Bernard Knight - Figure of Hate

There was nothing sinister about either case, but John had to take account of them and hold inquests, partly to see whether there was anything to be gained for the King by way of 'deodands', the seizure of any object that had caused death. As he could hardly impound a section of the mill-stream or the city wall, he knew there was nothing to be gained unless he could find some breach of procedure on the part of those involved. This seemed unlikely here, but the formalities had to be gone through, and Thomas — or now, perhaps, Eustace — would have to record the tragedies on the coroner's rolls.

John told Gwyn to get the bodies moved up to Rougemont, where they used a lean-to cart shed in the inner ward as a mortuary.

'I'll hold inquests on them tomorrow morning,' he told Gwyn. 'Then we'll get ourselves away to Sampford to see what's going on there.'

As they walked back from Northernhay, the coroner told his officer about the potential friction between Thomas and their new apprentice clerk. 'I've tried to pour some oil on the troubled waters, but de Peyne's feathers have been ruffled by this lad,' explained John. 'He's afraid that he'll be eased out of his job if Eustace becomes too proficient.

Gwyn gave a deep belly-laugh. 'He can be a prickly little devil when he chooses! But the prospect of going up to Winchester, to be anointed or whatever they do to him, will soon clear his mind of anything else. '

As it was now early evening, Gwyn left his master at the corner of Martin's Lane to go on to his home in St Sidwells. He often spent the night in the city, gambling and drinking with his cronies, but after almost two weeks away, his rudimentary conscience drove him back to his small hut in the village outside the East Gate where his wife and two boys, to say nothing of his dog, were missing his company.

De Wolfe called at his house to tell Mary not to prepare any supper that evening and went straight down to the Bush, where he intended to eat, drink and spend the night with Nesta.

At the inn, they sat recalling the events of their trip to Wales, with Nesta still basking in the memories of a whole week with her kin, especially her mother. The visit had reassured her that all was well with them and that being in Exeter was not like being at the end of the world.

'You are the kindest of men, John, to have taken me back there,' she said, hugging his arm as they sat at his table, picking over the last remnants of a grilled pheasant that lay on a pewter plate between them. 'I want us to go on like this for ever — I know you can never marry me, but seeing you almost every day — and sometimes at night — is almost as good.'

He too felt contented, albeit temporarily until his wife came home. Richard de Revelle no longer plagued him in Exeter and the new sheriff was an amiable if lazy man who caused him no trouble. Even Thomas had cheered up markedly since the date of his restitution became known — the spat with Eustace was but a mere irritation that John hoped would be forgotten bythe next day. So there was little to worry the coroner, except for his unsolved cases, primarily the murders of August Scrope and Hugo Peverel. Even these faded into limbo at the prospect of climbing up the wide ladder at the back of the taproom, to Nesta's small cubicle — but much later, as he sank into a contented slumber in her arms, his last thoughts were that he must ride for Sampford the next day.

Odo and Ralph Peverel were no longer on speaking terms.

In the intervening weeks since Hugo's death, the elder brother had firmly announced his decision to assume the lordship himself as senior member of the family — and Ralph had equally forcefully disputed the claim and had ridden to Dorchester to consult an advocate to present his case to the justices at the next eyre, which was due to come to that town before it was likely to visit Exeter. He took Richard de Revelle with him — in fact, the former sheriff had insisted on accompanying him, as additional support. Until the matter was resolved, the two brothers refused to sit at table with each other and never spoke, other than through Joel or one of the senior servants, Waiter Hog or Roger Viel.

Avelina upbraided both of them for behaving like children, though her sympathies tilted in favour of Odo, who had not had another fit or fall since the time of Hugo's burial, which strengthened' his own position as master of the manor.

This antagonism between the two elder brothers made it easier for Joel to pursue the comely Beatrice, which he now did openly, courting the young widow like some love-stricken swain. When Hugo was alive, they had had to content themselves with making cow's eyes at each other and an occasional furtive kiss or fumble when her husband was away at a tournament, but now they felt free to flirt at will. Ralph and Odo were too concerned with their own feud to bother with him, but Avelina covertly disapproved of the younger woman's behaviour so soon after her bereavement, even though everyone knew that the marriage had been a sham, with only lust on Hugo's side and martyred forbearance on hers.

'The old lady wants to condemn her,' confided the steward to Walter Hog one day, when they were alone in the empty courthouse. 'But she's in a cleft stick, for she's planning to marry that Frenchman, even though Lord William's only been dead for half a year.'

'What's in it for him?' asked the bailiff curiously. 'I know she's a fairly handsome woman, but there are plenty of young beauties who would climb into bed with such a well-known tournament champion, if that's what he was after.'

Roger Viel, who knew most about the finances and deeds of the manor, shook his head. 'She's worth quite a lot, that woman. She is the daughter of a wealthy baron from Somerset, who settled a large annuity on her when she married. Then her husband William willed her a third share of all the profits of this manor for the rest of her life — and said nothing about it being forfeit if she remarried. Odo and especially Ralph were as mad as hell when they found out, for it eats into their own pockets at a time when they are not too well off themselves.'

This conversation had taken place a few days before the coroner came back to Sampford, a day when another visitor prompted the exchange between the bailiff and the steward. Riding up the track from the south came an erect figure on a black stallion, followed by a young Breton squire on a brown mare, leading a sumpter horse that carried, among other baggage, a mailed hauberk carefully wrapped in canvas, draped across the panniers. The lead rider wore a blue tunic under a black surcoat, with a hooded leather riding cape tied across the back of his saddle. Reginald de Charterai was dressed in his best, for he was coming to call upon his lady.

Only Odo saw his arrival at the hall and he pointedly walked away in the opposite direction, whilst a servant escorted the Frenchman to the upper floor. Suitably chaperoned by her maid, Reginald spent the next few hours in Avelina's quarters. Neither appeared for supper, food being taken up to the dowager's chamber, and Ralph and Joel sat at table in the hall with Beatrice and her handmaiden. When the women had retired, they set about savagely abusing the French intruder, but they could do nothing about his unwelcome visit. With the lordship in limbo until the court in Dorchester made a decision, all they could do was fume and bluster, as Odo refused to intervene — and with Avelina's legal rights in the manor equal to theirs, they were unable to forbid her to associate with her foreign suitor.

De Charterai spent the night in a spare chamber and was gone the next morning, but it was whispered by the maids that he was staying at an inn in Tiverton until he was ready to ride on to the next tournament at Wilton. Later that day, Avelina and her maid rode out in that direction, and the next morning Joel was deprived of Beatrice's company, as she went with her stepmother-in-Iaw to Tiverton, leaving a disgruntled trio of brothers to contemplate the possible break-up of the family.