Free By Sylvian Hamilton by Max Gilbert

ancient weathered lichen-crusted grey stone. There Straccan
leaned, holding his bay's reins, and Bane sat forward in the saddle
of his scrawny grey. It looked to be some two miles or so to the
village and manor of Shawl below. A few threads of smoke stood
straight up above the thatched roofs. Distant small dots moved in the
field-strips, and to their right where the forest's edge curved down
the hill and most nearly approached the village about half a mile
from the outlying huts, two children followed a small herd of pigs
trotting purposefully to their foraging.

    A
man had been torn apart here by wolves or perhaps demons. If they
hadn't known that, they'd have eaten their bread and cheese there,
but decided instead to ride into Shawl to break their fast. The
church or the manor, Straccan wondered, where to ask first? The
church was nearer; he'd tackle the priest.

    But
Father Osric lay abed, solidly unconscious, snoring wetly, and by the
pot-house reek of his foetid hovel which leaned against the church
wall, he'd be less than conversational when he did wake. A few very
small children played in the spaces between the huts, but as soon as
horses were heard an old man, kipper-coloured, swathed in ragged
wadmal and limping cruelly on a bandaged foot, shot out from a
doorway and hauled and herded every infant inside. He planted himself
stick in hand, in his open door, glaring at them.

    'Good
morning,' said Straccan. 'Is your lord in his house?'

    'Sir's
away.' 'Where will I find the reeve?'

    'Reeve's
at Sir's.' He jerked a thumb along the road to where the manor roof
could be seen over its surrounding trees.

    Straccan
rode on but Bane dismounted and picked up his horse's right forefoot,
examining the shoe. 'Where's your smith?' he asked.

    'Forge.
Down by river.' The thumb indicated the opposite direction. Bane
turned and led his grey that way, kicking aside a bunch of thin
yapping limping curs that sought to follow. 'The body, Sir? It was
horrible. I've never seen anything like it. I don't want to talk
about it; it brings it all back!'

    'Torn
apart, I was told,' said Straccan implacably. 'But was it eaten?'

    'Eaten?
I suppose so,' said the reeve. 'That's what wolves do, isn't it? A
foot was missing and, er, innards.'

    'Were
there teeth marks? Were there bites, man?'

    'For
God's sake, Sir, I didn't peer that closely at him! He was torn
apart; wild beasts do that, what else could do that?' 'For my part
I'd settle for wolves,' said Straccan, 'but there's talk of demons.'

    'Demons?'
The reeve crossed himself several times rapidly. He looked pale and
sick, and sweat sprang out on his forehead and chin. 'Let's have no
talk of demons and such, Sir, please! I'll have no hope at all of
getting any work out of anyone if they think the forest is full of
demons!'

    Straccan
stared at the wall hanging--shabby, stained, and rat-nibbled along
its bottom. It depicted lovers in a woodland glade. The woman had
golden hair in disarray under a red veil and reminded him quite
painfully of the vivid dreams that had continued to plague his nights
since he met the Lady Julitta; dreams that clogged his memory and
worried him by day. He rubbed his tired eyes.

    'Tell
me what happened,' he said.

    'No
one knows what happened,' whined the reeve. 'He went to bed and next
morning he was found up there!'

    'Who
found him?'

    'Forester.'

    'What
did he do?'

    'Came
and got me out of bed. I had a look, then I went to tell Sir Guy.'

    'Got
him out of bed, did you?'

    'Well,
no. Sir Guy sleeps heavy. No need to upset him. The man was dead.'

    'So
when did you tell him?'

    'After
he'd broke his fast.'

    'Then
the body was lying up there for what, several hours, after you saw
it?'

    Tor
a while, yes.'

    'And
anyone might have searched its pockets.'

    'No
one was about.'

    'The
forester. What happened to him?'

    'He
went back into the forest. King's man. I can't tell him to go, stay,
whatever.'

    'And
when your lord had seen the body?'

    'He
sent for Father