What better read for the end of the year holiday than an old fashioned murder mystery? While scanning my father's bookshelf, my eye was caught by the prancing wolf on this beautiful republication of The Wolves of Savernake by Allison and Busby.
And they say you shouldn't judge a book by its cover.
Background
The Wolves is the first entry of Edward Marston's Domesday series of historical detective fiction, set in 1086 during the creation of the Domesday Book. Twenty years after the Battle of Hastings, royal offices were dispatched to the many shires of England to hold public inquiries into the value of land, resources, people and livestock, in one of the first national surveys of its kind. It is during one of these investigations when murder most foul is committed.
Having just finished another murder mystery set in medieval England, and having a general propensity to both historical fiction and murder mysteries, I decided to give the book a whirl—noting the rest of the series waiting for me on the bookshelf if I enjoyed the read.
Our heroes are the knight Ralph Delchard, a Norman lord who was part of William's invading force at the Battle of Hastings, and Gervase Bret, a lawyer of mixed Breton and Saxon blood. The pair comprise part of a Norman retinue sent to the town of Bedwyn in rural Wiltshire to investigate a rival claim on land presently owned by Bedwyn Abbey.
Reflections
Their competing ethnic tensions is one of the more compelling elements of the novel, although it is not explored in as much depth as I would have liked. Ralph is a rugged French soldier living as a conqueror in a foreign land, who has come to appreciate some parts of Saxon life but remains superior and aloof; while Gervase is a learned man of split loyalties, a lawyer firmly part of the occupiers but understanding and appreciating Saxon culture through his maternal links.
This tension between Normans and Saxons, in a society where the death of Saxon King Harold remains in living memory, was one of the more interesting elements of the novel.
Crime and romance are some of the most narratively simple genres, driven by inherent tensions: Will the guy get the girl? Will the detective catch the killer? This simplicity probably explains both their popularity amongst readers and writers alike, but does mean that I'm always looking for something else to elevate a murder mystery beyond, well, the mystery.
What makes Christie such a great writer of detective fiction isn't just her tight plotting or interesting characters; it's that she has a keen understanding of what is occurring in the background of society and how this influences people's reactions to a crime. Her novels are full of socialist plotters, bemoaning aristocrats, and women navigating new freedoms. It's hardly Plath, but the treating people as if they have belief systems that exist outside of the confines of a mystery is something she does so well, and is something that Marston does well to give Wolves that extra level of interest.
For instance, after a series of murders begin occurring in the town, including of one of the Saxon lords, the locals of Bedwyn begin to murmur that these 'taxing Norman invaders' have brought a curse upon their town. Further, Ralph's general derision towards the Saxons is a recurring element of his internal monologue, although he isn't arrogant enough to let it get in the way of his detective work.
This is a world still recovering from an invasion that has changed much of their way of life, and not everyone is equally willing to accept their new overlords. This mounting hostility feels real, and transforms the setting from a static backdrop into a living obstacle.
Religion (or more accurately, the church) is a central element of the novel. Much of the land under examination is held by Bedwyn Abbey, and its ownership is scrutinized by the investigators. The book handles this reasonably well—it isn't interested in a moral argument for or against faith, but it refuses to take the "worth" of church life at face value, in either direction.
This religious angle intersects with the ethnic tensions, given that the Benedictine monks from the abbey, such as the Abbot himself, are all part of the ruling French. There is a subplot in the novel regarding the value of Abbey life—Gervase was once part of the priesthood before leaving the church to pursue a woman, and his struggle is shared with Brother Luke, a questioning neophyte. Again, this isn't the most nuanced exploration of faith in the world, but it is treated with suitable care, and ties in with some of the other tensions of the novel—Gervase's mixed heritage leads him to be far more sympathetic to the pre-Christendom pagan gods than Ralph.
Another thing the novel does well is highlight the differing strengths and weaknesses of the group. Ralph is no idiot, but his approach to life typically involves a sword, which informs both the way he sees the mystery and how he seeks to resolve it. Gervase is craftier and more learned, but is unable to understand some of the realities of the physical world.
There's a good scene at the start of the novel where Canon Hubert, a proud French member of the clergy, is mocked by Ralph and Gervase for his refusal to visit the ruins of Stonehenge; the Canon is depicted as being somewhat intolerant and incurious about the world, and it sets him up as a rather arrogant man. This might be the case, but later in the novel, as the investigation into the lands of the abbey intensifies, the man is firmly in his element, skilfully dismantling the Abbey's legal defences in the court room. It's subtle, but it's a good example of giving the characters clearly defined roles, and highlighting that they'll need to work together to solve the central mystery.
Some elements of the book are not as carefully painted—some characters are a bit too broad, and there are a few lazy archetypes used throughout the book, including the universal beauty of the Saxon women and the general oafishness of the local men.
The central mystery is compelling, although there are a few contrivances that on reflection detract slightly from the enjoyment of the novel. I understand the parallel Marston sketches between the 'witch' of the woods and the wild Welshmen, each removed from normal society and finding their own ways to connect with nature in the forest, but it is rather convenient, particularly as they are each separately accused of the murder by characters in the novel. Was it typical for forests in post-Conquest England to be full of naturalistic fanatics accused of murder?
Maybe, honestly.
Beyond that, the length of the novel could probably have been cut down slightly, and I do think it meanders a little bit around the 65% mark, but it manages to stick the landing well from there.
Summary
Wolves is unlikely to end up in anyone's list of Books Of The Year, particularly given that it was published 33 years ago—but it was a solid read, and mostly avoided the pitfalls of boring stereotypes that can doom books in the genre.
If you focus on the mystery, you'll probably figure it out ahead of time, but the clues connecting the villain to the murder strike the right chord of giving the reader some chance while not making it too obvious.
It was a fun read, and I think I'll find some time to finish the rest of the series when I get the chance.