Bernard Knight - A Plague of Heretics

De Revelle, his dandified clothes dusty from hard riding, stood his ground. ‘This so-called inquest is invalid! You are not a coroner, you cannot officiate here!’

‘He is here at my invitation and, indeed, my direction, as I am the king’s representative,’ yelled the sheriff.

‘He is no longer a coroner and does not now hold the king’s writ,’ retorted Richard. ‘Nor has his appointment been ratified by the county court, as is necessary.’

His voice had the smug satisfaction of one who knows he has the weight of the law behind his argument.

‘So what do you suggest we do?’ snapped de Furnellis angrily. ‘Just bury the poor lady without any enquiry?’

For answer, Richard stood aside and with a sweep of his hand indicated the man who had accompanied him. ‘This is a genuine coroner, Aubrey de Courtenay, appointed by the king and confirmed by a county court. He holds the jurisdiction of West Dorset and will officiate at this inquest!’

De Courtenay stepped forward and saluted the sheriff with a hand across his breast. He was a short, pigeon-chested man with a florid face and a big nose. Under his heavy riding cloak, a dull brown surcoat could be seen and on his head was a woollen cap with a large tassel hanging at one side.

‘Sir Richard has summoned me from my home at Lyme for this purpose. He is correct in saying that in these circumstances only another coroner can officiate.’

A few yards away, John de Wolfe viewed this interruption with consternation. It now came back to him that this de Courtenay was a distant relative of Richard’s wife Eleanor, who was connected to the powerful Courtenay family. The former sheriff had obviously seized the opportunity to obtain someone who might be persuaded to be partisan in this affair.

Henry de Furnellis began to argue with de Revelle and the new arrival, denying both the need and the legitimacy of changing coroners in midstream, but they would have none of it.

‘Everyone here is biased in favour of John de Wolfe,’ shouted Richard, sweeping an arm around to encompass the seated worthies. ‘If you insist on continuing with this farce, I will take this matter to the royal judges, the Justiciar and the king himself!’

Aubrey de Courtenay also weighed in with his own insistence on taking over the proceedings, on pain of bringing everyone before the king’s justices at the earliest opportunity. Their demands might have been rejected, but Nicholas de Arundell suddenly capitulated.

‘I cannot continue in these circumstances,’ he announced in a tone that allowed no argument. ‘It is quite true that I am no longer a coroner. Neither am I sufficiently versed in the law and the practice of that office to stand in the way of an accredited man.’ Suiting his words with his actions, he walked to the end of the line and stood alongside John de Wolfe, muttering his apologies to him.

Henry de Furnellis made one last stand against this conspiracy. ‘Why have you thought fit to interfere in this matter, de Revelle?’ he snapped. ‘What business is it of yours how justice is administered in this county? You took little interest in it during the short time you were sheriff — from which post we all know you were dismissed for malpractice!’

Richard’s skin was as thick as one of Hannibal’s elephants and he ignored the jibe. ‘Because it is my only sister who lies so brutally murdered!’ he retorted. ‘And I will not stand idly by while the killer is standing there, absolved by all of you, who are John de Wolfe’s friends!’

The sheriff still struggled manfully against the inevitable. ‘You have no right to prejudge the issue before a single word of testimony is heard!’ he shouted. ‘De Wolfe has every right to challenge you for defaming him!’

‘Then he may have to do it from inside a prison cell while he awaits the gallows!’ screeched Richard, by now so carried away that he was careless of what slander he uttered.

The stocky coroner from Dorset became impatient. ‘Am I or am I not going to hold this inquest?’ he asked plaintively. He stepped forward and sat himself in the chair that Nicholas had vacated so abruptly. ‘Let us hear what the jury has to say on the matter.’

Though juries in the countryside were supposed to be composed of all the adult men from the four nearest villages, this was often patently impossible, and in towns even less practicable, so anything from a dozen to a score were usually empanelled.

The idea was to include all those who might know something useful about the event, so in addition to being the jurymen who delivered a verdict, they were also the actual witnesses.

Somewhat to his surprise, John realised that he was also one of the jury, being the person who had first found the body.

The new coroner called for evidence of identity, but before John de Wolfe could step forward, Richard had virtually hopped in front of him.

‘She is my sister, Matilda, a lady of good Norman stock, in her forty-sixth year,’ he exclaimed.

By the time he had uttered the words, John had marched across from where he stood on the end of the line and pushed his brother-in-law out of the way with a thrust of his shoulder. There was a gasp from the crowd, as many half-expected him to strike de Revelle a hammer blow with his fist.

‘I am Sir John de Wolfe, and Matilda was my wife,’ he glowered. ‘A husband undoubtedly takes precedence over a mere relative when it comes to identification. Yes, she was of Norman blood, so there is no question of presenting Englishry.’

De Courtenay nodded his agreement. ‘Let the clerk so record that fact. I will leave the matter of a murdrum fine to the royal judges when the case is presented to them in due course.’

‘I am also the First Finder,’ continued de Wolfe. ‘I will give evidence as to the situation when I arrived at the scene.’

The locum coroner looked irritated at having his role being anticipated for him by one of the witnesses, but nodded for John to continue.

‘There is little to tell. I returned home some time in the evening, went into my hall and found my wife lying dead on the floor. She had bruises on her throat indicating that she had been throttled by some unknown assailant.’

‘So you no doubt raised the hue and cry?’ asked de Courtenay.

‘I had no opportunity. As I stood there, I heard the hall door opening and feared it was the killer returning. But it was just this man, my brother-in-law, arriving at a suspiciously opportune moment!’

He managed to inject a note of sheer contempt into his voice as he waved a hand dismissively at Richard, who was still standing nearby.

‘That is only half the truth!’ shrilled de Revelle. ‘I came to visit my sister and found this evil man standing over her, while she was still warm! He pulled a knife on me and made to attack me. I was afraid for my life!’

‘Attack you be damned!’ snarled John. ‘I wouldn’t need a knife for that! Just shouting “Boo!” at you would be sufficient, you craven coward!’

‘So you failed to raise the hue and cry?’ persisted de Courtenay.

‘This interfering rascal did it for me!’ snapped de Wolfe. ‘Before I could gather my wits, the house was swarming with people he had dragged in from all around — the stable-keeper, the physician, neighbours, God knows who!’

Laboriously, the new coroner called all those who had responded to Richard’s raising of the hue and cry. They all told much the same story, some embellished, but basically confirming that Matilda was dead on the floor, John de Wolfe was present and that there was a dagger dropped nearby.

The evidence of Clement of Salisbury amounted to considerably more in John’s disfavour. After repeating the bare facts of being called by de Revelle as part of the hue and cry, de Courtenay asked him if he knew of any reason why Matilda might have been the victim of such violence.