Bernard Knight - Fear in the Forest

John sometimes wondered why Richard insisted on having a full-time guard deep inside his own castle, but knowing of the multitude of people who had cause to dislike or even detest de Revelle, he admitted that it was probably a wise precaution. The sentinel pulled himself up sharply when he saw the coroner approach and raised a hand to his basin-shaped helmet in salute.

‘Sheriff’s got a visitor, Crowner,’ he advised.

John scowled. He had wanted to get Richard alone, to avoid too much embarrassment about his possible dubious dealings in the forest — though there were other possible reasons for embarrassment when walking in on the sheriff unannounced, as he had discovered several times before.

‘Is it a man or a woman?’ he demanded, with these last thoughts in mind.

‘It’s the new verderer, Sir John. Don’t recall his name.’

John grunted and turned the heavy iron ring on the door. Inside, his brother-in-law was seated behind his wide work-table, dressed for the warm weather in his usual dandified fashion, with an open surcoat of blue velvet over a long shirt of white linen, cinched at the waist with a wide belt of fine leather. Under the table, John could see fine cream hose ending in shoes with ridiculously curved, pointed toes, a recent fad imported from France, enemies of England though they might be.

A pewter wine cup stood next to his hand and, on the other side of the table, the new verderer sat on a stool with similar refreshment.

Philip de Strete was known only by sight to the coroner, being a rather plump man of average build, nearing thirty years of age. He had ginger hair and a matching moustache of the same colour as Gwyn’s, but of much more modest proportions. All that John knew about him was that he had a small manor near Plymouth, had not been to the Crusades, but had fought in some of the French campaigns without any particular distinction.

Richard looked up in annoyance, his usual expression when de Wolfe appeared. De Strete jumped to his feet as the sheriff somewhat reluctantly introduced him and made considerable play of expressing his honour and delight at meeting the coroner. De Wolfe felt that he was insincere and distrusted him from the start, especially as Philip’s eyes always seemed to evade direct contact with his.

‘De Strete’s appointment is to be confirmed at the Shire Court tomorrow,’ announced de Revelle.

‘How can that be? The time has been far too short to get approval from the King or his Justiciar,’ objected John.

The sheriff shrugged impatiently. ‘Then it is to be made conditional on that consent being granted. It’s a mere formality. Hubert Walter will approve on the King’s behalf. I’m sure the Lionheart has not the slightest interest in who is appointed a verderer in a remote county.’

‘What’s the hurry?’ demanded John.

‘The next Attachment Court is to be held in a week’s time. There are cases to be heard. We can’t wait weeks or months for messengers to go scurrying around the country or even to France.’

De Wolfe sat heavily on the corner of Richard’s table, to the owner’s annoyance.

‘As most of the cases will merely be referred to the Forest Eyre, there can be no urgency. That court sits only every third year!’

Whenever something became awkward, the sheriff managed to change the subject.

‘Was there something you wanted, John?’ he said pointedly.

‘It’s about this very matter. You had a deputation today from some of the most influential barons in this area.’

De Revelle’s narrow face became wary and his eyes flicked between John and the new verderer. ‘How did you know that?’

‘Because they came to see me directly afterwards, to express their dissatisfaction. They want some explanations — and some action.’

Richard suddenly stood up to dismiss the new verderer.

‘I’ll see you at the Shire Hall tomorrow morning, Philip. There are matters I need to discuss with the coroner.’

He almost hustled de Strete from the chamber, thrusting him out into the hall and closing the door behind him.

‘That was indiscreet, John, in front of a new forest official,’ he snapped.

De Wolfe sat unbidden on the stool that the verderer had so abruptly vacated. He took up the half-full wine cup, threw the dregs into the rushes on the floor and refilled it from the jug that stood on Richard’s table.

‘Why? Is there something he shouldn’t hear about?’ he asked with sarcastic innocence. ‘Or might he have said something you didn’t wish me to hear?’

‘Of course not!’ blustered Richard. ‘Now, what is you want to say to me?’

‘Something’s going on in the forest and I want to get to the bottom of it. Guy Ferrars and his friends are becoming restive — they’re losing money and they don’t like it. And when Lord Ferrars is unhappy, people in his vicinity are apt to become equally miserable. That might include you, brother-in-law.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said de Revelle. ‘Why should you think I have any interest in the matter?’

‘I know you of old, Richard! You’ve sailed very near the wind more than once and you can’t afford another whiff of scandal. Why are you so insistent that I should not investigate these problems in the Royal Forest?’

‘Because you have no authority there, in spite of what you say. The whole point of the forest laws is that they are outwith the common law.’

‘Only for misdeeds that affect forest matters, Richard. How often do I need to tell you? You don’t seem to want to listen and that makes me suspicious.’

The sheriff’s face reddened, whether with anger or guilt John couldn’t decide. ‘You’re a soldier, not a lawyer! Don’t take it upon yourself to interpret the law. The forest laws have been in place since Saxon times, whilst your new-fangled coroner’s play-acting is not yet a year old.’

John put down his empty cup with a bang.

‘Very well, if you want to dispute my authority, I’ll ride to Winchester and see the Justiciar. I’ll bring back a document confirming my authority to investigate deaths, injury, fires and the rest of it, anywhere I please — or rather where the King pleases.’

He stood up and towered over the seated sheriff like a bird of prey.

‘And whilst I’m there, I’ll ask him for a Commission to investigate the state of the Royal Forest of Dartmoor. A coroner can be commissioned to undertake any task in the kingdom, if the monarch or his ministers so desire.’

Under direct threat, de Revelle held up a placatory hand.

‘Sit down, John, sit down! Let’s not fight over this. You’re making such an issue of a few coincidences.’

‘Coincidences? A verderer shot in the back, the Warden half killed, a tanner burned to death and foresters up to even more of their tricks than usual?’

Richard reached over to pour more wine for the coroner, as if this would solve the problem.

‘Calm down, John! These issues amount to very little in the great scheme of things. There are more important problems every day.’

‘Tell that to the widow of the dead tanner — or the murdered verderer! Convince me that you have no part in this, Richard. Why have you so rapidly forced this de Strete fellow into the verderer’s post — he’s a close neighbour of yours at Revelstoke, is he not?’

He threw down his drink and continued his tirade unabated.

‘And who is trying to unseat the Warden of the Forests — either by anonymous notes or clubbing him on the head? And why does rumour say that you would like to be the Warden in his stead? You have enough responsibilities now, being sheriff, Warden of the Stannaries and God knows what else. Why seek another unpaid job? It’s not like you, is it?’

He thumped the table with his fist. ‘There’s a common factor in all this and I’m going to find it, Richard. And God help you if I discover that you’re involved in some underhand scheming once again. I thought you would have learned your lesson by now!’