Bernard Knight - Fear in the Forest

‘To hell with him,’ growled the baron. ‘I have a feeling his days are numbered as the King’s man in this county. I’ll be in London in a week or two, when I’m going to have a few strong words with some friends on the Curia — and be damned to de Revelle’s powerful patrons.’

Between the steady champing of jaws and slurping of ale, the discussion went on.

‘We’ve broken the back of the main outlaw band, though there’s scores more of the bastards in the forest,’ said Ralph.

‘But they’re a disorganised ragtag, with no object other than stealing chickens and holding up travellers for their purses,’ said Reginald de Courcy.

‘A pity we didn’t get that Winter fellow,’ said Hugh Ferrars, in one of his rare utterances. ‘Where is he now? I wonder.’

‘Without his second-in-command, that Martin Angot, and with most of his men slain, he’s lost all his power,’ replied John. ‘Unless he can rebuild a gang out of the remaining villains that lurk in those woods, he’s no longer of any consequence.’

‘I suspect that Winter’s already fled from these parts, either up to Exmoor or across into Cornwall,’ grunted Guy Ferrars. ‘Without the support of Prince John’s mob, we can forget him.’

The portly castle chaplain leaned forward to speak to de Wolfe, a quart of ale in one hand. ‘Crowner, yesterday, while you we all away, I met John de Alençon after a service in the cathedral. He asked me to tell you something interesting.’

John suppressed some mild irritation. This priest, amiable as he was, seemed to have his nose into everything. ‘What was that?’ he grunted.

‘The archdeacon said that John of Exeter, our revered cathedral Treasurer, had told him privately that in the last few months, some considerable sums of money had come into the bishop’s palace. The purses were dealt with by Henry Marshal’s clerks, but had never appeared on any diocesan accounts and seemed to vanish equally mysteriously.’

There were raised eyebrows and meaningful looks around the table. John of Exeter, unlike some of the senior canons, was a staunch supporter of the King and sided with the archdeacon and coroner when it came to opposing the Prince John faction.

‘Had the Treasurer no explanation of this?’ asked Lord Ferrars.

‘It seems not. He had no dealings himself with the money, but came across the matter by chance. It would appear that the funds were merely passing through the bishop’s custody, destined for somewhere else.’

‘Perhaps they were collected by a Cistercian monk?’ suggested Reginald de Courcy, with heavy sarcasm.

‘I wonder what’s happened to that fellow?’ queried Ralph. ‘Is it worth rattling the abbey at Buckfast to see if we could shake him out?’

‘Ah, I can also tell you something of that,’ said Brother Roger, beaming at his own erudition. De Wolfe groaned under his breath — this priest was a one-man spy ring. ‘A vicar-choral of my acquaintance told me that Father Edmund Treipas spent one night last week in the guest house in the palace.’

Thomas de Peyne plucked up the nerve to butt into the discussion.

‘I heard the same tale from a secondary in my lodgings. The father had a large pack behind his saddle and apparently was on his way back to Coventry, where he came from in the first place.’

De Wolfe slapped the bench in delight. ‘We’ve scared the fellow off! He must have heard of Stephen Cruch’s arrest and the bishop and his abbot have sent him packing, to save themselves any awkward questions.’

Ralph brought the talk around to current problems.

‘What are you going to do about these damned foresters and their accomplices? The soldiering part is over. Now it’s down to you and the law.’

‘Hang the swine out of hand!’ snarled Ferrars, still smarting at the loss of his woodward and his deer. ‘Surely conspiring with outlaws is a felony? They were caught red handed.’

De Wolfe shook his head. ‘They’re not declared outlaws — and they are still King’s officers. They will have to have a trial before the royal judges. I can’t advocate one sort of justice for some then hang others without trial.’

Ferrars made noises that suggested that it was all a waste of time and effort, but de Courcy agreed with John.

‘Have your trial, as long as it doesn’t go to the Shire Court, where the damned sheriff would probably not only acquit them but give them a few marks from the poor box for the inconvenience they suffered!’

The coroner used his teeth to strip the meat from a capon’s leg while he considered the matter.

‘Later today we must interrogate them down below.’ He pointed with his chicken bone at the floor, below which the prisoners were incarcerated in the undercroft. ‘The Warden of the Forest should be present, as well as this new verderer, de Strete. They are the seniors of these miscreants, they should hear what they have to say.’

Guy Ferrars nodded reluctant acceptance of this alternative to a quick hanging.

‘We’d better have de Revelle there, too, whether he likes it or not. I want to see him squirm when he sees his accomplices confess.’

‘As he’s still the sheriff, however much we resent it, he surely must fulfil his responsibilities as the enforcer of the King’s peace in the county,’ added Reginald, always a stickler for convention.

They agreed to assemble in the gaol after the bell for Compline, late in the afternoon. As John was fretting to get away to Polsloe, he left Ralph Morin to inveigle Richard de Revelle into attending in the undercroft.

When John arrived at the priory, he found Nesta slightly better than when he had last visited, a couple of days ago. She still had a slight fever and her pallor was not improved, but she seemed more cheerful and had lost the haunted look that had so worried him over the past two weeks. When he complimented her on the improvement, she managed a smile that was almost like her old self.

‘It’s the nursing, John, they are so kind to me that I cannot fail to get better every day. If only this fever would leave me, I’m sure I could go home.’

‘You stay here until you are really well, my love,’ he admonished. ‘You can’t struggle up that ladder in the Bush in your condition — and I can’t always be there to carry you up myself!’

They talked for a little while, with John as usual relating all his recent adventures. Nesta was overjoyed that he had not suffered any injury this time. He avoided asking her whether she had seen Matilda, as last time this seemed to have caused her to give him some odd looks, but on his way out Dame Madge materialised in the corridor. She demanded once again that he display his wound for her inspection, and while he bared his hip he asked whether there was any change in his wife’s resolution to ignore him. The bony midwife for once seemed oddly reluctant to answer him, saying that he had better talk to the prioress about such matters. When she had satisfied herself that his rapidly healing wound needed no further attention, he dropped his raised tunic and thanked her for her devoted care of Nesta.

‘She is a sweet woman, Crowner,’ said Dame Madge. ‘We are all very fond of her.’ Her tone suggested that Nesta deserved better than to be wasted on an adulterer like John de Wolfe, but she did not elaborate.

When he sought out Dame Margaret in her parlour, the nun who acted as her secretary told him that the prioress was at prayer in the new chapel and could not be disturbed. With a vague sense of foreboding, he climbed aboard Odin and set off for home, his mind divided between the problems of the foresters and of the women in his life.

Soon after the distant bell in the cathedral tower rang for Compline, men began gathering in the gloomy vault under the castle keep. Even in the dry heat of midsummer, the grey walls and low arches of the ceiling were dank and slimed with mould — a fitting location for the misery and torment that often took place there.