Bernard Knight - Figure of Hate

Saying nothing of the matter to Mary, as he could not face another tearful woman trying to persuade him to swallow his pride, he went to bed and slept soundly until dawn.

The cavalcade that rode up the track to Sampford the next morning was far more impressive than the usual coroner's team. It was a true posse, as the sheriff himself led the group alongside the coroner — the posse comitatus had been introduced fourteen years earlier by old King Henry in his 'Assize of Arms' and authorised the sheriff to call out any able-bodied men of the county to seize suspected criminals or to defend the realm.

Behind Devon's two most senior law officers came Ralph Morin, the constable of Exeter, and Gwyn of Polruan. Leading a dozen men-at-arms in boiled leather jerkins and round helmets was Sergeant Gabriel. Today both Thomas de Peyne and Eustace de Relaga had been left at home to write up their rolls, in case there was serious trouble. Thomas was beside himself with anxiety, especially as he would not know the outcome of the contest until the posse returned to Exeter.

The village seemed ominously quiet as the column rode along the ridge track from Tiverton to reach the manorial compound. There were people about, all staring silently at the mounted men as they passed. Godwin Thatcher looked down from a ladder against the roof of a cottage and Nicholas the smith stopped pumping his bellows as they went by. Agnes's mother sat by her door, her cheeks still wet at the thought of her daughter still lying unburied in the church.

When the sheriff and the coroner turned into the gate of the bailey, they found the whole staff of the manor turned out in front of the house. Grooms, ostlers, cooks, brew-maids, stable lads and houndsmen were standing sullenly in a large half-circle, with the more senior servants in front of them. It seemed that the steward, bailiff, huntmaster and parish priest, together with all the more lowly servants, had been ordered to witness the humiliation of the county coroner by.one of their lords. The armourer and his assistant were also present, standing at the end of the inner line.

As the posse dismounted, figures appeared at the top of the steps leading to the hall. Odo and Ralph stopped dead on the platform to gaze down at the new arrivals. They were disconcerted to see such a show of force, having expected only the sheriff and a guard or two. Once again, John fumed to see the familiar figure of Richard de Revelle coming down behind the brothers. As the trio came down the staircase, two ladies took their place at the top, snug in fur-lined pelisses against a chill breeze. The ever gallant Joel accompanied Beatrice and Avelina, their maids standing behind them, eager to watch what they hoped would be a bloody combat.

Henry de Furnellis marched forward to meet the Peverels and to establish his dominance of the occasion. John often thought of him as an easygoing, lazy individual, but Henry could be an imposing person when he wished. Though getting on in years, he was still active enough, and his tall, muscular figure reflected his long experience as a warrior.

'I am here as the King's representative in this county,' he began in his deep voice. 'You have refused to cooperate with the coroner here and I therefore command you to obey my requests, on pain of the serious consequences for defying officers of the Crown.'

He moved to be face to face with Odo, who looked more troubled than ever at this turn of events. John hoped that it would not trigger another of his falling fits, as he fervently wished Odo to win his legal wrangle with Ralph over the succession to the manor.

'Sir Odo, it pains me to know that you sided with less sensible men in refusing to allow the coroner to take two of your servants into custody,' said de Furnellis in a sonorous voice. 'I thought as the new manor-lord you would be more aware of your legal responsibilities. '

The eldest brother looked abashed, but before he could respond Ralph virtually pushed him aside to glare at the sheriff.

'Sir, there is other business to attend to before these time-wasting falsehoods about a couple of our servants. There is a matter of honour to be settled, as you well know. Let us get on with it!'

The sheriff looked at him sourly, as if bemoaning the fact that this new generation had none of the manners of the old.

'That will be attended to forthwith,' he replied. 'But whatever the outcome, be assured that those two men who are under suspicion will be taken back to Exeter with us. If anyone tries to prevent us, you will regret it, both now and in due course, before the King's justices.'

With this threat, he walked back to where de Wolfe was standing with Gwyn and Ralph Morin. A couple of soldiers had taken their horses back to the gate, where the rest of the men-at-arms were waiting on their own mounts, in case of trouble.

'Right, John, let's get you ready,' said Henry with a sigh. Gwyn was acting as John's squire, as he had done for many years, and now led up a packhorse that the last soldier in the line had dragged on a head-rope from the city. Slung over its back was his hauberk and a calf-length suit of chain mail, now slightly rusty, together with the padded gambeson that went underneath. They had once belonged to Simon de Wolfe, John's father, who had been killed in the Irish wars years before. Gwyn and Ralph Morin helped hoist the mail over John's head and settle it into place before lacing the hood to its neckline and placing the round helmet on his head.

'Short sword and a mace, that's what we agreed,' muttered Gwyn, getting more worried as the moments passed. There was no need for a baldric to support a scabbard, as John's riding sword was pressed directly into his hand. This was much shorter than a more massive battle sword, but was still three feet of heavy steel. The short handle of a ball mace was thrust through his belt, carrying a chain ending in a spiked. sphere of iron. Morin unlashed John's shield from the side of the sumpter horse and slid the inner loops over his left forearm. The device on the battered wood was that of a white wolf's head on a black field, and the dents and chips on the surface told of many previous fights.

By now a considerable number of villagers had sidled in through the gates and were standing opposite the occupants of the hall, forming a straggling circle around the sparse muddy grass of the manor forecourt. Ralph had vanished into the hall while John was putting on his armour and now reappeared with his brothers, Richard de Revelle and the armourer behind him. His shield carried the Peverel emblem of two white chevrons on a field of azure, but otherwise he was attired in identical fashion.

Gwyn patted his master and old friend on the back and sent him to walk a few paces forward, his anxiety increasing as he noticed the slight limp that John had tried to hide since breaking his left shin bone at the beginning of the year. The two combatants advanced to face each other some ten paces apart, and the murmur of voices from the onlookers died as the tension rose. An uncaring crow croaked from the roof of the manor, making the sudden silence all the more ominous.

Henry de Furnellis, as sheriff and the most experienced knight present, took it upon himself to act as marshal and loped forward to stand between the two men. They looked at him as he spoke, both sinister in their metal garments, their profiles distorted by the ugly nose guards of the helmets.

'Sir John de Wolfe, and you Sir Ralph Peverel, are you willing to settle your differences or are you firmly set upon this combat?' boomed the sheriff.

'This man impugned my courage and my honour,' growled de Wolfe. 'I cannot let that go unchallenged!'

'And I intend killing this fellow who has persecuted my family,' shouted Ralph. 'I'm going to cut off his member and ram it down his damned throat!' he added unnecessarily. A rumble of discontent ran around the crowd at this blatant lack of chivalry, which reminded Gwyn of brother Huge's gross lapse of conduct in his bout with de Charterai.