Bernard Knight - A Plague of Heretics

‘And I’ll wager I can guess who is promoting that notion,’ growled Gwyn. ‘I’ll wring the swine’s neck myself if he causes you serious trouble, Crowner!’

Together, the three set off for Rougemont, after John had arranged with Andrew for one of his ostlers to ride to Stoke-in-Teignhead with a hasty note which Thomas had penned for him. His sister Evelyn could read fairly well, as she had spent time in a nunnery when young. In the note, John explained what had happened and expressed his sincere hope that William was improving. He also asked that a message be sent to Hilda, explaining his inability to visit any of them for the time being.

Up at the castle, John went straight to see Henry de Furnellis, who confirmed that a soldier had already left on their swiftest horse to bring Nicholas de Arundell back to Exeter.

‘Is there any news of Richard de Revelle yet?’ demanded John. ‘No doubt he’ll be abroad soon to make as much trouble as he can.’

The sheriff shook his head. ‘Not a sign of him here, but Sergeant Gabriel says the porter on the South Gate saw him riding out with a servant as soon as it was opened at dawn.’

‘He’s up to something,’ growled Gwyn. ‘He’ll not just ride away and lose an opportunity like this.’

The sheriff agreed. ‘He can’t be going to his manor at Tiverton. He’d have used the East Gate for that.’

It was afternoon before they discovered where the

former sheriff had been.

The sheriff was being too optimistic when he expected Sir Nicholas de Arundell to arrive by noon. Though the messenger he sent at dawn to the manor near Totnes went as fast as his good rounsey could take him, de Arundell was not at home. He was out supervising his men assarting the edge of the woodlands, and it took an hour to find him and to persuade him to come to Exeter to resume his former duties as a coroner. His reluctance was all the more stubborn when he discovered that he was expected to hold an inquest on the wife of the existing coroner, a man for whom he had the greatest respect, as well as gratitude for past help. Being told that John de Wolfe was also the prime suspect was even worse, but eventually, when his literate steward read out the letter penned by Henry de Furnellis’s clerk, he felt obliged to comply with what was essentially the king’s command, conveyed through the sheriff.

By the time he reached Exeter, it was well past the middle of the afternoon. He met de Furnellis, and they went to the house in Martin’s Lane for his obligatory viewing of the scene and of Matilda’s body, a task for which he had the greatest distaste.

His examination was cursory, just a glance to identify the deceased and a quick confirmation of the bruises on her throat, which by now had become more prominent, as commonly happened after death.

‘What about the viewing by the jury?’ he wanted to know. ‘Surely we cannot make the poor lady suffer the indignity of being pushed up to the castle on a handcart!’

De Furnellis had already pondered on this, as Rougemont was the obvious place for the inquest. The Guildhall was the only other venue large enough, but he had no jurisdiction over the burgesses and portreeves, who jealously guarded their independence.

‘We must use Rougemont, and Matilda can be laid out decently there in the garrison chapel,’ announced Henry. ‘I’ll arrange for a closed wagon to take the body up there straight away.’

To allow time for this and to provide Nicholas de Arundell with some food and drink after his hard ride from Totnes, the sheriff took him to the New Inn in the High Street for the better part of an hour.

When they eventually reached the castle, a considerable crowd had gathered around the gatehouse and quite a number had already pushed their way inside. As an inquest was a public affair, they had every right to be there, but the sheriff drew the line at letting a mob into the hall. He had decided to use the inner ward and had soldiers bring out a chair for the coroner and some benches for the senior officials and clerks.

Gwyn and Thomas de Peyne had come up from the Bush with John de Wolfe, but due to the late arrival of de Arundell they had been cooling their heels in John’s chamber, high in the gatehouse. De Wolfe was in an icy mood, tense and internally seething with anger at the mischief that Richard de Revelle was causing — but he acknowledged the need for an inquest and a proper disposal of his wife’s body. The fact that she was irrevocably dead and gone had still not fully sunk into his mind, and he seemed to be gliding along on some superficial plane of consciousness. However, he was still able to worry about the condition of his brother and whether his family and Hilda had had the message explaining his absence.

When they went down to the inner ward for the impending inquest, Thomas flatly refused to act as clerk in a case where his master was being suggested as the culprit, but he hovered behind one of the sheriff’s clerks to make sure that he wrote down an accurate record.

As the main players assembled, Nicholas de Arundell hastened to de Wolfe’s side, where he stood brooding at the edge of the twenty people marshalled as a jury.

‘Sir John, this is a terrible tragedy,’ he said solicitously. ‘When you aided me in my predicament last year, not only you showed me kindness, but your wife was also very supportive to mine.’

Nicholas was a tall, fair man, an ex-Crusader like John, but some years younger. Now obviously embarrassed by the role he was being forced into playing, he tried to excuse himself to John, but de Wolfe set his mind at rest.

‘I know how difficult this must be for you, but there is no one else to turn to. You at least had a few months’ experience of a coroner’s duties, and I am sure you will act with honour and fairness.’

Reluctantly, the country knight moved to his place before the crowd, fervently wishing himself back at his manor and his agricultural pursuits. He sat in the only chair, which had been placed in the centre facing the jury, and on each side the benches were occupied by Ralph Morin, the castle constable, the two portreeves, Archdeacon John de Alençon and the sheriff himself. As Gwyn had also gruffly declared himself unavailable, his role as coroner’s officer was taken by Gabriel, the sergeant of the castle garrison, who called the inquest to order and declared it in session.

The crowd, which now numbered at least a hundred, fell silent. The whole assembly made a strange tableau in the inner ward, surrounded by high castellated walls of red sandstone, which gave Rougemont its name. Uneasily, Nicholas de Arundell got to his feet and began the preamble, confirming that they were there to enquire into the death of Lady Matilda de Wolfe. He was just starting to charge the jury with their duty to discover ‘where, when and by what means’ the lady came to her death, when there was a disturbance at the gatehouse end of the courtyard. A crowd of more timid onlookers was scattered as four horsemen clattered through the entrance arch, the leader shouting as he came.

‘Stop these proceedings!’ he yelled. ‘They are outwith the law!’

He reined in at the edge of the crowd and slid from his saddle, one of his companions doing the same. He stalked forward, pushing through the onlookers, and advanced to face the row of benches. The sheriff leaped to his feet, his old face red with anger.

‘De Revelle! What in Christ’s name do you think you’re doing? Get out of the way, blast you!’

Nicholas, who had been another adversary of Richard in the past, also advanced on him.

‘Have you not already caused enough trouble in this county?’ he demanded angrily. ‘What mischief have you dreamed up this time?’