The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [87]
The Southampton men had a big, clinker-built boat with a single mast and eight oars. As there was no sign of a sail, they presumably intended to row themselves round the coast back to Southampton. Their nets were still out in the river but, with infernal cheek, three of them had built a little fire on the river bank and were in the act of cooking themselves a meal. From the quality of his dress, Adam guessed that one of these was a merchant of some position. This was confirmed when the prior hissed: ‘Henry Totton.’ The man even owned the warehouses next to their own woolhouse near the quay.
‘Trespassers!’ Grockleton’s voice honked across the marsh. ‘Villains. Desist at once.’
Totton looked up, surprised. It seemed to Adam that he muttered something, then shrugged. His two companions seemed uncertain what to do. But there could certainly be no doubt about the attitude of the people in the boat.
There were five of them. One, in the bow, was a curious-looking fellow. Though at least two hundred yards off, there was no mistaking him because, apart from his black hair, which was pulled back and tied behind his neck, his straggly beard could not conceal the fact that, once it had descended past his mouth, his face had decided to cut down straight into his neck, dispensing almost completely with the boring necessity of a chin. There was a certain cheerfulness in his face, which suggested he was pleased with this arrangement. And it was this fellow who now, turning slowly, with no particular malice but more as a general salutation, looked straight at the prior and, raising his arm, lifted a solitary finger.
To Grockleton, it might have been an arrow from a bow. ‘Impious dog!’ he screamed. ‘Seize them,’ he shouted, pointing at the men on the bank. ‘Beat them,’ he cried, waving his staff.
For just an instant his followers hesitated. Some looked round for sticks to use as weapons. Others clenched their fists in preparation before dashing upon the men by the campfire.
It was only an instant, but Brother Adam used it. ‘Stop!’ he shouted, in a voice of authority. He knew he was cutting across the prior, but he had to. Moving swiftly to Grockleton’s side, he murmured quickly: ‘Prior, if we use violence, I think the men in the boat might attack us.’ He pointed, as if he were drawing something to his attention that Grockleton had not seen before. ‘Even with right on our side,’ he added with deference, ‘after the trouble at the grange …’
The sense was clear. The reputation of the abbey would hardly be enhanced if the prior started a brawl.
‘If we have their names,’ Adam added, ‘we can bring them to justice.’ He paused and held his breath.
Grockleton’s reaction was curious. He gave a little start, as if he had been awoken from a dream. He stared at Adam for a moment, apparently uncomprehending. The brethren were all watching him. ‘Brother Adam,’ he suddenly said loudly, ‘take their names and identify them. If any show resistance we shall overpower them.’
‘Yes, Prior.’ Adam bowed his head and went forward promptly. After a few steps he turned and requested respectfully: ‘May I take two brothers with me, Prior?’
Grockleton nodded. Adam indicated two of the monks, then hurried about his task.
He had done all he could to save the prior’s face. He hoped it had worked. So he was dismayed when, as soon as they were out of Grockleton’s hearing, one of his companions muttered: ‘You really showed the prior up then, Brother Adam.’
For he knew that Grockleton would never forgive him now.
A week later, in a secluded part of the western forest, two men rested quietly by their little campfire and waited.
A few yards away,