Bernard Knight - Fear in the Forest

‘So what can be done about this immediate problem in the forest?’ asked de Wolfe, afraid Ferrars would divert the discussion into broader issues.

Hubert pondered for a moment. ‘The Council wouldn’t back me in removing de Revelle as sheriff without clear proof of his involvement, but I can certainly block any ambitions he might have of becoming Warden of the Forests. In fact, plans are under way to hold a Commission on the Stannaries to unseat him from his position there as Lord Warden.’

He looked across at the coroner. ‘What about the present Warden, Nicholas de Bosco? We gave him that post almost as a sinecure, a reward for his long service. But is he up to it, in the present unrest?’

‘He has little real power, so I think he should stay,’ replied John. ‘It would help if some strong endorsement of his position came from you or the Curia, just to warn off de Revelle. It’s these outlaws that concern us.’

‘We don’t have enough men to make a determined sweep of the forest to get rid of them,’ snapped Ferrars. ‘Many of my tenant knights and their men-at-arms have been taken to France to fight with the King.’

De Wolfe explained how he was sure that they were being financed by Prince John, through a devious route, probably involving the Church.

‘It’s a hell of a coincidence that this Father Treipas, who is in a Cistercian house that strongly favours the Prince, came from Coventry, where he was an acolyte of Hugh of Nonant. And then he moved to Devon, via a close connection with our own Bishop Marshal!’

Guy Ferrars snorted. ‘It’s clearly a conspiracy. Without the help of these bandits, the foresters and verderer could not stir up so much trouble. The object seems to be to dislodge the Warden, as well as increase the forest revenues for John’s benefit, when he attempts another rebellion through the south-west.’

The Justiciar drummed his fingers restlessly on the edge of the table

‘It’s not only the south-west, in fact. Similar things are happening in other forests, like Essex and Savernake, though so far there’s been no outlaw involvement there.’

He thought again for a moment, staring blankly at a sliver of sky visible through a slit window on the opposite wall.

‘This is what I’ll do, de Wolfe. When I established the coroner system last September, the main object was to raise revenue in the royal courts as well as keeping a check on all these rapacious sheriffs. But I also made provision for coroners to be given roving commissions on an ad hoc basis, when some particular problem arose.’

John waited tensely. This sounded very interesting.

‘So I’ll draft you a King’s Commission this very day, which should solve most of the problems. I have every faith in you, John, to carry it out, just as you did your duty in the Holy Land and when you did your best to safeguard the Lionheart in Austria. I know I can depend on you.’

For an instant de Wolfe felt tears of pride prickling his eyes at this endorsement of his loyalty, and even the self-centred Lord Ferrars looked at him with new respect — this was fulsome praise from a man who was the virtual Regent of England.

They both leaned forward expectantly, as the Justiciar outlined his proposals.

It was Thursday evening before John returned to Exeter, but before entering the city he called at Polsloe, leaving Gwyn to escort the timid clerk the last remaining mile or two. He found Nesta even less well than when he had left. Though she was still deathly pale, there was a flush on her forehead and her eyes appeared slightly suffused.

‘She has a slight fever, which gives us some concern,’ said Dame Madge, when she took John aside and insisted on inspecting the healing wound on his hip.

‘Is she in any danger?’ asked John anxiously.

The cadaverous nun shrugged. ‘Not at present, though everything is in the hands of God. Her loss of blood when she miscarried has lowered her resistance to bad humours. She needs good nursing and constant prayer, Crowner. We can supply both, though it would not come amiss if you went on your knees more often yourself on her behalf.’

When he went back in to Nesta, to softly tell her all his news of the journey to Winchester, she seemed attentive enough, but hardly spoke. Yet he felt that her mood had improved since before he went away, and she seemed slyly amused about something, but would not tell him what it was. He put a hand on her brow and felt the unhealthy warmth and saw a prickle of sweat on her upper lip.

‘You are warm, my love, but Dame Madge says you are in no danger,’ he said, diplomatically slanting the infirmarian’s comments. ‘You need the best attention, which I’m sure you get in this blessed place.’

Again the half-smile as she nodded slightly and reached for his hand.

‘I’m glad the long journey went safely, John. The roads can be dangerous places.’

He avoided telling her that he was soon likely to face considerably more danger in confronting the outlaws and turned the conversation on to more innocent paths, such as Thomas’s nostalgic ramblings around Winchester.

As he left her little room, he stared down the corridor of the infirmary and thought he just caught sight of a familiar figure stepping quickly into a doorway.

‘No change there, Crowner,’ said a voice from behind him, and he turned to meet the prioress.

‘She still refuses to talk to me?’

Dame Margaret nodded sadly. ‘I doubt you’ll ever bring her round, sir. She seems set on staying here, though the time for a decision as to taking her vows is still a long way off. But she has a natural talent for nursing — the infirmary seems to suit her well.’

John recollected how Matilda had looked after him with such grim efficiency when he had broken his leg earlier in the year.

‘I hope she finds happiness here, lady. But I would like to speak with her, just to say how sorry I am that I have brought her to this condition. Please intercede for me, when you get the opportunity.’

The prioress nodded. ‘I’ll do my best, but she seems firm in her intentions at present.’

With that he had to be content and, climbing up on to weary, patient Odin, he set off on the last lap of his journey to Martin’s Lane. Here Mary was pleased to see him home, soon setting out some clean clothes to replace the dust-laden ones that had crossed half of southern England. After he had doused himself with a bucket of cold water in the yard, he dressed and sat down to a good meal hurriedly put together by the faithful maid. Later than evening, he went up to Rougemont and sought out the constable to tell him of recent developments. He found Ralph Morin not in the keep, but closeted with Brother Roger, the castle chaplain. They were in the tiny sacristy of St Mary’s chapel, just inside the inner ward — not engaged in any devotions, but covertly sharing a stone jar of good Anjou wine.

‘I’m keeping out of the way of the bloody sheriff,’ complained Ralph. ‘He pesters me ten times a day as to whether you’ve returned from Winchester and what action is to be taken.’

The amiable Roger produced another earthenware cup and poured John a liberal dose of the rich French wine. ‘This is a better drink than the sips of watered vinegar I’m used to handing out at Mass,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye.

They waited expectantly for John to regale them with details of his journey. The castellan was entitled to know and, as usual, the chaplain was consumed with curiosity.

‘Hubert Walter was very cooperative, thank God,’ he began.

‘Is he providing some troops?’ was Ralph’s first question.