Bernard Knight - Fear in the Forest

This was how it was tonight, as he unfolded the whole story of his visit to Winchester and the subsequent escapade in the forest.

De Alençon listened intently, crossing himself when the coroner described the extermination of the outlaws. ‘It seems brutal, John, but as the law stands they would have died one way or the other, with every man’s hand against them,’ he said soberly.

‘They had burned the tanner alive, shot the verderer in the back and inflicted many other miseries on the forest dwellers,’ pointed out de Wolfe. ‘I have no stain on my conscience about them.’

‘What about these two foresters and their pages?’

The coroner shrugged and took another sip of the excellent wine.

‘Crespin was denounced as a killer by Lupus’s brute — and I showed clearly that it was Lupus who stuck his dagger into the back of Ferrars’ woodward. Our impatient baron wanted them hanged straight away, but I have attached them to the next visit of the Commissioners of Gaol Delivery, who will undoubtedly send them to the gallows.’

‘And the pages, what about them?’

‘They are stupid louts, but I will do likewise with them and let the Commissioners decide on their fate.’

The archdeacon drummed his fingers lightly on the leather cover of his book.

‘And your dear brother-in-law? How is he to come out of this?’

John gave one of his rare lopsided grins. ‘The sheriff’s reputation, such as it was, is in tatters. Hubert Walter is well aware of the situation in Devon and I am sure he will begin maneuvering within the Curia to get rid of de Revelle. But you know as well as I that our sheriff is supported by some powerful names, both by barons and those in the Church.’

‘Some no more than a few hundred paces from here!’ agreed de Alençon, dryly. ‘Speaking of that, did you get my message about that monk from Buckfast?’

The coroner nodded. ‘And I also hear that he has left for Coventry, for good, it seems.’

‘He’s gone back to that nest of insurrection built by Bishop Hugh. We’ll hear no more of him in these parts. The Cistercians will close ranks, as they have no love for this king, but have high hopes of who they think will be the next.’

They sat silently for a moment, both thinking of the injustices that the division between Church and state could throw up.

Then the archdeacon roused himself to broach another subject.

‘I have done some research into canon law on your behalf, John,’ he said rather diffidently. ‘I fear I can find no precedent for annulling a marriage because the wife has entered a monastic order. It would require an appeal to the Holy Father in Rome, and even then I doubt whether it would succeed.’

John de Wolfe nodded glumly. ‘I had expected that would be the answer. I don’t know what’s going to happen there. She still refuses to speak to me. I’ve only clapped eyes on her once since she left — and that at a distance in the priory.’

He threw down the rest of his wine and stood up.

‘I’m going up to Polsloe now, to see how Nesta is faring. According to Dame Madge, she came near to death from blood loss when she miscarried and is still far from well.’

With the concerns of his friend and promises of his prayers in his ears, de Wolfe took his leave and walked up to Martin’s Lane in the evening warmth to fetch Odin from the stables. Gwyn and Thomas were waiting patiently for him on their mounts at the East Gate, and half an hour later they were at the gate in the wall of St Katherine’s.

‘We’ll wait here until you have finished your visit, Crowner, then slip in one at a time to pay our respects to Nesta,’ said Gwyn with uncharacteristic tact, having been primed previously by the more sensitive Thomas.

John strode to the door of the little infirmary and went inside. He had visited often enough now, not to seek one of the nuns to admit him, and he walked the few steps to Nesta’s cell, the first in the short corridor.

The door was ajar and he pushed it open. His usual greeting died on his lips as he was confronted by a familiar broad back, bending over Nesta’s low bed.

It was Matilda, and her hands were on his mistress’s throat.

For a second, John was frozen from the shock of seeing both Matilda and what she might be doing to his lover. Before he could throw himself at his wife and drag her off, he caught sight of Nesta’s face looking up at him. It bore an almost roguish smile of guilty amusement. Matilda saw it as well and swung round in surprise, holding her hands open before her, the fingers sticky with a mixture of goose grease and wintergreen.

‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ she snapped, her square face glowering at him.

She turned back to the bed and laid a folded length of flannel around Nesta’s throat, tucking the ends gently behind her neck. Then she stood erect and rubbed her greasy hands on the apron that covered the front of her black habit.

‘She’s had a sore throat since last night, but this salve will help to ease it.’ Without looking her speechless husband in the eye, she swept out of the room and vanished down the corridor.

‘That is a truly Christian woman,’ came a voice from behind him and, turning, his battered senses recognized Dame Madge hovering in the doorway.

‘Matilda has been nursing me this past ten days, John!’ said Nesta from the bed, her voice a little husky from both soreness and emotion.

‘And a more caring and gentle nurse could not be found in the kingdom!’ boomed the gaunt nun. ‘She is a saint and we shall be sorry to lose her.’

She approached the bed to put a hand on Nesta’s brow and smooth the red hair that streamed across the pillow, while John managed to find his voice again.

‘Lose her? What do you mean?’ he managed to croak.

‘She will tell you herself after you’ve finished here, Crowner. I’ll leave you two alone, but be brief. Nesta has a phlegmatous throat.’

She loped off and John, bewildered by the vagaries of womankind, knelt alongside Nesta and took her hand.

‘I don’t understand, dear girl! When I came in, I thought she was trying to strangle you!’

Nesta gave a husky laugh, which ended in a cough, though a hint of her old roguishness returned in spite of her continuing weakness.

‘She has shown no signs of wanting to throttle me, though I would understand it if she did.’

‘What’s this that Dame Madge said about losing Matilda? Why wouldn’t she tell me?’

‘I honestly don’t know, John. I’d miss her ministrations if she did, You must ask her yourself, as the nun commanded.’

John climbed to his feet, puzzled, anxious and impatient. ‘I’ll do that right now, then come back to see you.’

He squeezed her hand and went to seek his wife. As soon as Thomas saw his master striding out of the infirmary door and making for the parlour of the prioress, he limped across to visit Nesta himself. Gwyn had already ambled over to the kitchen to wheedle a pastry or two from the lay sisters who did the cooking, before taking his turn at seeing the invalid.

Thomas was glad to see a genuine smile on the face of the patient, as he automatically crossed himself and held up his fingers in benediction.

‘You look better today, dear lady,’ he said, his thin face creased with pleasure. The pretty innkeeper beckoned him closer.

‘I feel more at ease with life, Thomas — though I’ve got this soreness of my throat,’ she said quietly, with a slight rasp in her voice.

‘Have all your desperate thoughts of self-destruction fled?’ he asked solicitously.

She nodded and crooked a pale hand to bring him even nearer.

‘Let me tell you quickly, before John returns. The secret that I told you about the father of my child has leaked out a little, but your master must still never know, it might destroy the bond between us.’