was followed by black. He guessed the tarred canvas on the scaffolding had caught alight. The archers in the tower would be fleeing for their lives. The sods would know just how well he could shoot.

  ***

  Canon Simon lay in his sickbed, trying to shut out the noise. Like the abbot and many of the other monks he had fallen victim to a malaise that was sweeping the monastery. Father Ashley blamed it on the drains. Abbot Bradford said the Almshouse Witch had cursed them with a spell.

  There was a riot going on. He heard Walter Gallor bellowing, telling the mob the Earl of Salisbury was coming with soldiers. That was reassuring. Simon pulled his blanket over his head and was nodding off to sleep when he smelt burning. That was worrying.

  He put on his shoes and went to the door. His head was far from clear and he felt weak as he made his way downstairs, stumbling from one step to the next. The extent of the disaster became apparent when he reached the cloisters. Flames were leaping from the abbey roof. Smoke was billowing from windows. He groped his way to the abbey nave.

  The scene inside was like a vision from Dante's Hell. Scaffolding was ablaze and figures were dashing about in the flames, pulling equipment to safety. They reminded him of Dante's demons. He recognised Robert Hulle amongst them. The master mason's face was blackened and his hair singed. He ran across to Simon.

  'This will cost a pretty penny.'

  Simon stared back in stunned surprise.

  'That's my formwork burning up there. You people don't realise how much goes into a modern building. It's not all stone and mortar. You need centrings to put up vaulting. I spend a fortune on timber that never gets seen.'

  He was interrupted by the collapse of the centrings. The massive timbers crashed and joined the inferno below. The stone vaulting followed, dragging the belfry with it. There were bells amongst the flames. Simon saw them for a moment. Then they vanished in a flow of yellow metal that ran over the flagstones and mixed with molten lead raining down from the roof.

  'The tower's acting like a chimney.' Robert yelled. 'If something's not done it will be the end of us.'

  He shouted over the din and a figure appeared, swathed in bedclothes and carrying his staff of office. Abbot William Bradford loomed before them like an Old Testament prophet preparing to bring down the judgement of heaven.

  'It is as I foretold.'

  William brought down his staff on the flagstones.

  'I warned Bishop Neville of the witches and heretics that walk amongst us. Now our lord bishop must face the facts. A mob of archers is halfway up Cheap Street, looting and destroying property. They were brought here by a priest of All Hallows and are supported by townsmen wearing the badge of the new almshouse. They have set fire to the abbey and are committing numerous acts of abomination.'

  He turned to Simon. 'You wished to appease Master Baret and the almshouse heretics. Now, see where that policy would have led us. Your idiocy has been laid bare. There will be no new almshouse and no new charter. Sherborne will never become a royal borough and Alice de Lambert will burn as a witch.'

  End of Part One

  Part Two

  The fire of Sherborne abbey was extinguished before it spread to the monastic buildings and the chapel of All Hallows but immense damage was done to the abbey church. Bishop Neville conducted an inquiry and laid blame on the parishioners and a body of archers serving with the Earl of Huntingdon. The archers were beyond his reach in France and the parishioners were required to pay for the damage. Richard Vowell went to France with the archers and so did Robin and the Welsh boys.

  Back at Wolf Wood, Harald supervised an extensive building program, financed with loot his brother sent from France. Alice gave birth to a healthy boy named Steven. Eleanor Cobham insisted on being the child's godmother. She was now recognised as Duke Humphrey's wife and bore the title Duchess of Gloucester.

  The feud between the Beauforts and the duke became more vicious. Abbot Bradford exploited it in his feud with the parish and his quest to have Alice condemned as a witch. Years passed before an opportunity arose. When it did, he set his spies to work and Alice's life was changed forever.

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  Acknowledgements

  Photographic images in this publication come from a variety of sources. Those of places were taken by me. Those of people derive mainly from "living history" re-enactments, available at http://commons.wikipedia.org and licensed for reuse under terms specified at http://creativecommons.org/licences .

  Bayeux Museum (France): attribution Urban (CH 11)

  Guise Medieval Festival (France): attribution Marc Roussel (Ch. 4, 18, 29, 30)

  Les Baux-de-Provence Medieval Festival (France): attribution Mike Dixon (Ch. 27, 30)

  Tewkesbury Medieval Festival (UK): attribution Lee Hawkins (Ch. 8).

  Trebic Medieval Festival (Czech Republic): attribution Frettie (Ch. 7)

  Turku Medieval Market (Finland): attribution Samuli Lintula (Ch. 12)

  Kievskaya psaltir Kinocefal: Cover.

  I confirm that in using these images I am in no way implying that the author of licensor endorses either me or the use of the work. The images were adapted by me and inevitably suffered degradation. Any defects are due entirely to me. Visit http://commons.wikipedia.org to view the images in their original form. Use tags: medieval, festivals, fairs, markets, displays, costumes ...

  Living history
re-enactments bring the past to life in a way that words cannot convey. They are not merely good entertainment; they have contributed immensely to our understanding of history. I am hugely impressed by the high standards.