Bernard Knight - Fear in the Forest

De Strete jerked his head around to stare at his men. ‘Why wasn’t I told of this?’

William Lupus ignored him and spoke directly to de Wolfe.

‘It was no murder, Crowner,’ he said contemptuously. ‘It was a justifiable killing under forest law.’ His skull-like face was impassive as he tried to stare down the coroner.

‘But I should have been informed, William!’ bleated de Strete.

Lupus turned to him slowly and spoke with naked insolence in his voice.

‘You are new to the task, Verderer. Your court deals only with offences against venison and vert. We are not concerned with deaths.’

John de Wolfe exploded at this. ‘Ha! For once your corrupt tongue speaks some truth! Any sudden death is within the purview of the coroner — so don’t ever try to contradict me again.’

The forester flushed at de Wolfe’s scathing tone.

‘Not in the forest, Crowner, when the death is within our laws.’

Gwyn took a pace forward and thrust his big, red face towards Lupus.

‘Don’t talk such bloody nonsense, man! You can’t have it both ways.’

De Wolfe beckoned Thomas out of the small crowd of people who were now gathered around, their ears almost flapping at this diverting quarrel involving the officers they hated most.

‘Take note of what is said, clerk, and write it on your rolls when we are finished,’ he snapped.

William’s oafish page, Henry Smok, stepped to the side of his master.

‘You’re finished now, Crowner! Clear off, back to your city. You’ll never understand the ways of the forest.’

The pugnacious Gwyn moved to flatten the man, but John halted him with a gesture.

‘If by that you are suggesting that the King’s writ runs in Exeter but not here, then you could be arraigned for treason. Even your thick neck would stretch nicely at the end of a rope.’

Both Smok and Philip de Strete paled at the pure menace in the coroner’s words, for it was obvious that he meant what he said. But now he reverted to the original business.

‘You admit then, William Lupus, that you killed Edward of Manaton?’

The forester’s impassive face moved to look briefly at Crespin.

‘I admit nothing. It matters not who actually put the arrow into the poacher. It’s a forester’s duty, whoever bent the bow.’

The audience was hushed as de Wolfe faced Crespin.

‘Then it was you who murdered the man?’

‘Murdered be damned!’ blustered the other forester. ‘I’ll not say who shot this poacher. But the law allows us to stop any fugitive offending against the venison by whatever force is necessary. During the hue and cry, or if the offender will not stop when escaping, we are at liberty to kill.’

Philip de Strete nodded vigorously in his officer’s defence. ‘That’s quite right, Crowner. As a new officer, I have been studying the forest laws most assiduously and what Michael Crespin says is correct.’

William Lupus brought his harsh voice back into the argument.

‘This miserable thief had set traps all around the clearing. We had known him as a poacher for years, but this time we caught him in the act, with a coney on his belt and a bow in his hand. I called on him to stop, but he ran, so an arrow was quite properly put into him.’

De Wolfe noted that they had carefully avoided naming the person who shot the fatal shaft. Crespin had regained his confidence after the support from the verderer and Lupus. ‘Yes, though I thought he was only winged. He gave a great yell and ran on into the trees. It was not worth us chasing him, so we pulled out his traps and left.’

‘Not worth your chasing him?’ snarled the coroner. ‘You had no concern that he might be wounded or dying — as indeed he was?’

Lupus shrugged. ‘Why should we care?’ he answered callously. ‘If we had caught him, we would either have cut his throat as the coup de grâce , or if we brought him out he would have hanged for carrying a bow.’

John, in spite of the endless atrocities he had seen — and even been part of — during his years of campaigning, was angry at this cold-blooded contempt for life shown in what should have been the peaceful English countryside.

‘Whether your casual killing was justified is not for you to decide,’ he snapped. ‘I have already attached you to attend the next Shire Court in Exeter to have your actions examined.’

Lupus sneered, and even the two pages grinned at this threat.

‘The Sheriff’s Court? He won’t want me there, that I can tell you now, Crowner. You’re wasting your time, for we’re not coming.’

‘Then I’m also attaching you to attend the next visit of the King’s judges as Commissioners, in a month or two. You’ll not get out of this, for if you fail to appear you’ll be declared outlaw and can go to join your friend Robert Winter and his gang.’

Even this threat failed to make any impression on the forest officers, for they continued to smirk complacently at de Wolfe. ‘And who is going to get us to the court, Crowner? We deny your powers in this. The forest laws were set in place long before your recent office was even thought of!’

‘You’ll attend or suffer the consequences!’ snarled de Wolfe, now becoming increasingly outraged by the contempt with which these men viewed the King’s Court.

‘Are you coming to take us to Exeter yourself?’ gibed Crespin. ‘Or will you send the sheriff to arrest us?’ All four men, the foresters and their pages, guffawed as if this was the best joke they’d heard that month.

‘Or maybe the Lionheart will come back from France with his army to take us!’ cackled Henry Smok, emboldened by his masters’ attitude.

De Wolfe smothered his rage as best he could and glared at the grinning faces.

‘For once in your life, Smok, you may have got near the truth,’ he snapped. ‘I doubt your sovereign lord will come in person, but after this I’ll see to it that Winchester and London attend to this problem. Not all of Richard’s army is in France, remember!’

He turned on his heel and, motioning his officer and clerk to follow him, he stormed out of the market, coldly determined to find a radical solution to the fear in the forests.

In the city that evening, John decided that it was pointless going to Polsloe again, merely to be turned away once more. He reasoned that if and when Matilda wanted to speak to him he would soon know about it. Instead he decided to go to the Bush some hours after returning from Moretonhampstead, spending the time until then with his friend Ralph Morin, the constable of Rougemont. De Wolfe wanted to sound him out about the possibility of taking some of the garrison’s men-at-arms to arrest the foresters and clean out Robert Winter’s outlaw camp.

Sympathetic though he was, Ralph could see no way in which he could help in this.

‘Without the sheriff’s agreement — which he’ll never give me — I can’t take troops out of here, except in a dire emergency. Though we’ve had no trouble for fifty years, I’m sure it’s a hanging offence leaving a royal castle undefended.’

John reluctantly agreed with his point of view, but tried a compromise.

‘Just a few men, together with Gwyn and myself, could surely take those forester bastards and their pages?’

‘I’ve no doubt we could, John — but without Richard de Revelle’s consent, think what the consequences would be! One set of king’s men arresting or even slaying another set of royal officials. No, I’m sorry, I can’t risk either my job or my neck, even for you.’

The coroner sighed. ‘You’re right, Ralph. The only way is for me to get Hubert Walter to authorise a foray against all this unrest. Even then, he’ll take some persuading, as it looks as if a couple of bishops and their Prince John allies have a finger in this pie.’