Read Online Wolf Wood (Part One): The Gathering Storm by Mike Dixon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mike Dixon
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officers of the royal court who
were keen to save money.
John
unstrapped his travel bag and removed a clean set of clothes. They
were crumpled but dry. He laid them out and was selecting suitable
attire when a servant arrived with a bucket of hot water and filled
his washbasin. Another turned and beat the mattress on his bed,
inspecting it for fleas and bedbugs. The latter service was greatly
appreciated. John waged a constant war against these unwanted
intruders. All bedding in his household was regularly beaten and
hung in the sun. The big risk was reinfestation. He suspected that
his guests, including members of the Gascoigne family, were the
chief culprits.
He washed and
dressed for dinner. As always, when visiting Salisbury, he selected
garments of a sombre nature, avoiding anything flamboyant and
anything that might associate him with a merchant guild. The
business classes were regarded as upstarts in aristocratic circles
and there was no shortage of aristocrats in the cathedral.
He left his
room and went downstairs. The behaviour of the Welshmen continued
to worry him. The whole purpose of his visit was to present an
image of sobriety and decorum. A casual onlooker could have
mistaken him for the head of a band of ruffians.
To his
surprise, Canon Peter was waiting to greet him at the entry to the
dining hall. He'd not expected to meet such a senior member of the
bishop's administration so soon. He knew the canon from previous
visits that he had made as a trustee of the almshouse, but their
dealings had always been of a business nature.
'You picked a
most inclement day for your journey.' Canon Peter ushered him into
the hall. 'The carriers say the road to the west is
impassable.'
'I was obliged
to make a detour through the woods,' John said. 'It proved more
hazardous than I anticipated. If it had not been for the quick
thinking of one of my men, we might not be here now.'
'Whatever
happened?'
'We
encountered some Welsh archers. I'm sure they intended to rob us.
My man convinced them that I knew Sir Guy Gascoigne and could put
in a good word for them when his recruiting sergeant made his
rounds.'
'Did they
leave you alone?'
'They
volunteered their services as guides. At a price, I might add.'
'And you
accepted?'
'It seemed
unwise to refuse.'
'I can fully
understand that,' Canon Peter nodded gravely. 'It doesn't do to
argue with these fellows. They'll slit your throat at the slightest
provocation.'
They stopped
at one of the tables. John had a feeling the monk was going to
raise the delicate matter of the poached venison. To his relief,
another matter was on his mind.
'Before you
left Sherborne you would have heard the result of the
election?'
'The vicar
announced it in All Hallows,' John said.
Canon Peter
nodded gravely. 'We received a brief report when the pigeons
arrived. We are yet to receive formal advice from the prior.'
'I understand
that Canon Bradford dictated a letter for the prior's signature,'
John said. 'I assume it has been delayed by the weather.'
'You say
Bradford dictated the letter ... not the Father Prior?'
'That is my
understanding.'
The canon's
head continued to nod.
'Do you know
what form the election took?'
'A group of
seven was chosen to nominate the next abbot.'
'And how were
they chosen?'
'I am told
they were nominated by the prior.'
'And do you
know who proposed those names to the Father Prior?'
'No.' John
shook his head.
Canon Peter
paused as if to consider the point.
'You seem very
well informed, Master Baret. Is there anything else you think I
should know?'
John took the
cue and launched into his prepared speech on the tensions between
the parish and the abbey. Canon Peter bought the monologue to a
swift halt.
'Thank you,
Master Baret. I look forward to your views on this unfortunate
matter. I suggest we discuss your concerns tomorrow. We should now
take our places at table. There are those amongst my colleagues who
wish to meet you.'
***
Gareth left
Robin in
were keen to save money.
John
unstrapped his travel bag and removed a clean set of clothes. They
were crumpled but dry. He laid them out and was selecting suitable
attire when a servant arrived with a bucket of hot water and filled
his washbasin. Another turned and beat the mattress on his bed,
inspecting it for fleas and bedbugs. The latter service was greatly
appreciated. John waged a constant war against these unwanted
intruders. All bedding in his household was regularly beaten and
hung in the sun. The big risk was reinfestation. He suspected that
his guests, including members of the Gascoigne family, were the
chief culprits.
He washed and
dressed for dinner. As always, when visiting Salisbury, he selected
garments of a sombre nature, avoiding anything flamboyant and
anything that might associate him with a merchant guild. The
business classes were regarded as upstarts in aristocratic circles
and there was no shortage of aristocrats in the cathedral.
He left his
room and went downstairs. The behaviour of the Welshmen continued
to worry him. The whole purpose of his visit was to present an
image of sobriety and decorum. A casual onlooker could have
mistaken him for the head of a band of ruffians.
To his
surprise, Canon Peter was waiting to greet him at the entry to the
dining hall. He'd not expected to meet such a senior member of the
bishop's administration so soon. He knew the canon from previous
visits that he had made as a trustee of the almshouse, but their
dealings had always been of a business nature.
'You picked a
most inclement day for your journey.' Canon Peter ushered him into
the hall. 'The carriers say the road to the west is
impassable.'
'I was obliged
to make a detour through the woods,' John said. 'It proved more
hazardous than I anticipated. If it had not been for the quick
thinking of one of my men, we might not be here now.'
'Whatever
happened?'
'We
encountered some Welsh archers. I'm sure they intended to rob us.
My man convinced them that I knew Sir Guy Gascoigne and could put
in a good word for them when his recruiting sergeant made his
rounds.'
'Did they
leave you alone?'
'They
volunteered their services as guides. At a price, I might add.'
'And you
accepted?'
'It seemed
unwise to refuse.'
'I can fully
understand that,' Canon Peter nodded gravely. 'It doesn't do to
argue with these fellows. They'll slit your throat at the slightest
provocation.'
They stopped
at one of the tables. John had a feeling the monk was going to
raise the delicate matter of the poached venison. To his relief,
another matter was on his mind.
'Before you
left Sherborne you would have heard the result of the
election?'
'The vicar
announced it in All Hallows,' John said.
Canon Peter
nodded gravely. 'We received a brief report when the pigeons
arrived. We are yet to receive formal advice from the prior.'
'I understand
that Canon Bradford dictated a letter for the prior's signature,'
John said. 'I assume it has been delayed by the weather.'
'You say
Bradford dictated the letter ... not the Father Prior?'
'That is my
understanding.'
The canon's
head continued to nod.
'Do you know
what form the election took?'
'A group of
seven was chosen to nominate the next abbot.'
'And how were
they chosen?'
'I am told
they were nominated by the prior.'
'And do you
know who proposed those names to the Father Prior?'
'No.' John
shook his head.
Canon Peter
paused as if to consider the point.
'You seem very
well informed, Master Baret. Is there anything else you think I
should know?'
John took the
cue and launched into his prepared speech on the tensions between
the parish and the abbey. Canon Peter bought the monologue to a
swift halt.
'Thank you,
Master Baret. I look forward to your views on this unfortunate
matter. I suggest we discuss your concerns tomorrow. We should now
take our places at table. There are those amongst my colleagues who
wish to meet you.'
***
Gareth left
Robin in
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