‘What do you think?’ Luke asked at last. Orla had been watching him and had seen his nervousness. He was even keener than her to hear about the carving, perhaps feeling a kind of kinship with it for having discovered it.
‘Yes, we’d love to know,’ Orla said.
Ernest stood back up to full height and gave his curly hair a ruffle as if dislodging his thoughts.
‘Interesting. Very interesting!’
‘Yes, we know that,’ Luke said, clearly getting irritated now. ‘But what is it exactly?’
One Ear gave a bark, as if agreeing that the time had come for a full architectural disclosure.
‘I would say that what you have here is twelfth century,’ Ernest said quietly, each word calm and measured now, his earlier excitement having abated somewhat.
‘The castle’s twelfth century, isn’t it, Orla?’ Luke asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Exactly so,’ Ernest said. ‘Is it the only one of its kind?’
‘I haven’t come across any others,’ Orla said, ‘and I’ve had a pretty good look around.’
‘Me too,’ Luke said. ‘This was the only section boarded up so, unless there’s any hiding behind plaster, I’d say it’s a one-off.’
‘I think you’re right.’ Ernest fell silent again, stepping forward and reaching a tentative hand towards the carving and gently touching the flowing hair upon the strange creature’s head. Orla noticed that Ernest was still wearing a wedding ring and, remembering that he’d lost his wife some years ago, felt a weight of sadness in her heart that there was so much loss in the world.
‘What are you thinking, Mr Cranbrook?’ Orla asked gently, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts.
‘My first thought was that it was a wodewose.’
‘A what?’ Bill asked.
‘Wodewose. A wild man of the woods,’ Ernest said. ‘But they were carved in the fifteenth century. They’re popular figures on fonts around the county and were thought to be mythical creatures in the same vein as wyverns and the like, although some believe them to be real. Early man in all his innocence. Or depravity – depending on how you look at things. But this is different. It’s earlier and the figure isn’t holding the club that wodewoses usually hold and, although his body is covered in hair, there are scales too – see.’
Everybody moved forward to look.
‘I thought they were scales,’ Orla said as she peered closely, observing the rounded shapes which covered the legs and arms of the figure.
‘I didn’t notice those before,’ Bill said. ‘You think he’s some sort of merman from the sea, then?’
‘It would certainly fit in with the legend of the Wild Man of Lorford and, as far as we know, the creature – whatever it was – was brought here to the castle after he was captured in the fishermen’s nets.’
‘He was here?’ Orla said, eyes wide.
‘Yes, and not treated well, it’s said. He was tied up, hung upside down and tortured.’
‘Oh, how horrible!’
‘They were trying to make him talk, but he had no language,’ Ernest went on. ‘He was more beast than human, they said. Ate raw fish, squeezing out the blood into his mouth before crunching them, bones and all.’
‘Nice!’ Luke said.
‘No different from One Ear,’ Orla pointed out. ‘What happened to him?’
Ernest removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes before cleaning his glasses with his handkerchief again.
‘It’s thought that they soon tired of the Wild Man. Not getting any answers from him, they released him into the river. It’s said that he stayed close to the shore for some time, as if not wanting to leave the company of men, but then he disappeared into the depths of the water from whence he’d come.’
‘And you truly think this is him and that he was actually here in this very room?’ Orla asked.
‘I do, and contemporary to the story too, which is particularly exciting.’
Bill scratched his head. ‘Aren’t there some wild-men-type things on the church font?’
‘Wodewoses,’ Ernest said. ‘It would be worth you paying a visit to compare them to this fine fellow of yours. I’ll warrant they don’t have his marvellous scales.’
‘Could we go there now?’ Orla suggested. ‘To the church?’
Luke looked surprised by her suggestion to leave the castle twice in one day, but readily said, ‘We could stop there before taking you back home, Mr Cranbrook.’
‘Wonderful idea,’ Ernest said. ‘And thank you so much for showing me this jewel. It’s the most marvellous thing!’
As they left the castle, Luke sidled up to Orla.
‘Two trips in one day?’ he said.
‘I know. I simply can’t help myself!’
He laughed. ‘It’s great.’
She smiled, feeling the joy that this new-found freedom was giving her.
Orla had never been inside the church before; although she’d photographed the ancient building many times, she’d always done it from the shaded footpath, where she could remain unseen by anyone who might just happen to be around. But she entered the building now with Luke, Bill and Ernest and made her way towards the font, which stood proudly on an octagonal base carved from pale stone.
‘Look at these!’ Luke cried. ‘They’re just like our chap at the castle.’
‘Well, not exactly,’ Ernest said, bending to examine the four wild men depicted on the staves of the white stone font. ‘They’re three hundred years younger, for a start.’
‘And they don’t have our Wild Man’s scales. They’re all hair,’ Orla pointed out, noting the wavy lines carved into the stone.
‘Exactly so,’ Ernest said. ‘Quite a different beast altogether. These are the wodewoses or wild men of the woods. Yours is the Wild Man of Lorford, I think we can be quite sure of that. It may well have influenced these ones – legends often pass through the generations via architecture, but I have a feeling that these wild men are something else. More akin to the green man stories.’
‘You know, I’ve never really looked at these,’ Bill said. ‘Or the lions.’
Orla looked at the finely carved lions that flanked the wild men. There were four each around the base of the font, making
