Bernard Knight - The Witch Hunter

As Gwyn paraded along the row of jurymen, displaying the grisly relics almost as if he were offering them for sale, de Wolfe continued. ‘It is well known, and witnessed by a hundred pairs of eyes, including my own, that the woman known as Bearded Lucy was in the tavern during the fire. No one else is missing and therefore I am satisfied that these remains belong to her.’

Once again he ignored the issue of Englishry and proceeded to the cause of the fire. ‘The conflagration was started deliberately and maliciously by rioters in the streets, some of whom flagrantly carried burning torches. I personally felled one of those miscreants!’ He scanned the hall with piercing eyes and then jabbed a finger at someone trying to look inconspicuous as he edged towards the entrance archway. ‘Hold that man!’ he bellowed, and Gabriel and two soldiers forced their way towards him and dragged him before the coroner. ‘You were that man, damn you!’ he shouted at the fellow, whose dirty bandage wrapped around his head was now like a badge of shame. ‘You were not the only evil-doer that day, but you will do! I commit you in custody to the next session of Gaol Delivery. Sergeant, get this wretch to the cells, my clerk can record his details later.’

As the man was dragged away, hollering with fright, as he would surely be hanged in due course, de Wolfe called for his next witness. ‘Where is Heloise, wife of Will Giffard?’

There was a scuffle towards the back of the hall and several people prodded the skinny woman with the wry neck, who at first refused to move, until another man-at-arms went and pulled her by the wrists to the front. She stood shivering before the coroner, her eyes swivelled up to regard him fearfully. Her husband, a burly man with a pugnacious expression, pushed through the crowd to stand behind her.

John glowered down at her, aware that this was the creature who had tried to add Nesta to the list of women who went to the gallows. ‘Heloise Giffard, did you visit Nesta the landlady of the Bush Inn several weeks ago, on the pretext of seeking a cure for the affliction of your neck?’

‘It was not a pretext, sir. I wanted a cure. And I had warts on my hands.’

‘Did she offer a cure? And I want the truth, woman, not a litany of lies about devils and goblins, or it will be even worse for you!’

The twisted wife peered furtively to left and right, but whoever she was seeking had made themselves scarce. ‘She said she could do nothing about my neck, sir. But she gave me a salve for my skin.’

‘Did she demand money from you for this simple service?’ snapped John. Heloise hesitated, then shook her head, a strange movement given the angle of her neck. ‘No, sir!’ she whispered.

‘And did anything untoward happen when that good lady did her best to help you, without so much as a ha’penny fee?’

Again the woman wagged her head. ‘No, Crowner, nothing.’

De Wolfe’s voice rose into a roar. ‘Then how was it you told Canon Gilbert that when you visited the tavern, that the woman conjured up black mist out of which came a hellish devil with fire coming from its mouth — and that she and this apparition performed lewd and obscene acts upon you? Answer me, you wretch!’

Heloise fell to her knees, her hands clenched before her in supplication. ‘It was my sister, Esther, sir,’ she wailed. ‘She persuaded me and gave me good silver coin to do what I did. It was her fault, sir, not mine. I only did what I was bid — and I am a poor woman, deformed in body.’

‘This sister of yours, Esther. Is she in this court today?’ John thundered.

‘No sir, she left the city last week, in fear of what might become of her after what happened. I don’t know where she is. I think she may have gone to Plymouth to follow the sailors.’

‘Your sister is a whore, is she not?’

Heloise seemed to shrink, like a hedgehog when threatened. ‘She is, sir, God forgive her.’

‘I doubt that, woman — and he will have to stretch his compassion to forgive you, too. Tell me, this harlot sister of yours, did she have regular clients in this city?’

Again, Heloise’s eyes squinted furtively along the front rows of the hall. ‘I don’t know that, Crowner. I tried to keep clear of her immoral business.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ snapped de Wolfe. ‘Do you see anyone in this court who you know visited her often — or who she visited for carnal knowledge?’

Here Roscelin de Sucote made his first mistake. He stepped forward a pace from the sheriff’s side to address the three men seated in the centre of the dais. ‘As a lawyer, I must object! The woman has said she doesn’t know, so why badger her further? It is not relevant.’

William Marshal leaned forward in his chair. ‘If it’s not relevant, why did you intervene, eh? What possible interest can you have in who might be the customer of a whore?’

The Gloucester cleric flushed and stepped back, getting a venomous look from the sheriff, whose troubles were only just beginning. The coroner dismissed Heloise after attaching her in the sum of four marks to attend the next visitation of the royal justices, then he called Richard de Revelle.

Again de Sucote intervened, to protest that a sheriff could not be forced to testify in a lower court in his own county, as he himself was the principal law officer. This time, Walter de Ralegh cut him down to size. ‘You talk arrant nonsense, young man! This is the coroner’s court, an office set up only last year by the King, to conduct the King’s business. Have you taken no notice of his title, eh? Custos placitorum corona, “keeper of the pleas of the crown”!’

On the other side of the upstaged coroner, the Marshal of England spoke again. ‘Your interference is doing more harm than good, sir! I would advise you to keep your mouth shut, before you do more damage.’

The said mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish, but Roscelin obviously thought better of antagonising two members of the Curia Regis any further, and stepped back.

‘De Revelle, come before us!’ grated the Earl Marshal, crooking his finger.

With reluctance showing in every slow footstep, the sheriff moved to stand below his brother-in-law. Although he stood in a deliberately nonchalant pose, throwing his gaudy cloak back over one shoulder, his small eyes looked up at John with pure poison oozing from them.

De Wolfe was deliberately correct and polite, doing his best to suppress his own contempt and loathing for the man in the cause of even-handed justice. ‘Sir Richard, were you acquainted with Esther, the sister of Heloise Giffard?’

‘Of course not, I’ve never heard of her!’ said the sheriff contemptuously. ‘Why I should know the name of an alehouse strumpet?’

There were a few cackles of laughter from the back of the court, as de Revelle’s partiality for whores was well known in the city. He turned round furiously, but the culprits had ducked down out of sight.

‘I fear we shall hear soon that your memory is failing you, if you continue to claim that she was unknown to you. I suggest that you paid this woman to get her unfortunate sister, who arouses sympathy because of her affliction, to visit the Bush inn under a pretext.’

‘Absolute nonsense — or rather, malicious lies!’ snarled de Revelle. ‘I suggest you produce this woman to speak for herself, before you make such unfounded accusations.’

John sighed. ‘I wish we could, but she has vanished — most conveniently, it seems. Now, Sir Richard, you were at the scene of the fire in Idle Lane, why was that? It’s not your habit to attend criminal events.’

‘I was riding in the city and heard the commotion and naturally went to investigate,’ he said loftily.

‘It would be the first time you’ve ever investigated anything,’ observed John, cynically. ‘Where were you riding that you could hear what was going on in Idle Lane? It’s not a part of the city that a busy sheriff normally frequents.’