Brother Wulf, page 14
I turned and stared up into the face of Brother Sabden. He was holding Tilda at arm’s length, and glaring down at me. Alice lay on her side, pinned down by two monks, though she was still thrashing wildly. They had already stuffed a gag into her mouth to stop her casting spells, and now they were binding her with ropes.
It was already gloomy in the clearing – late afternoon, I guessed with a sinking heart. I must have slept for hours – no wonder they were able to find us so easily.
‘After him!’ I heard someone shout, and glanced to my right to see Spook Johnson running away through the trees with three armed men in pursuit.
Then it became a waking nightmare. No brothers from the abbey were to be seen. There were seven killers, including Brother Sabden, in addition to the three pursuers. Three of those who remained were dressed like monks, while the other three were perhaps mercenaries – just in it for the money. These men were thugs that the Quisitor must have sent for from Blackburn before he died. Either that or Brother Sabden had hired them locally. Under their leader’s direction, they worked quickly and efficiently.
Stakes were driven deep into the ground, and we were hauled roughly to our feet and bound to them. Alice’s was on my left, but there was an empty stake on my right – probably for Johnson once they’d caught him. They certainly knew what they were doing, but Brother Sabden advised on the finer points as they heaped logs and branches at our feet.
‘Put the kindling there!’ he instructed. ‘No, don’t get those big logs too close. We want to see their skin bubble and blister. We need them to die slowly and feel as much pain as possible.’
I was terrified. There was no escape from this. I was going to die. Alice would die too, and I didn’t think they’d spare her baby. And it was all my fault for falling asleep when I should have been on watch.
Spook Johnson still hadn’t been brought back. I didn’t blame him for running. I hoped he’d evaded them.
Alice was fighting against her bonds, but she was tightly bound to the stake. Her eyes were wild and she kept twisting her head from side to side. The gag prevented her from crying out.
They’d taken Tilda somewhere out of sight, but she wasn’t making any noise. By now, I thought, she would surely be crying. I just hoped that she was all right and they hadn’t harmed her.
In desperation, I too strained at the ropes, trying to free myself. I looked down at the wood piled up below us. They were going to burn us and the pain would be terrible. Suddenly I heard a groaning and a sobbing – and I realized to my shame that I was the one making that pitiful noise.
I took a deep breath and tried to get control of myself, closing my mouth so that I wouldn’t cry out. I could now hear Tilda crying in the distance behind us. Alice would be able to hear her too. I saw that her struggles had become even more desperate. I stood there, paralysed by terror, thinking only of myself. I reflected that Alice wasn’t thinking of herself at all. She was only concerned about her baby daughter.
Brother Sabden approached us and halted with the toes of his boots touching the wood that would be used to burn us alive. He looked at us arrogantly, as if we were dirt beneath his feet.
‘Soon your flesh will burn, and then your souls will plummet into the deepest of the Devil’s mansions in Hell. It is there that Satan reserves special torments for witches, and for those priests who die in mortal sin. Once your flesh has been consumed by fire, then your souls will also burn. Remember that as you die in extreme pain, for that pain will be as nothing compared with what you will face then: it will be an agony far more intense – an agony that will never end …’
He pointed over our heads and called out to someone behind us. ‘Bring the child!’ he commanded.
The sound of crying grew louder until another monk came into view and handed the baby to Brother Sabden. He cradled her almost tenderly, a smile on his face.
Taking a step towards Alice, he said, ‘It looks so innocent, doesn’t it, witch? But appearances can be deceptive. This is the spawn of a witch and an ungodly spook. As such it must die. And yet it is too young to have sinned and so, unlike you, will not suffer eternal pain. In burning this child’s flesh, we will purge it of its parentage. Its young soul will be free to fly to God. Thus, if you truly love the child, you should rejoice.’
Brother Sabden approached the cooking fire and held Tilda over the flames. She began to cry even louder as she felt the heat.
I couldn’t bear to watch, but neither could I turn my eyes away. I felt sure that Brother Sabden was about to drop Alice’s baby into the flames. I was horrified.
However, it soon became clear that he was doing it just to torment Alice. Instead he came back towards us, placed the child on the kindling at Alice’s feet and gave her an evil grin. Tilda was crying fit to burst, her face purple.
‘Your child will burn at your feet, witch, and your first punishment will be to see it consumed by fire and be unable to help …’
Brother Sabden turned to address his men. ‘It’s time!’ he called out. ‘Set light to them!’
One of the monks pulled a flaming brand out of the fire and strode towards us, his expression eager and cruel. But then the look on his face suddenly changed. He halted and stared into the trees as if he’d seen or heard something.
Indeed, I too could hear something; something that was lumbering towards us out of the gloom of the trees. Brother Sabden and his men turned towards it.
At first glance it looked like a big shambling bear – but then I saw that it was Spook Johnson. Still wearing Alice’s bloodied bandage on his head, he was carrying a huge staff that I could see had been cut very recently: a staff that he had improvised just for this encounter. He held it across his body at an angle of forty-five degrees, in what spooks considered to be the ‘defensive position’.
‘Well! If it isn’t Spook Johnson!’ crowed Brother Sabden. ‘You are welcome indeed, and just in time to join your friends for the burning!’
With those words, he drew his long sword and his men seized their own weapons. Some also had swords, others had blades or clubs. The one holding the flaming brand threw it down on the grass and snatched up a long spear with a wickedly sharp point. They began to circle Johnson, grinning like it was some sort of game they were about to enjoy.
‘Hurt him but don’t kill him!’ Brother Sabden ordered. ‘Cuts and bruises, or even the loss of a few body parts, that’s fine, but leave the brute alive for the flames!’
I knew that Spook Johnson had little hope of surviving for more than a few moments against seven armed foes. They circled him on their toes, taunting him. They called him a ‘fat porker’, and some of them started to grunt and laugh.
Then the joking ended and they decided to get down to business.
They were like lithe wolves about to bring down a cumbersome prey – a lumbering bear that would be ripped into pieces. The staff Johnson was holding had just been cut from a tree. It lacked the silver-alloy blade usually found at the end of a spook’s staff. It probably wasn’t evenly balanced either, and would be difficult to use effectively. He didn’t stand a chance.
Johnson hadn’t said a single word. He hadn’t reacted in the slightest to the men’s shouts and insults. His face was impassive, but I knew that his left eye would be twitching. Then I noticed the fresh blood that soaked the front of his gown. Was it his own blood? If so, he didn’t seem to be in any pain. And now that I thought about it – how had he managed to evade his three pursuers?
The wolves closed in now – and then surged towards him as one. Then something truly astonishing happened.
The bear began to dance.
The Legend
Crossing the meadow on our way to Salford, I’d seen Tom Ward use his staff against the squire’s gamekeeper. I had been impressed by his skill in dealing with him, but realized now that he had been gentle and restrained with his opponent, using minimum force. Now I saw what a spook could do when the odds were against him and his life was on the line.
With the first blow of his staff Spook Johnson slew Brother Sabden. The monk was killed instantly. The sword slipped out of his hand and he was dead before it even hit the ground. Nobody could have survived the force of that blow. It’s a wonder his head didn’t fall off.
The monk with the spear jabbed it fast and accurately towards Johnson’s belly. But it never made contact, because the Spook was no longer there. And he truly was dancing: he glided around on his toes, performing pirouettes to evade his attackers. It was a wonder to behold – especially in such a big man.
The monk lunged towards Johnson’s bulging belly again. This time the Spook retaliated. He rammed the end of his staff into his enemy’s mouth. The man’s teeth shattered and his mouth spurted with blood. The end of the staff went in so far it must have gone halfway down his throat.
That left five attackers; five would-be killers who were no longer grinning.
Everything was suddenly very quiet. Even Tilda had stopped crying. There was no birdsong. No wind. No rustling of branches. Just the thwack of Johnson’s staff, making sudden, violent, devastating contact with flesh and bone.
Thwack! Thwack!
And then there was another sound.
Caw! Caw! Caw!
It was the raucous cries of crows as they began to alight on the trees above, ravenous black witnesses to each death.
During the time I’d spent working with him, I had judged Johnson to be overweight, greedy, sometimes cruel, and something of a bigot – certainly over-zealous in his pursuit of witches. But he could certainly fight. Until this moment I hadn’t realized just how well.
Thwack!
Before my astonished gaze, The Legend of Spook Johnson ceased to be a joke. He was that legend, suddenly and startlingly come to life.
Thwack!
I realized gratefully that we would not burn here after all.
When the seventh lifeless body fell onto the grass, Johnson laid down his staff and came towards us. Tilda had started to cry again. Very gently, he lifted the baby out of its bed of kindling, held her in the crook of his arm and whispered soothing words to her. As if by magic, she grew calm.
Then, reaching into his gown, he drew out a knife and quickly cut Alice free. She ripped the gag from her mouth and snatched the child into her arms. She checked for harm, and then kissed her on the forehead. Then she kissed Johnson on the cheek.
‘Thank you for saving our lives,’ she said. ‘Especially the life of my child.’
Johnson nodded and then set about cutting me free.
‘I’m so sorry for falling asleep, Alice,’ I told her as I was released. ‘I let you down. Everything that happened was my fault.’
She smiled ruefully, then came across and patted my arm. ‘Forget it, Wulf. We were all exhausted – I had no right to ask you to hold Tilda and stay awake. I forgot how young you are. Put it to the back of your mind.’
But it was hard to do so, and I still felt guilty.
I realized that it would soon be dark, but when I suggested burying the bodies of the monks, both Alice and Johnson shook their heads.
‘Ain’t time for that,’ said Alice. ‘Need to help Tom, soon as we can.’
‘Just leave ’em to the crows, rats and insects,’ said Johnson, spitting onto the grass. ‘That’s all the respect they deserve. Those scum were about to burn you all alive – even that poor defenceless child.’
Although I knew that what he said was true, I wasn’t happy to leave these men to rot. I might not wish to be a monk any more, but my time in the abbey had reinforced some of the things my parents had taught me. And burying the dead decently was the proper thing to do, whatever crimes they’d committed.
‘Maybe we’ll get the chance to come back later,’ Alice said, noticing the distress on my face. ‘We can bury them then – when it’s all over.’
I nodded, and knelt by each body in turn, muttering a quick prayer to St Gertrude, the patron saint of the dead. Then we set off towards the village.
Behind us I could hear the crows already feeding.
As Johnson and I left Alice on the edge of the trees again, she pressed the two feathers into my hands; once more they were bound together and the spell would be activated when I separated them.
The Spook and I walked down the hill together. He was still clutching the huge staff he’d used so effectively against Brother Sabden and his men. He saw me staring at it and gave me a wicked grin. ‘This certainly did the job, but it’s a shadow of my other weapon. We’ll start by getting that back! We’ll go straight to that shop and collect what’s mine!’
‘You think your staff’s in there?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘My bag too, I hope. Spook Ward said that on entering the shop he was hit with such a sudden, stunning blast of magic that he was knocked clean off his feet. But he was still just about aware of his surroundings, and he saw the witch carrying his bag and staff down some steps.’
It was almost dark and the sky was clear, showing just a few stars to the east. From a distance the shop looked empty and abandoned. But then, as we crossed the street, there was a change. In the space of a footstep, the sky had started to radiate its baleful red glare. We were back in the dangerous underworld of the witch.
Johnson opened the shop door and walked in. As before, the counter and shelves were well stocked with goods, but this time there was no sign of the strange child. A candle flickered on the counter. Johnson snatched it up and walked purposefully through into the back room.
I saw steps leading downwards. Standing at the top of the stairs, I shivered, then followed Spook Johnson. I was developing an aversion to cellars and tunnels. Anywhere down there was probably bad news. Below, we found two rooms: an empty cell, and one that had been used to store items taken from the witch’s victims. There were coats and other garments, along with boots, shoes and smelly socks; they had been thrown in a heap on the floor.
The rest of the cell was like a trophy room. Great care had been taken with confiscated weapons, which were stacked neatly against the far wall: swords, clubs, daggers, a couple of longbows and a number of staffs and stout walking sticks. One glance told me which were the two spooks’ staffs. Made of rowan wood, they were long and very straight, each with a small button close to the base, which released the silver-alloy blade.
Johnson strode across and seized his staff, then picked up the other one and tossed it towards me. I managed to catch it, though it was heavier than I’d expected.
‘You look after Spook Ward’s staff for him,’ he said. ‘It might prove useful against our foes! We’ll leave the bags here,’ he said, nodding down at two items that sat side by side. ‘Once we’ve killed the witch, we’ll come back for them.’
Johnson seemed confident and full of energy again. He began to arm himself with some of the other weapons, sticking two daggers and a club into his belt. Then, to my surprise, he also picked up a longbow.
He saw me looking sceptical. ‘Used to be a good shot, though that was years ago. Still, they say the skill never truly leaves you,’ he said, slinging a quiver full of arrows over his shoulder and handing me the bow to carry. Typical!
‘Right – let’s head for that church. We’ve got a witch to catch …’
We climbed the steps, left the shop and continued along the main street. I would have kept a low profile, and concealed myself in any available shadows, but that wasn’t Spook Johnson’s way. He strode down the centre of the road, as bold as brass, a swagger to his walk, as if challenging the witch to do her worst. I wondered how long it would be before she did just that.
He beckoned me forward to walk alongside him. As I did so, to my astonishment he beamed at me and clapped me hard on the shoulder.
‘You did well, boy, killing that ugly little guzzler. You saved my life and I owe you. I doubt you’ll be going back to that abbey after this,’ he said. ‘You’ll need a job, and I might have the very thing for you. I’m looking for a new apprentice, and the job’s yours if you want it.’
This was a surprise! I had thought he considered me useless.
‘I don’t think I’d be very good at it,’ I told him.
‘Nonsense. You were the only monk in that abbey that met all the criteria I set. You weren’t the best writer they had, but there was something about you that was more important than that. You’ve seen how following me around is dangerous, and you need certain abilities to help keep you relatively safe when facing the dark. Luckily for you, you’ve got the main qualification that a spook’s apprentice needs. When I was looking for a scribe who fulfilled all my requirements, the Abbot assured me that it was recorded in the abbey archives. You’re the seventh son of a seventh son!’
When we reached the church, my head was still whirling with what Johnson had told me. I hadn’t been aware that I was the seventh son of a seventh son, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it might be possible. My father had come from a very large family, but a lot of his brothers had died before he was born, and I didn’t know how many there had been. I had three older brothers, but I knew that, very early in her marriage, my mother had lost children in childbirth or soon afterwards. Those memories were painful and she never talked about them – and I supposed they could have all been boys.
If this was indeed true, then as far as I knew, being the seventh son of a seventh son made you fit for only one job: that of a spook. I didn’t want to be a monk any more, and it was probably better than being a farmer. But it was also a very dangerous occupation.
My thoughts returned to the present as we entered the church. Soon we were below the vault and making our way along the tunnels.
‘At each fork I chose the right one until I found you and Spook Ward,’ I told Johnson. ‘I did that so that if I had to retrace my steps I’d be less likely to get lost.’
