Bernard Knight - Figure of Hate

'I am a good neighbour, John! My land runs along the Peverel boundary to the north and west. It is only right that I try to help friends in their hour of need.'

'Huh! Who needs enemies when they can have friends like you, eh?'

Turning his back on his brother-in-law, de Wolfe marched to the door and, with a jerk of the head at his clerk and officer, made his way back to the church.

Determined that there would be no evasion or duplicity this time, John stood near the grave to make sure that his Orders were carried out. With Gwyn and Thomas at his side, he watched while Walter Hog supervised his men as they reopened the pit. Again a group of onlookers was gathered along the dry-stone wall around the churchyard, mostly wives and old men too infirm to work in the fields.

Two villeins were waist deep in the hole, throwing the rich red soil out with flat wooden shovels tipped with iron strips. As the earth had only been put in place the previous day, it was soft and light, so the work went ahead quickly and a large pile was soon heaped along each side.

'The box is not lap down, Crowner,' the bailiff reassured them. 'It's on top of his father's remains, put there not six months ago.'

'Not a very fancy memorial for two lords of the manorl' grunted Gwyn. Td have thought they'd have done better than this.'

'Most gentry are buried within the church itself, near the altar,' commented Thomas, automatically making the sign of the cross.

'That's the very point,' answered Walter. 'The old man, William, was planning to rebuild the church in stone to ensure that his immortal soul got a clear passage into heaven. This old wooden place has been here since Saxon times. But the Lord beat him to it, I'm afraid — and he's done the same to Hugo, who also claimed he was going to carry out his father's plan.'

'Then presumably the family will now build a new church and put William and Hugo under its floor?' asked Thomas hopefully.

The bailiff looked around and lowered his voice.

'Maybe, but I hear that money is short. Both Hugo and his father lost heavily in the tournaments these past couple of years — that's why Hugo was so incensed when that Frenchie beat him last week. According to what the steward tells me, there'll not be much money left for church-building, unless Sir Ralph can do better with lance and sword than his brother.'

'But this is a large, fertile manor,' said de Wolfel 'It should be rich with all that land under the plough and those many carucates of pasture for cattle and sheep.' The bailiff shrugged. 'I do my best, Crowner. Sir Odo is keen on making the best of the land, but he never gets support from the others. They never restock enough, neither beast nor seed — and they've sold off too much to repay their debts. Bad management, that's what's ruining this manor.'

Walter Hog's recriminations were cut short by a call from one of the villeins who acted as sexton. He was tapping something solid with the end of his spade, as his companion began scraping earth sideways.

'We're down to the box, Bailiff. Do you want 'er taken out or shall we open 'er where she lies?' he called, in the thick local dialect.

Walter looked enquiringly at the coroner, who shook his head.

'The corpse will be needed only for an hour or two.

If you can get the lid off easily, just take the body out and carry it on that bier up to the courthouse.' The coffin was a plain box made in haste from elm planks, and the top gave way without trouble when strips of iron provided by the smith were levered into the joints. John and Gwyn leaned over the grave as it was removed and watched with interest as the diggers peeled back the linen wrappings that shrouded the cadaver. Hugo Peverel appeared much the same as when they had seen him on Monday, still dressed in the tunic in which he had died. When a kerchief was lifted from his face, it was seen to be somewhat swollen and reddened, but otherwise in fair condition.

'Damned liars, saying that he had to be buried because he was going off!' muttered Gwyn. 'There's days of use left in him yet!'

They left the bailiff to see that the corpse was removed and carried up to the barn for the inquest, while they sought some sustenance after their ride from Exeter. John could have returned to the hall, where no doubt his rank would have ensured that he would have been fed, albeit grudgingly, by the hostile family.

But he chose to avoid them and, with his two assistants, made for the alehouse on the green. As they passed the open space, Gwyn jerked his head towards the manorial gallows, two" high posts supporting a crossbar, which, together with a pillory, stood threateningly alongside the area where the village lads played at football and the men practised their archery. It was empty today, but a rope noose swayed ominously in the breeze.

'That's where the thatcher's son came to his end,' he said. 'I wonder if his father or brothers had enough guts to stick Hugo the other night?'

De Wolfe grunted and shrugged his shoulders. 'God knows! It could equally have been that reeve or his son-in-law, inflamed at Peverel bedding the daughter on her wedding night.'

The tavern was empty, as all the men were either in the fields or being rounded up for jury service, and the three officials had the room to themselves. The alewife had a blackened pot hanging from a tripod over the fire-pit and from it she ladled a thin broth into wooden bowls. Silently, she set these on the window ledge for them, together with a fresh loaf torn into pieces. From a leather bucket of dirty water set by the ale casks, she produced some horn spoons and rubbed them dry with the hem of her grubby apron. The stew tasted better than it looked, and even the ale she offered seemed less sour than on Monday.

'If I come here too often, I might even get to like the bloody stufft' grumbled Gwyn, as he tucked in.

The more fastidious Thomas ignored the drink, but found that the long ride had given him an appetite, so that he ate his broth with something approaching relish.

They discussed the relative merits of each candidate for the killing, but came to no conclusions. It seemed that virtually anyone in the village could have stabbed Hugo in the back, as the opportunity to creep up on him asleep on a dark night was universal — and motives were thick on the ground. When they had exhausted the possibilities, none of which John felt was likely to be confirmed at the inquest, Gwyn brought up the matter of the silversmith, murdered the previous week.

'What are you going to do about this Robert Longus, the armourer who refused to come to your inquest in the city?'

'Rest assured, I've not forgotten him! Before we leave, I'll attach him by sureties to attend a resumed inquest next week. If he doesn't show up, then I'll get him summoned to the Shire Court. Four failures to appear there and he'll be outlawed.'

'What about the other man that was said to have been with him when they robbed and killed the silversmith?' asked Thomas. 'If the armourer is from this manor, then so perhaps is the other?'

De Wolfe stared through the window opening as he finished his ale, thinking about this other problem.

'Unfortunately, that man Terrus who survived the assault says he has no recollection of the face of the other attacker, so there would be no point in getting him all the way up here from Totnes to try to pick him out. '

'I'll keep a close eye on the bastard today, to see if he has any particular crony in the manor,' offered Gwyn.

'With the lately deceased Hugo giving him such a firm alibi, we've only got the word of Terrus against theirs,' said John regretfully. 'I wonder if Ralph Peverel will back up the story too?'

'He will, Crowner,' said Thomas gloomily. 'If only to spite you. These people stick together like glue.'