Bernard Knight - A Plague of Heretics

His thoughts moved on to the two proctors’ bailiffs, Herbert Gale and William Blundus. Again they were possible suspects, though God alone knows what possible motive there could have been. Of the two, John disliked Herbert Gale the most, as he sensed that he had a cold, unemotional nature that had little regard for human life.

This led him to once again review the other men who were so violently opposed to the survival of anyone with heretical leanings. The canons themselves, especially Richard fitz Rogo, Robert de Baggetor and Ralph de Hospitali — and possibly the other proctor, William de Swindon — were the motivators of this campaign against the Cathars and the latter-day Pelagians, but try as he may, John could not bring himself to see any of those as murderous arsonists and stranglers.

There was one person left in his catechism of suspects. What about Richard de Revelle? It took a wide leap of the imagination to accept that a man could kill his sister, even in the course of a violent quarrel. But in recent months their relationship had become very strained, as Matilda had become progressively disillusioned about her brother. Formerly, he was the apple of her eye as her successful big brother, who had become rich and been made sheriff of the second-largest county in England. But disclosure of his various scandals had shown her that her idol had feet of clay. His involvement in the treachery of Prince John against the king, his dishonesty in dealing with the county finances and various other sins, including personal cowardice, had turned her against him. This situation had been made worse by the fact that her own husband had been largely instrumental in exposing Richard’s failings.

But to kill his own sister? It was unthinkable — yet he had turned up at the very moment that John had discovered her body. A coincidence or clever planning? Could de Revelle have been so devious, cunning and evil as to arrange this as a means of at last getting even with his hated brother-in-law, who had so shamed him before all their peers?

He shook his head in bewilderment, unable to focus any longer on the problem. Walking to the door, he looked out into the twilight, where the first stars were appearing in the clear, cold and windy sky. A lone sentry stood a few yards away, a token posted there by Ralph Morin, though as there were two more in the guard-room of the gatehouse, the only exit to the inner ward, it seemed unnecessary. If John had ideas of escape, he would have to think of a better plan than just walking out under the portcullis.

A figure was striding over the drawbridge across the dry moat, and from its rolling gait, a legacy of his fisherman youth, John recognised Gwyn, clutching a basket no doubt containing Martha’s supper. He suddenly realised that he was hungry, in spite of the vicissitudes of the day, and soon he was sitting with his officer at the back of the chapel, devouring a meat pie and a couple of capon’s thighs, washed down with a wineskin of Anjou red.

‘No doubt you’ll hear from Stoke and Dawlish tomorrow,’ said Gwyn consolingly. ‘I saw Andrew at the stables and he said he sent his most reliable man down on a good horse.’

After he had gone, Rufus the chaplain held a late service for half a dozen men-at-arms and several of their wives, but John stayed discreetly at the back of the nave, virtually invisible in the dim light from half a dozen rushlights placed around the chancel. Rufus wished him goodnight after a simple prayer, then John lay down on the floor, wrapped in his cloak and two blankets that Gwyn had brought. Used to far worse sleeping places on many a campaign, he was quite comfortable, and even the knowledge that Matilda’s cold body was only twenty paces away did not deter him from sleeping dreamlessly until dawn.

True to his word, Archdeacon John de Alençon came soon after dawn with his nephew Thomas and a covered wagon drawn by a black mare. They all said prayers over Matilda’s body, Thomas being very concerned that she had not received the last rites before her dying breath. Then several lay brothers from the cathedral carried the bier out to the wagon and John was left alone again.

During the morning, all his usual friends came in to talk to him and keep him company for a while, but he was fretting to get news of his family in Stoke-in-Teignhead and of Hilda in Dawlish. He expected either the bailiff or reeve from Stoke to come and possibly the reeve from Holcombe, Hilda’s father, whom he had known for almost all his life.

Around noon, he was waiting for the dinner that Gwyn had promised to bring him, spending the time in anguished thought about how he could possibly track down his wife’s killer. If no other means offered itself, he decided he would somehow break out of the castle and go into hiding in the city, though with his distinctive appearance that would be very difficult. Even his height alone, apart from his black hair and great hooked nose, made him stand out in a city where virtually everyone knew him by sight. He was morosely contemplating these problems when a voice hailed him from the doorway.

‘John, I’ve brought you your dinner!’

His head jerked up and delight filled his face when he saw Hilda coming across the nave, with his mother close behind. Lurking near the door were Gwyn and Thomas, holding back from this family meeting.

Hilda, grasping a basket in her hands, stood aside while Enyd de Wolfe rushed forward and hugged her son to her breast. Though a tough, resolute woman, there were tears in her eyes, as there were in Hilda’s, when she in turn fell into John’s arms.

When the emotion of the moment had passed, they sat on the stone ledge, with John between the two women.

‘Gwyn and Thomas have told us all the details of this ridiculous arrest,’ began Enyd, but her son cut her short.

‘First, I must know about William. I am almost afraid to ask!’

His mother’s face broke into a smile, though tears appeared again in her eyes. ‘Dear Thomas’s fervent prayers, added to ours, have been answered, John!’ she said. ‘You brother is recovering, though slowly. His wits returned yesterday and his bladder functions again for the first time in weeks.’

Overjoyed, John grasped Enyd around the waist and kissed her fervently, then turned to give several more kisses to Hilda.

‘That news puts all my troubles in the shade,’ he boomed. ‘Hear that, Gwyn and Thomas? William is on the road to recovery!’

‘It will take some time,’ warned his mother. ‘On Saturday a White Canon came from the new Torre Abbey, learned in physic. He confirmed what Thomas had said, that with the yellow plague, many die, some recover quickly and others take weeks or months to get back to health.’

Immensely relieved by the news, John allowed them to pass on to Matilda’s death and all the drama that had followed, which again reduced the two women to tears of concern over his present precarious position.

‘What can you do to destroy this vile accusation?’ sobbed his mother. ‘That evil man de Revelle — I would like to tear his heart out!’

‘Maybe I will, if you can’t get out of here to do it yourself, John,’ said Hilda, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. De Wolfe recalled that this was the stalwart woman who the previous year had gone looking for her husband’s assassins and had actually killed one of them with her own hand. 1

His mother soon insisted that he begin eating the game pie and grilled trout that the good Martha had sent for him.

‘She is a wonderful woman. You are lucky to have her for a wife, Gwyn!’ she said. ‘We are staying at the Bush until this nonsense is settled.’

John soon learned that the two women had ridden all the way on horseback, shunning any form of cart or litter. With a bailiff and a reeve as escort, his mother had travelled from Stoke across the Teign on the Shaldon ferry and stayed with Hilda the previous night, coming on to Exeter that morning.