Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [255]
Whatever his motives for this extraordinary action, it ensured that, before the month was out, civil war had begun.
It was exactly as Godefroi had feared: would the troubles reach Sarum?
He waited.
Godric Body and his dog moved quietly across the bowl of land below the castle walls. The afternoon sun warmed his hunched back. He kept Harold close by his side and walked with care; for he did not want to be observed as he crossed the ground where the autumn leaves were falling.
It was a few days past Michaelmas. The last of the harvest was all gathered, and in the big open fields they were sowing the new seed. On the slopes above, the last signs of the ruddle on the rams’ chests, painted on so that they would leave a mark on each ewe when she had been serviced, were wearing off. Each morning now he was having to keep the sheep in their pens a little longer until the sun had dried the mildew off the turf that would give the sheep disease if they grazed on it. The warm, damp autumn season was a dangerous time in the shepherd’s calendar.
Two days before, the last of the old ewes had been slaughtered and salted and at Hallowmas, the day after Hallowe’en, there would be a great feast on the slaughtered beasts in the village.
But it was not the sheep that Godric was thinking about that afternoon. It was William atte Brigge’s vanished pig.
He had supposed by the end of summer that the tanner would have forgotten it; but he had not, and his interview with the king had left William so elated, that at Michaelmas he had decided to offer a reward of three marks for information about the animal. This was more than the value of the pig, but William was as obstinate as he was bad-tempered, and he was already disappointed that the reward had so far yielded no result.
Godric had been careful. It was four months since he had been near the spot in the forest where the animal’s carcass was buried, and it was so well hidden that he was sure it could never be found. All the same, a mixture of prudence and curiosity made him make one more visit to the spot just to make sure it had not been disturbed.
He left the river behind and made his way slowly and cautiously into the forest.
It was a good month for hunting: hind and doe were in season and since Holy Rood in mid-September the boar was in grease and could be hunted also. He knew the foresters would be about and kept a wary eye for them.
It took him half an hour to reach the place: a sheltered dip in the ground with a thick screen of brambles in front. He inspected it carefully. The remains of the pig were three feet underground, completely safe behind the cover. Leaves had fallen on the ground too: there was not even a hint of the animal’s presence. Satisfied, he walked further on. Perhaps he might catch a coney.
He did not; and after a further hour scouting the woods in a wide arc he began to head towards home.
Dusk was almost falling when he saw the deer.
It was in a clump of saplings in a dip in the ground, and the little doe had obviously gone down there to feed; then, clearly, something had happened and he could guess at once what it was. He moved close.
She had been snared – by a cunning cats-cradle of twine woven between the saplings in such a way that it would catch the antlers of a stag as it lowered its head to eat, or enmesh the feet of smaller deer. It had done its work: the doe’s fore-legs had become hopelessly entangled and one of them had broken as she struggled desperately to jump out. Now the little animal was standing there trembling pitifully.
He disliked snares: they were a cruel way to catch an animal, but he knew better than to touch one of the king’s deer; on the other hand, though he could alert one of the foresters’ men, he was unwilling to encounter them since Harold was with him, and the dog had never been lawed. The safest thing to do was to get away from the illegal snare as quickly as possible.
But he did not. A mixture