Bernard Knight - Fear in the Forest

‘You were quick off the mark filling his shoes! Who is it?’

Richard stroked his small beard with his fingertips, a mannerism that annoyed de Wolfe — though almost everything about the sheriff annoyed him.

‘Philip de Strete — I offered to nominate him to the County Court just now and he quite naturally accepted,’ he said smugly.

John shrugged. ‘Never heard of him. Who is he and where’s he from?’

‘A knight from Plympton, not far from my other manor at Revelstoke — that’s how I know him, as a lesser neighbour.’

De Wolfe thought cynically that, like his sister, Richard was ever conscious of his position in the pecking order of the county aristocracy and could not resist emphasising his higher status over this Philip. He wondered why the man so conveniently happened to be in Exeter to be offered the unexpected vacancy, but could not think of any sinister reason for it — though anything involving the sheriff was always liable to be devious.

‘Why the rush to appoint someone? The previous incumbent is not even in his grave yet!’

De Revelle began to look impatient, tugging at the cuffs of his gloves and glancing at the door.

‘The verderer’s work has to go on. The Attachment Court is due next week, over which he must preside.’

‘Did you discuss it with Nicholas de Bosco before you offered the job to this man?’

Now the sheriff’s impatience turned to annoyance. ‘That man is an incompetent old fool. It’s none of his business. The appointment is made by the freeholders of the county upon my writ. The Warden of the Forests has no say in the matter.’

He paused, then added angrily, ‘Neither is it any of your concern, John. I hear that you went to Sigford yesterday and held an inquest on the dead man. You had no right — forest law prevails there.’

This was too much for de Wolfe. He jumped up to tower over the sheriff, his dark face glowering down at him.

‘What arrant nonsense you talk, Richard! I am the King’s coroner and it’s his rule that runs everywhere in England. The forest laws concern offences against venison and vert, not men being shot in the back!’

Richard’s face reddened in anger. ‘I dispute that! This coroner nonsense came into being only last year — before that the forest, the stanneries and the Church dealt themselves with matters within their own jurisdiction.’

‘Well, they don’t now, Sheriff!’ bellowed de Wolfe, equally incensed. ‘The tinners no longer dispute my right to investigate their dead, even though you, as their Warden, tried to stop me. And the Bishop has agreed that any violence in the cathedral precinct should be handed to the secular powers. So if you wish to question the will of our King Richard, do so and suffer the consequences.’

De Revelle marched towards the door. ‘I’ll not waste time bandying words with you, John. You’ll overstep the mark one of these days and then it will be you that suffers the consequences!’

As the sheriff furiously threw the door open so wide that it banged against the wall, de Wolfe called out a warning.

‘Your sudden interest in the forest officers is suspicious, Richard. I trust, if only for your sister’s sake, that you’re not up to your tricks again — remember that you’re still on probation!’

His brother-in-law vanished into the sunlight without deigning to reply and John sank down again onto the stone shelf to ponder the situation. Though he was the King’s representative in Devon and the highest law officer in that county, Richard de Revelle had been in trouble ever since he took office as sheriff. Appointed at Christmas ’93, he was dismissed by Hubert Walter, the Chief Justiciar, a few months later on suspicion of being a supporter of Prince John’s abortive rebellion against the Lionheart, when the King was imprisoned in Germany. De Wolfe well remembered the anguish that his wife showed then, as her brother was her idol. When he was suspected of having feet of clay, Matilda urged her reluctant husband to intercede on de Revelle’s behalf with both the Justiciar and William Marshal, the two most powerful men in the land. In the summer, nothing having proved against him, he was reinstated. It was partly out of a begrudging gratitude — and Matilda’s insistence — that the sheriff supported John’s election to the new post of coroner, offered by Hubert Walter on behalf of the King.

But ever since, apart from the usual embezzlement and corruption that were the hallmark of most sheriffs, de Revelle had begun toying again with a covert allegiance to Prince John. De Wolfe suspected that the Prince had promised the politically ambitious de Revelle advancement at court, should he be successful in unseating his royal brother. Others were of the same mind, including Bishop Henry, brother to William Marshal, several of the senior clergy and some of the Devonshire barons, such as the de Pomeroys. It was only a few months since de Wolfe had caught his brother-in-law in another embryonic plot to foment more rebellion — and again, only Matilda’s pleading had stopped him from exposing de Revelle’s treachery. Since then, the sheriff had been treading carefully, but John now always kept a sharp lookout for any schemes that Richard might be hatching.

A mellow voice suddenly brought him out of his reverie.

‘I’m glad to see you using my humble chapel for meditation, Crowner. Though I didn’t take you for someone with strong religious inclinations!’

Standing over him was a cheerful priest with a round face which matched the stomach that pushed out his black Benedictine habit into a comfortable bulge. He dropped down onto the ledge alongside de Wolfe and mopped his brow with a rag drawn from his gown.

‘Or maybe it was just cooler in here, Sir John.’

The coroner grinned crookedly at Father Roger, who he found an amiable companion. Only a short time before, the priest’s insatiable curiosity had briefly caused him to be suspected of multiple murders in the city, and John was glad that the accusations had soon proved unfounded.

‘Not curing souls this morning, Roger?’

‘Too hot for such laborious pastimes, Crowner. Thank God I only hold services here in the cool of early morning and towards dusk. Not that many of the heathen soldiery in Rougemont bother to attend, though their womenfolk are more devout.’

The priest had recently come from Bristol to become chaplain of the garrison and was always eager to learn more about Exeter, its people and its intrigues. The coroner told him of the killing of the verderer and the odd meeting in Roger’s own church between the sheriff and the new appointee. The chaplain was already well aware of the antagonism between coroner and sheriff and had a shrewd idea of its causes. John went on to recount to him the unrest that seemed to be growing in the Royal Forest and the unexplained antipathy towards the Warden, Nicholas de Bosco. He thought that the ever-curious chaplain might have heard some useful tittle-tattle from the priests in the town or nearby parishes.

‘I’ve heard nothing through the ecclesiastical grapevine,’ Roger said thoughtfully. ‘But I’ll keep my ears open for you. I sometimes meet parish priests from around Dartmoor — they are usually fond of a gossip.’

They chatted for some time, finding that they had many experiences in common. Roger of Bristol had a military past rather like de Wolfe’s, having been a chaplain to the King’s forces in several campaigns in which both had served, though they had never met before. His loyalty had been rewarded with curacy of the chapel at Bristol castle, until the soldierly Archbishop of Canterbury, the same Hubert Walter who was also Chief Justiciar, posted him to the vacancy at Exeter.

They found that they also had something else in common that morning, as today was a hanging day and it was Roger’s turn to shrive the two unfortunates who were to go to the gallows on Magdalen Street outside the city walls. The coroner also had to be present, so that his clerk could record the forfeiture of the felons’ property. The two men followed the sad procession as the ox-cart trundled its fatal burden from the castle gaol in the undercroft of the keep. When the condemned men had been dispatched into the next life, John left Thomas in Roger’s company and went back home for the midday meal, his appetite none the worse after watching the agonal thrashings of the strangled men dangling on their ropes.