The Poisoned Chalice

Chapter Eighteen In which Crowner John examines some wounds

For want of a better place, the body of Fitzosbern was taken to Martin’s Lane and laid on the floor of his back workshop. The furnace was cold in the deserted house. The two workers were in the castle gaol, Mabel had eloped and the cook-servant had returned to his son’s home in St Sidwell’s, as he no longer had an employer.

An hour or so after Godfrey had died, John de Wolfe, his brother-in-law Richard de Revelle and Ralph Morin stood over the body, with Gwyn, Thomas and several soldiers in the background. ‘He confessed, you say?’ asked the sheriff, greatly relieved that Fitzosbern had solved several of his problems by dying. He no longer had to try to protect the leading guild-master and the pressure from the Ferrars and de Courcy was now off, as their prime suspect had been satisfactorily dispatched.

‘He made sufficient agreement to my questions, in the presence of witnesses and in the knowledge that he was beyond hope of recovery, so that makes it a valid dying declaration,’ said John carefully.

De Revelle frowned as he sensed the coroner’s caution. ‘The questions were what?’

‘Was he the father of Adele’s child and did he insist on the abortion. He agreed to both.’

The sharp eyes of the sheriff locked with John’s. ‘What else?’

‘He denied raping Christina Rifford.’

De Revelle thought for a moment, then shrugged. That was a lesser worry to him, as Henry Rifford, though he was a Portreeve, was not in the same power class as those campaigning over Adele’s death.

‘You will hold your inquest on him, I suppose?’ he asked loftily.

‘Later this afternoon. The jury will almost all be vicars, choristers and servants from the canons’ houses. We know we have a Norman corpse, so no presentment is involved.’

The sheriff had a sudden thought. ‘The death was not on Church ground, was it?’

‘No. Although the water conduit belongs to the Chapter, the land is just outside the cathedral precinct, so belongs to the town.’ Neither man was sure whether to be relieved or sorry that, if any culprit were found, the case would not be handled under ecclesiastical law.

Richard de Revelle left them to their examination of the corpse and returned to Rougemont with his soldiers. Gwyn undressed the body, so that they could better see his wounds. ‘He has a crushed face, for a start,’ said the Cornishman, feeling the crackle of shattered bone under the left cheek, the skin of which was purple and swollen. ‘The left ear is torn and there are lacerations and bruises all across the left side of the scalp.’

When they stripped off the tunic and undershirt, they found the chest covered in bruises, mostly of a long rectangular shape. ‘These marks with sharp edges look like blows from a post or stake,’ mused John. ‘Some of those on the head have the same shape, about an inch and a half wide.’

Gwyn pressed the left side of the chest with his big hand. The ribs indented along a line running up to the front of the armpit and blood stained froth issued from the dead lips. ‘His chest is stove in, as if someone has stamped on him.’

Thomas, squeamish about such bloody matters, had gone to the bag that had been alongside the body and was searching inside it. ‘Money, both silver and gold – and some solid silver cups and ornaments,’ he reported, marvelling at the wealth that lay under his fingers. At twopence a day salary, this was more than he would earn in several lifetimes.

John looked over at the valuables his clerk was displaying. ‘Make a full inventory of that, Thomas. An inquest will have to decide later on whether it is forfeit to the Crown because of his possible felony in conspiring to procure a fatal miscarriage or whether it should go to his relatives. Mabel is still his wife.’

Gwyn looked at the Fitzosbern treasure with indifference. ‘All it does is prove that the attack on him wasn’t robbery. That narrows the field quite a bit.’

They turned the body over and saw a number of shallow parallel scratches over the shoulders and on the buttocks. There were further similar red lines on the backs of the thighs and calves, all running in the long axis of the body.

‘Let’s see those garments again,’ growled John.

Gwyn took them from the pile on the floor and they spread them out on the floor of the front shop, where the light was better.

‘Yes, there’s dirt and tearing in the same direction on the back of the tunic,’ the coroner pointed out. ‘Especially on the breeches and hose.’

Gwyn threw the clothing back into a heap. ‘So he’s been dragged over rough ground?’

John nodded. ‘That’s what he meant when he said, “Not here”. Though he lost his memory after being struck on the head, he knew he’d never been in the pipe passage, so the attack must have been elsewhere.’

Thomas had been listening in fascination, eager to be a part of the big men’s discussion. His nimble brain thought of something. ‘Would he have bled from those wounds?’ he asked.

Gwyn looked at him as if a cat had suddenly developed speech. ‘Of course, you fool! Cuts on the scalp ooze blood like the very devil.’

‘Then would not the assailant himself be blood-soiled?’ suggested the clerk.

Gwyn looked at his master. ‘Maybe, I suppose. Or maybe not.’

The hawk face of the coroner looked dubious. ‘These wounds have been made by some kind of club, even if it be a fence-post or a length of firewood. If held at arm’s length, the splashing of blood might not be sufficient to reach the attacker.’

Thomas was not yet ready to abandon his theory. ‘But if he then had to manhandle and drag the victim a long way, he might well get bloodstained.’

Gwyn reached out grabbed the priest by the neck of his brown smock and shook him. ‘Well done, little scribbler! Now all you have to do is to go around Devon and find someone who has blood on their clothing. Maybe you should try in the Shambles, to see if a slaughterman is the culprit!’

Deflated, Thomas went back to the treasure bag in a sulk.

John was not quite so dismissive as his officer. ‘If this is not robbery with violence, then we have only about five suspects who would wish to see Fitzosbern dead. So perhaps we need not look at the whole of Devon to see if we can find bloodstains.’

Thomas came back with a rush, eager to justify his suggestion. ‘I’ll seek out servants in each household, Sir John. I can get into places unobserved, as no one cares about me. I can see if there is any suspicion of blood at each place.’

John gave one of his rare, rationed smiles at the clerk’s enthusiasm. ‘Very well, Thomas, you do that – but only after you’ve listed those valuables and after you’ve recorded the inquest on your rolls.’