Bernard Knight - The Tinner's corpse

Next, de Wolfe asked the jurymen to file past the body, as Gwyn pulled off the sheet and pointed out the crushed, lacerated chest, now livid with black and red bruises. ‘Stamped by the hoofs of a palfrey,’ he explained, in a loud voice, as the jury gaped open-mouthed at the bloody corpse. ‘The ribs are smashed and the lights could not draw in air.’

When the body had been covered again, he called Lucy to tell of how she had gone to the rescue of her daughter. In her moment of glory, she described graphically how she had dropped her horse on to the assailant — she sounded inordinately proud of her achievement and would have gone into a long story of how great a horsewoman she was, had not the coroner stopped her in mid-flow.

‘Though, legally, this bold woman was the sole cause of Oswin’s death,’ he commented, ‘it was an entirely justifiable killing. She had to save her own daughter from being strangled. Indeed, it is obvious that she had formed no intention of killing the man, only to take some action to make him desist from his murderous act.’

Sergeant Gabriel and one of the soldiers told of how they had found the dying man in the wood and confirmed that he had made a dying declaration and confessed by head signs to the killing of Walter Knapman.

‘Did he say anything about having an accomplice?’ demanded de Wolfe, who knew full well that Oswin had done no such thing, but wanted to ensure that the possibility reached Thomas’s records. ‘Or did he say who had persuaded or bribed him to commit murder?’

Immediately, Robert Courteman stepped forward and objected. ‘Crowner, that is not relevant to this inquest. You have only the right to determine how this man Oswin died, which is patently obvious.’

John cursed all lawyers under his breath — especially this one. The trouble was that Courteman was right — Oswin was dead, Lucy had killed him, and that was the end of the matter.

Then he saw the sheriff and the lawyer whispering together and began to suspect that underhand business was going on. He decided to fight back. ‘That may well be so, but the King’s court has given coroners jurisdiction over any serious crime, be it assault or rape, as well as homicide. I have reason to believe that an attempted murder, in this very place yesterday, was connected with the activities of whoever commissioned this deceased villain to slay Walter Knapman.’

It was a weak argument, and he knew it as soon as the words left his mouth, for Courteman pounced again. ‘You have no evidence of that whatsoever. You are constructing a scheme out of circumstances, sir.’

De Wolfe, exasperated but powerless to proceed, saw that there was no point in prolonging the argument. ‘Those matters will be decided, no doubt, by a higher court than this. I shall provide the judges at the next Eyre of Assize with all relevant records to assist them in dispensing justice.’ He rapidly wound up the inquest by telling the jury that their verdict was inevitably one of justifiable homicide to prevent a felonious act. The men mumbled among themselves, nodded their assent, and the assembly dispersed, the body being given to the brother, who had brought a handcart to trundle it back to Exeter for burial.

De Wolfe walked over to where the lawyer and sheriff were deep in conversation. ‘What was all that about?’ he demanded of Courteman, whom he respected as a knowledgeable advocate.

‘You were trying to incriminate my daughter’s husband in this matter,’ snapped the lawyer.

‘How could I? The dead man made no statement about who put him up to these killings.’

‘No matter. Just by asking the question you insinuated that there was a link between the death of Oswin and Knapman — and the misunderstanding here yesterday.’

De Wolfe looked at him scornfully. ‘Misunderstanding? My officer dragged him from an heiress’s window with a dagger in his hand.’

‘It was not in his hand. Peter Jordan drew it to defend himself against the assault by your boorish servant.’

‘Who, only days ago, was in danger of being hanged for fatally assaulting another man in Chagford!’ cut in Richard de Revelle, finding his tongue in de Wolfe’s presence at last.

‘There is no evidence at all that young Jordan is implicated in this matter,’ said Courteman haughtily.

‘Where was he on the day that Walter Knapman was killed?’ demanded de Wolfe, immediately conscious that he did not know the answer himself.

‘That is not relevant to this inquest today.’

‘But it may well be when I reopen the one on Walter,’ retorted de Wolfe. ‘Until then, Peter Jordan stays in Rougemont gaol.’

There was an almost palpable silence from the other two men. De Wolfe looked from one to the other, and settled his gaze on the smug face of his brother-in-law. He realised suddenly what must have happened behind his back. ‘You haven’t, have you? Damn you!’

The sheriff stroked his little beard and smiled sardonically. ‘There was no reason to hold him, John. What proof have you of any wrongdoing?’

‘Only catching him red-handed trying to murder his stepmother, who stood between him and a fortune,’ he said bitterly.

‘That could be construed as a wicked slander,’ advised the lawyer gravely. ‘Did you see a knife in his hand at the window?’

‘No, but my officer did — he saved Mistress Knapman’s life.’

De Revelle slapped his gloves against his hand angrily. ‘Who takes the word of that great clod seriously? After what happened in Chagford and Lydford, the less he says, the better it will be for him.’

De Wolfe was livid at this slur on his henchman — especially from someone as politically vulnerable as de Revelle. ‘The pot must be careful of calling the kettle black!’ he shouted. ‘The King’s judges will be getting several other reports on the conduct of the law in the shire of Devon when they come next month.’

The sheriff flushed, but twisted away from his own exposed position. ‘If you must seek a culprit, why not suspect him?’ he sneered, flicking his gloves in the direction of Matthew Knapman, who was just mounting his horse in the road outside. ‘He employed that Saxon and had total influence over him for five years.’

The lawyer’s lined face became almost animated as he backed up the sheriff’s insinuations. ‘And my son-in-law tells me that he was minded to expose Matthew Knapman for cheating his brother by way of trade. He stood to gain exactly as much as Peter Jordan under the testament, so he might have needed to prevent his dishonesty being disclosed to his brother — and he cannot prove where he was on the day that Walter Knapman died.’

De Wolfe made an impatient gesture. ‘But he wasn’t caught climbing through Joan’s window, was he?’

Robert Courteman grew red in the face. ‘I’ve told you, you’re deliberately misconstruing an innocent act, de Wolfe. He has explained that he wished to avoid any meeting with my son, who sat outside her door in the infirmary there.’

‘That must be the most feeble excuse for murder that has ever been offered in England, Master Courteman,’ replied the coroner, impatiently. ‘Why in God’s name, should he want to do that?’

The lawyer’s face flushed even darker in his embarrassment. ‘This is a family matter, Crowner, but now I suppose it must be said, though in strict confidence. My foolish daughter, on behalf of her husband Peter, prevailed upon my even more foolish son to spy among my rolls and tell him the contents of what he thought was the extant testament of Walter Knapman. He got it wrong, so Peter and Philip are now at loggerheads. That is why he wished to avoid him.’

‘A likely story!’ said de Wolfe contemptuously, but again a small worm in his mind began to erode his confidence in what might be true and what false.