Bernard Knight - Figure of Hate

Avelina spoke up for the first time.

'Where has my stepson been taken?' she demanded.

Forty-one years old, and handsome rather than beautiful like Beatrice, her dark hair and high cheek-bones gave her a somewhat Latin or Levantine appearance, though she was in fact pure-blooded Norman.

'His body has been taken to the church, my lady.' Roger the steward answered in a suitably sepulchral voice, having arranged the removal himself. 'When the bailiff found the body of our lord, he called me and I thought it the most respectful place, rather than bringing him back to this hall, which of necessity would be in turmoil for some time.'

The steward never used two words where ten would suffice, thought Walter Hog, waspishly.

'Hugo has not been left alone, I trust?' asked Beatrice, her blue eyes looking larger than ever as she gazed around at the men seated at the table, pausing fleetingly on the fresh face of Joel, the youngest son.

'He is attended by Father Patrick, madam,' said Ralph, rather curtly. 'He has orders not to leave the bier on any account.'

Odo suddenly thumped the table with his fist, making a couple of pewter wine cups rattle.

'We must decide what is to be done! My brother lies foully murdered. His death must be avenged and his killer brought to justice!'

'Our justice, brother!' snapped Ralph, ever anxious to assert his anticipated authority. 'We need no interference from king's officers. This is a manorial matter and we have an obligation to keep it within the manor. There is no need to wash our grubby linen in public.'

The bailiff, growing increasingly uneasy, ventured an opinion. 'Sir Ralph, whatever we might think of the powers in London or Winchester, the Chief Justiciar proclaimed new rules last year. When a body is found, the first finder must knock up the four nearest households to raise the hue and cry to search for the miscreants!'

Ralph Peverel glared back at the bailiff. 'There's no problem then, is there? This mole-catcher's wife was the first finder, virtually in your own presence. And as for raising the hue and cry, the whole bloody village was roused, not just four households!'

There was a murmur of approval around the table, but Walter Hog remained stubborn, though he saw trouble approaching at high speed.

'Indeed, sir. But these new rules, which it is said Hubert Walter issued at the express wish of King Richard, demand that the first finder must immediately notify the bailiff, who must straightway report the death to the coroner. I've even heard that the body should not be moved from where it was found — strictly speaking, moving Sir Hugo to the church was illegal.'

'To hell with that!' rasped Ralph irritably. 'Do you seriously expect us to leave our noble brother face down in an ox byte? If it was some villein or serf slain by outlaws, then this new officialdom could be tolerated. But here we have the lord of the manor done to death — so we can dispense with all that nonsense!'

Bailiff Hog looked even more uncomfortable as he took a deep breath, swallowed and confessed.

'I took it as my duty to inform the coroner, sir. An hour ago I sent the reeve on a good horse to Exeter to summon Sir John de Wolfe.'

A sound-winded palfrey could cover the fifteen miles to the city in less than three hours, and not long after Crowner John had returned from his dinner and a short sleep to the chamber in the gatehouse, Warin Fishacre clattered up the drawbridge and dismounted outside the guardroom. Sergeant Gabriel interrupted his game of dice to take the reeve up the winding stairs and waited while the hunched figure told his story to the coroner. Gwyn and Thomas were in their usual places and listened with interest — since the debacle on Bull Mead the previous week, the name of Hugo Peverel was all too familiar.

'God's guts, this is the first manor-lord we've had slain since I became coroner,' muttered de Wolfe.

'You claim he was last seen in the company of a maid from the village? What has she to say about the matter?'

Fishacre shrugged his stooped shoulders, His thin backside was still sore from the urgent ride.

'We don't even know who she was yet, Crowner! I left Sampford soon after the body was discovered, but probably they've found her by now.' He stopped to cough noisily into his hand before continuing. 'I expect she'll get the blame and be hanged for it, whether she killed him or not!'. There was a bitter sarcasm in his voice that was not lost on John.

'Have you any idea who might have wanted to kill Hugo Peverel?' he demanded. 'It seems unlikely that a willing maid would want to stab him in the back while he was having his way with her!'

'Some of the maids have been far from willing, Crowner. Not that it made any difference to our lord, if he took a fancy to a girl.'

Again John sensed that the reeve had a deeper interest in the seduction of serving wenches than that of a mere observer.

'Other than young women, have you no idea who might be a mortal enemy?' he persisted, knowing that manor reeves often had the best insight into the intrigues of their village. Warin Fishacre's gaunt features twisted into a sardonic smile.

'It's not my place to gossip about my betters, sir. But many would say that it would be hard to find someone who wasn't his enemy!'

With that, de Wolfe had to be content and, rising, he took his cloak from a wooden peg hammered between the stones of the wall and threw it over his shoulders.

'I'll have to go back home and tell my wife that I may be away for the night, which will not please her. Get your horse fed and watered, reeve, and we'll meet at the East Gate in an hour.'

As he left them, Thomas groaned at the thought of a few hours on the back of his pony, but Gwyn looked pleased at the prospect of a ride out of the city, especially as this sounded like something out of the ordinary run of cases. He slapped the solemn looking reeve on the shoulder and guided him towards the doorway.

'Let's get your beast fixed up, then we can get some food and drink in the hall before we set off,' he boomed heartily.

Behind him, the clerk collected up his writing materials and stuffed them into his shapeless shoulder bag, wondering gloomily what violent events he would have to record on them in Sampford Peverel.

Eventually, the pangs of hunger among the occupants of the manor house in Sampford overcame any vestiges of grief and a generally subdued household sat down to a delayed meal of mutton stew with leeks, then boiled pork, beans and onions. Bread, cheese and boiled eggs filled up any remaining spaces in their stomachs, though appetites generally were less robust than usual, not from any overwhelming sorrow, but because of the upset and uncertainty that such an event inevitably brought in its wake.

The two ladies were present at the meal, with their maids dancing attendance, though they both picked fitfully at the food. Joel, the youngest of the Peverel brothers, sat next to the new widow and was noticeably solicitous towards her, gently coaxing her to eat, drawing scowls from Ralph and Odo for his trouble.

For her part, Beatrice was wanly preoccupied, though she gave Joel some encouraging murmurs of thanks and sly glances from under the long lashes of her lowered eyelids. The elder woman, Avelina, sat impassively, her thoughts seemingly far away as she ate delicately from the trencher on the table before her, using a small knife taken from the embroidered pouch on her belt.

When the wooden platters of fruit were brought, few bothered to take an apple or pear, but the bottler was kept busy refilling pewter cups with wine and pottery mugs with ale and cider. This was the time when discussion began again, and Ralph led off, again intending to stake his claim to leadership.

'Damn that busybody of a bailiff!' he snarled. 'Why in God's name did he go rushing to send for the bloody coroner!'