Figure of Hate

Chapter Twelve

Being back in Exeter again was something of an anticlimax for de Wolfe, but there was so much pending business that he had little time for soul-searching — an activity he rarely indulged in at any time.

With Matilda still away the house was peaceful, and he hoped it would be at least a few more weeks before she landed again at Topsham. Soon he would ride down there and ask his shipowner friends when they expected their various vessels to return from the Contentin part of Normandy, which was the most likely region of embarkation from St-Lô. It even crossed his mind to go down to Dawlish to see Thorgils the Boatman, who ferried to Normandy most of the wool exports from his partnership with Hugh de Relaga.

He soon thought better of that, however, as his conscience was telling him that it was only an excuse to see Thorgil's wife Hilda, who intermittently had been John's mistress for many years. Now that his love for Nesta had deepened so much, even the temptation to visit the lovely blonde had to be ruthlessly suppressed.

Meanwhile, he basked in the quiet of the house, with only Mary and Brutus for company. On the first morning, his coroner colleague from the north of the county called by, as he had personal business in the city — like John, he was a retired knight who had ploughed his campaign winnings into a commercial venture, though he dealt in leather rather than wool. He reported a few cases that he had dealt with for de Wolfe and his clerk sent Thomas a copy of his rolls with details for presentation to the King's justices when they eventually arrived for an eyre.

After he left, John called upon Henry de Furnellis and had the inevitable cup of wine with him, while he related his doings in Wales.

'It was something of an anti-climax,' he confessed. 'William the Marshal was a pleasant enough riding companion and the archdeacon was as garrulous and amusing as ever. But the journey was nothing but hard riding for a few days, with not a vestige of trouble to liven it up.'

'I thought there were plenty of wild Welshmen in those parts, eager to ambush any Norman within bowshot!' said the sheriff.

'The Lord Rhys had sent one of his many sons with a dozen men to escort us, once we left our settled lands in the south. Gwyn was sorely disappointed at not having any excuse for a fight.'

'What success did the mission have?' Henry liked to keep abreast of what was going on in the complex politics· of Winchester, London and Rouen. The coroner took a mouthful of wine before answering.

'I honestly don't know. William Marshal kept everything very close to his chest, but Gerald de Barri looked very glum after a whole day closeted with Rhys ap Gruffydd.'

'The King and the Justiciar will have to get up very early in the morning to outwit the Lord Rhys, Henry observed sagely. 'He was a thorn in old King Henry's side, until. they came to an agreement. As soon as Henry died, he went rampaging through South Wales and the Lionheart did very little to stop him.'

John nodded, and privately he doubted whether William the Marshal's expedition would achieve much in the way of curbing the territorial ambitions of the old Welsh prince. More likely, his unruly sons would eventually be his downfall, not English troops.

'What about this mess at Sampford Peverel?' demanded the sheriff, his big nose getting more ruddy as he poured a third cup of wine for them both.

John shrugged. 'I've not had time yet to see if there's anything new from there, but at least there are no reports in the guardroom of any more mayhem from that manor.'

The lower chamber in the gatehouse was where messages were left for the coroner by reeves and bailiffs from out of the city. There had been a few reports of deaths, but nothing from Sampford. Gwyn was out now, seeking more information about the new incidents, but until he returned later in the day, there was nothing John could do about them. When he went back to his garret above the portcullis chamber, he found Thomas sitting at the trestle table, copying yet more rolls to provide duplicates for the courts. Looking over his shoulder was Eustace de Relaga, who had begun his trial apprenticeship that morning and was following the quill with breathless attention, as if Thomas were penning Holy Writ. His pink cheeks, still with only adolescent down upon them, looked as if they had been freshly scrubbed and his fair hair curled over his neck and forehead like a girl's. Though not nearly as flamboyant in dress as his uncle Hugh, he wore a bright blue tunic under a surcoat of green serge and shoes with fashionably curled, pointed toes. The contrast between his attire and the threadbare black cassock of John's clerk was heightened by their expressions. The young man was eager and enthusiastic, but Thomas de Peyne looked annoyed, his thin lips clamped together as if to prevent him saying something out of place, as the youth prattled on about almost every word that the clerk was putting on the parchment.

As soon as Eustace saw the coroner, he bobbed his head deferentially and retreated backward across the room, as if in awe of this tall, dark man who hovered over his clerk.

'Learning the trade already, Eustace?' asked John, trying be jovial. He was never at ease with children and young people — to him they seemed a different breed of mankind.

The portreeve's nephew began babbling his thanks and protestations of unfailing dedication to his work, which seemed to deepen the grim look on Thomas's features. When the flow had stopped, the clerk asked his master whether he could have a private word, and John sent Eustace off to the hall with a recommendation that he get something to eat and drink.

'This is his first day, Crowner, but already he's driving me mad!' blurted out Thomas, as soon as Eustace 's footsteps had vanished down the stairs. 'He wants to know every little thing — and he tries to correct my Latin and my penmanship!'

De Wolfe groaned under his breath. He had seen this coming the moment Hugh de Relaga introduced the idea in the Bush, on the night of Thomas's celebration.

'He's young and keen, Thomas, you must make allowances for his age.'

'If he'd just sit and watch, it would be fine,' retorted the clerk. 'But he feels obliged to comment about everything. He gives me an inquisition about the why and when and how of every detail of our work. I'll never get my tasks finished at this rate!'

John suspected that there was more to this pleading than mere irritation and he sought to reassure Thomas.

'He's not here to displace you, you know. He's just a big child, wanting to learn so that he can make his way in the world. Don't think for a moment that the portreeve and I have some dark scheme up our sleeves to get rid of you.'

Somewhat mollified, the clerk fiddled with his goose quill as he stared at the table.

'I'll not leave you, Crowner. I said that in the Bush and I meant it. I wish to be taken back into the Church more than anything in the world, but ordained clerics can perform many tasks, other than becoming some stagnant parish priest or an obscure prebendary in some distant vill.'

John patted Thomas's humped shoulder awkwardly. 'I know, lad, and I appreciate it. Let's see what happens after you've been to Winchester. Maybe your uncle can find you some appointment which will still let you assist me, for I don't know how I would manage without you.'

Thomas glowed inside at this rare praise from his austere master and sighed his acceptance of the irritating Eustace.

'I'll just have to put up with him, sir. Perhaps he will quieten down after the first flush of enthusiasm passes off.' ….

'Get him to copy some of these rolls, why don't you?' suggested John, waving a hand at the yellowed tubes of parchment on the table. 'We need duplicates for the commissioners, who are due next month. Give Eustace some of the drudgery — it may cool him down and will give you a chance to see what sort of job he makes of it.'

Rather than be present when Eustace returned for a rapprochement with Thomas, the coroner stomped back down the stairs and walked back to Martin's Lane for an early dinner. The bells of the cathedral and the many city churches had not yet pealed out for noon, but he was hungry and knew that Mary would soon have something ready to eat whatever time he appeared. He thought of going down to the Bush for a meal, but decided that Nesta would be in a flurry today, picking up the threads of her business after a fortnight's absence.

He sat in solitary state in the cavernous hall, birds twittering high in the rafters above him. The fire was lit, but Mary had put only a few logs across the iron dogs, as the weather was still dry and had turned mild, the autumn trying to make up for the atrocious weather of the spring and summer. John poured himself a drink and reflected that his stock of wine had recovered since Matilda had been away. She must have been going at the drink in quite a heavy fashion these past few months, since the trouble with her brother. This brought his thoughts around to Richard de Revelle and he tried to make out what interest his brother-in-law might have in the Peverel family. He knew that he wanted part of their land, but was this sufficient cause for his interference there?

From there, his mind came around to the mystery at Sampford itself, and he felt annoyed at the impasse that had developed. The silversmith Terrus was adamant that Robert Longus was one of the assailants, yet the armourer denied it and had his assistant and Ralph Peverel to back it up. Even the dead Hugo had told de Wolfe to his face that Longus had been with him all that day. This posthumous evidence, coupled with that of Ralph and the other armourer, made it impossible in law to sustain the evidence of Terrus.

And what of Hugo's death? If Robert Longus was the murderer of one man, could he not also be responsible for the slaying of the other? But what possible motive could there be for killing a master of whom it appeared he was a favourite?

As Mary bustled in with a wooden tray bearing an iron pot of rabbit stew and a thick bread trencher with a wide cutlet of boiled salmon resting across it, he determined to get himself back to Sampford as soon as possible and shake a few trees to see whether anything fell out of them.

Later that day, Gwyn returned and dragged him off to view several bodies at the places where they had met their deaths. One was that of a young boy who had fallen into a mill-stream at Ide, just outside the city. Mills were dangerous places and deaths, especially of children, were common, either from drowning in the mill-race or being dragged under the turning wheels. Others, including the millers and their men, sometimes became caught in the crude but powerful cog wheels that drove the stones, and John had seen horrific injuries that had been inflicted before the machinery could be stopped by the slow process of diverting the sluices.

The other corpse was that of a thief who had fallen from the top of the city wall, after being chased by half a dozen irate householders who had surprised him rifling a dwelling in Bartholomew Street. It was close to the twenty-foot wall that ran right round the city, and the robber had climbed up, hoping to outpace the pursuers, who were still down below. As he sped along the battlements towards the towers of the North Gate, a gate porter suddenly appeared in front of him and, losing his balance, the fugitive crashed over on to the stony footings in Northernhay and stove in the side of his head. He was still alive when the hue and cry reached him, but expired soon afterwards.

There was nothing sinister about either case, but John had to take account of them and hold inquests, partly to see whether there was anything to be gained for the King by way of 'deodands', the seizure of any object that had caused death. As he could hardly impound a section of the mill-stream or the city wall, he knew there was nothing to be gained unless he could find some breach of procedure on the part of those involved. This seemed unlikely here, but the formalities had to be gone through, and Thomas — or now, perhaps, Eustace — would have to record the tragedies on the coroner's rolls.

John told Gwyn to get the bodies moved up to Rougemont, where they used a lean-to cart shed in the inner ward as a mortuary.

'I'll hold inquests on them tomorrow morning,' he told Gwyn. 'Then we'll get ourselves away to Sampford to see what's going on there.'

As they walked back from Northernhay, the coroner told his officer about the potential friction between Thomas and their new apprentice clerk. 'I've tried to pour some oil on the troubled waters, but de Peyne's feathers have been ruffled by this lad,' explained John. 'He's afraid that he'll be eased out of his job if Eustace becomes too proficient.

Gwyn gave a deep belly-laugh. 'He can be a prickly little devil when he chooses! But the prospect of going up to Winchester, to be anointed or whatever they do to him, will soon clear his mind of anything else. '

As it was now early evening, Gwyn left his master at the corner of Martin's Lane to go on to his home in St Sidwells. He often spent the night in the city, gambling and drinking with his cronies, but after almost two weeks away, his rudimentary conscience drove him back to his small hut in the village outside the East Gate where his wife and two boys, to say nothing of his dog, were missing his company.

De Wolfe called at his house to tell Mary not to prepare any supper that evening and went straight down to the Bush, where he intended to eat, drink and spend the night with Nesta.

At the inn, they sat recalling the events of their trip to Wales, with Nesta still basking in the memories of a whole week with her kin, especially her mother. The visit had reassured her that all was well with them and that being in Exeter was not like being at the end of the world.

'You are the kindest of men, John, to have taken me back there,' she said, hugging his arm as they sat at his table, picking over the last remnants of a grilled pheasant that lay on a pewter plate between them. 'I want us to go on like this for ever — I know you can never marry me, but seeing you almost every day — and sometimes at night — is almost as good.'

He too felt contented, albeit temporarily until his wife came home. Richard de Revelle no longer plagued him in Exeter and the new sheriff was an amiable if lazy man who caused him no trouble. Even Thomas had cheered up markedly since the date of his restitution became known — the spat with Eustace was but a mere irritation that John hoped would be forgotten bythe next day. So there was little to worry the coroner, except for his unsolved cases, primarily the murders of August Scrope and Hugo Peverel. Even these faded into limbo at the prospect of climbing up the wide ladder at the back of the taproom, to Nesta's small cubicle — but much later, as he sank into a contented slumber in her arms, his last thoughts were that he must ride for Sampford the next day.

Odo and Ralph Peverel were no longer on speaking terms.

In the intervening weeks since Hugo's death, the elder brother had firmly announced his decision to assume the lordship himself as senior member of the family — and Ralph had equally forcefully disputed the claim and had ridden to Dorchester to consult an advocate to present his case to the justices at the next eyre, which was due to come to that town before it was likely to visit Exeter. He took Richard de Revelle with him — in fact, the former sheriff had insisted on accompanying him, as additional support. Until the matter was resolved, the two brothers refused to sit at table with each other and never spoke, other than through Joel or one of the senior servants, Waiter Hog or Roger Viel.

Avelina upbraided both of them for behaving like children, though her sympathies tilted in favour of Odo, who had not had another fit or fall since the time of Hugo's burial, which strengthened' his own position as master of the manor.

This antagonism between the two elder brothers made it easier for Joel to pursue the comely Beatrice, which he now did openly, courting the young widow like some love-stricken swain. When Hugo was alive, they had had to content themselves with making cow's eyes at each other and an occasional furtive kiss or fumble when her husband was away at a tournament, but now they felt free to flirt at will. Ralph and Odo were too concerned with their own feud to bother with him, but Avelina covertly disapproved of the younger woman's behaviour so soon after her bereavement, even though everyone knew that the marriage had been a sham, with only lust on Hugo's side and martyred forbearance on hers.

'The old lady wants to condemn her,' confided the steward to Walter Hog one day, when they were alone in the empty courthouse. 'But she's in a cleft stick, for she's planning to marry that Frenchman, even though Lord William's only been dead for half a year.'

'What's in it for him?' asked the bailiff curiously. 'I know she's a fairly handsome woman, but there are plenty of young beauties who would climb into bed with such a well-known tournament champion, if that's what he was after.'

Roger Viel, who knew most about the finances and deeds of the manor, shook his head. 'She's worth quite a lot, that woman. She is the daughter of a wealthy baron from Somerset, who settled a large annuity on her when she married. Then her husband William willed her a third share of all the profits of this manor for the rest of her life — and said nothing about it being forfeit if she remarried. Odo and especially Ralph were as mad as hell when they found out, for it eats into their own pockets at a time when they are not too well off themselves.'

This conversation had taken place a few days before the coroner came back to Sampford, a day when another visitor prompted the exchange between the bailiff and the steward. Riding up the track from the south came an erect figure on a black stallion, followed by a young Breton squire on a brown mare, leading a sumpter horse that carried, among other baggage, a mailed hauberk carefully wrapped in canvas, draped across the panniers. The lead rider wore a blue tunic under a black surcoat, with a hooded leather riding cape tied across the back of his saddle. Reginald de Charterai was dressed in his best, for he was coming to call upon his lady.

Only Odo saw his arrival at the hall and he pointedly walked away in the opposite direction, whilst a servant escorted the Frenchman to the upper floor. Suitably chaperoned by her maid, Reginald spent the next few hours in Avelina's quarters. Neither appeared for supper, food being taken up to the dowager's chamber, and Ralph and Joel sat at table in the hall with Beatrice and her handmaiden. When the women had retired, they set about savagely abusing the French intruder, but they could do nothing about his unwelcome visit. With the lordship in limbo until the court in Dorchester made a decision, all they could do was fume and bluster, as Odo refused to intervene — and with Avelina's legal rights in the manor equal to theirs, they were unable to forbid her to associate with her foreign suitor.

De Charterai spent the night in a spare chamber and was gone the next morning, but it was whispered by the maids that he was staying at an inn in Tiverton until he was ready to ride on to the next tournament at Wilton. Later that day, Avelina and her maid rode out in that direction, and the next morning Joel was deprived of Beatrice's company, as she went with her stepmother-in-Iaw to Tiverton, leaving a disgruntled trio of brothers to contemplate the possible break-up of the family.

Life in the unhappy manor had to go on much as before, however, as there was little alternative to a feudal routine that had been largely unchanged for centuries, even though Saxon earls had been replaced by even harsher Norman lords. The freemen and villeins tilled the same soil and herded the same animals. The cottars thatched their roofs and shoed the beasts and the miller ground their flour. In the churchyard, Hugo quietly rotted away with the others and Patrick the priest mumbled his Latin prayers and covertly swigged his wine.

In the yard behind the manor house, Robert Longus hammered new links into Ralph's coat of mail, repairing it ready for the next tournament, and his assistant Alexander ground and stropped the edges of various swords and daggers until they were sharp enough to be used for shaving. Agnes was back in the laundry hut, pounding clothes, towels and bedding in tubs of hot water with a dolly-stick and throwing them over racks outside to dry. She missed her occasional penny from the lord, but made do with the odd ha'penny from a quick tumble behind a barn with some of the wealthier villeins.

Into this scene of uneasy normality, John de Wolfe intruded once more on the Tuesday after his return from Wales. The coroner's team was augmented this time by Eustace de Relaga, trotting behind on a smart palfrey provided by his uncle, again contrasting sharply with the moth-eaten old nag ridden by Thomas de Peyne. They dismounted in front of the manor house to be confronted by Ralph Peverel, who stood at the top of the steps and seemed reluctant to move aside.

'What do you want now, Crowner?' he snapped rudely. 'I thought we'd seen the last of you.'

John climbed the few wooden steps and stood close to Ralph, looking down at him from his few extra inches in height.

'I am on the King's-business, as always. Have you any disagreement with that?'

It was an infallible door-opener, as any denial could be construed as disloyalty, if not treason. The middle brother grudgingly stood aside, but not without further protest.

'Why do you persist in persecuting our family? Don't you think we've suffered enough?'

'Your brother Hugo was murdered and his slayer is still at large. And I have strong reasons for thinking that another man here is a killer.'

'You mouth the same nonsense every time, Crowner! If the murderer of my kinsman is to be found, then we are the ones to find him — not you outsiders. And as for your delusion that Robert Longus was involved with the death of this fairground merchant, I tell you once again, he was within my sight all the time you claim him to be robbing and killing this fellow.'

John was tired of the repetitive bandying of words with this truculent man and pushed past him into the hall, beckoning Gwyn and the other pair to follow.

'I hear that this lordship is once more in dispute. Until the King's justices decide otherwise, I will assume that Sir Odo is the senior figure in this manor. Tell me where he can be found, please.'

Ralph scowled. 'Odo was disqualified months ago by your precious justices, Crowner. Thus by default I am the rightful lord of Sampford Peverel and you will deal with me!'

John slowly shook his head. 'Not so, sir. The courts gave preference to Hugo over Odo, not over you! They may come to a different judgment this time — and until then, I will accept the eldest as the inheritor.'

Ralph went red in the face. 'Then find him yourself, damn you!' he snarled, and walked out of the hall and clattered down the steps.

'Nice fellow, that!' quipped Gwyn, grinning after his retreating figure. 'His language is not fit for the ears of innocent young virgins like you, Eustace!'

The Cornishman had decided to treat the new apprentice with light-hearted baiting, not out of any malice, but to reassure Thomas that he was the old and trusted favourite.

De Wolfe had advanced into the hall and was glad to see the bailiff coming out from behind the serving screens at the far end.

Waiter Hog greeted the coroner civilly and invited them all to sit at table and partake of food and drink, calling for a servant to attend to them.

He sat with them after Eustace had been introduced and brought them up to date on the few happenings that were relevant. The main one was the arrival of Reginald de Charterai and his open courtship of Lady Avelina.

'You say he is now staying in Tiverton? I must call upon him to get news of Matilda's safe delivery to Normandy.'

'I doubt you'll need to go that far, Crowner. He's more than likely to escort the ladies back this afternoon. Beatrice has been acting as a chaperone recently — she seems to relish getting out of this place as much as possible, though usually it's with young Joel.'

When they were refreshed and had made sure that their horses were being fed and watered, John explained the reason for his visit. By now the steward, Roger Viel, had joined them, but there was no sign of any of the Peverels.

'I wanted to know if anything had transpired over the killing of Sir Hugo — and also to question Robert Longus and his assistant, about the murder near Exeter. They will have to come to the city soon when I resume the inquest. I had no time to hold it before I journeyed to Wales.'

Roger Viel shrugged. 'There's nothing new about our dead lord and master. Somehow it seems that it never happened. No one even mentions his name if they can help it — especially his widow, who seems happier than she ever was.'

'That's because she's having this great romance with young Joel,' commented the bailiff,' with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

'There was that business about the grave again,' added the steward, as an afterthought. John looked at him quizzically, but it was Walter who answered.

'You remember the scandal about the shit and the dead rat in the grave … we all know who did that, but no one owned up to it. Well, a few days after the burial, Father Patrick went out early in the morning and found two dead crows, some stinking offal and pig's guts from the village midden draped across the grave mound.'

'He wasn't a popular man,' added Roger, superfluously.

'Do you think there was any connection between whoever desecrated the grave and the killer?' asked de Wolfe.

The bailiff and the steward looked at each other, then grimaced in doubt.

'Who can tell? I'm damned sure the rat and the turd came from either Warin Fishacre, Godwin Thatcher or Nicholas Smith,' answered Waiter.

'They had serious scores to settle with Hugo for raping Maud Fishacre and unjustly hanging Godwin's son,' added the steward. 'But it doesn't prove that any of them killed him.'

There was the sound of hoofs cantering into the bailey outside and Gwyn wandered over to the door to look out. He groaned and looked back towards de Wolfe.

'You're going to like this, Crowner! Your brother-in-law has just arrived. He's talking to brother Ralph outside and doesn't look pleased at what he's hearing!' A moment later, the dapper figure of the former sheriff stormed into the hall, his face like thunder. He was closely followed by Ralph, and the pair advanced upon de Wolfe. Gwyn stood stolidly alongside his master, but Thomas and Eustace slunk back a few paces.

'Can't you leave these people in peace, de Wolfe!' snarled Richard. 'Everywhere you go, you stir up trouble. For Christ's sake, mind your own business. Go back to Exeter where you can play at being God with that lazy oaf Furnellis, who that mad justiciar appointed in my place!'

'That mad justiciar? I must remember to give him your opinion of him when I next see the archbishop,' said John mildly. 'He is the prime agent representing the King in this country, so are you saying our sovereign is also out of his mind?"

De Revelle opened his mouth, then closed it again, defeated by John's frequent ploy of dangling the threat of sedition over him whenever he spoke out of turn.

Ralph pushed forward and glowered at the coroner. 'What do you want here? I had hoped that after this blessed respite when you stayed away, you would have forgotten us.'

'The Chief Justiciar sent me to Wales at the King's personal command — together with William Marshal, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke,' he retorted, deliberately dropping in the great names to emphasise that they should not attempt to push him aside like some petty local officer.

There was a pause while they digested this, then Ralph continued in a somewhat less belligerent tone. 'We have no more to tell you, Crowner. There has been nothing new forthcoming about my brother's death since you were last here.'

'That damned whore from the laundry is the culprit, I'm sure of it!' snapped Richard de Revelle. 'The time has come to try her at the manor court and get her hanged out of the way, the dangerous bitch.'

De Wolfe glared at him. 'That's utter nonsense, and you know it! She had neither the weapon nor the motive to repeatedly stab the victim.'

He jerked his head at Gwyn to follow him towards the door.

'I came to question your armourer and his assistant again. They will be required. in Exeter the day after tomorrow for a resumed inquest on the murdered silversmith. You will make sure that they are there an hour before noon at the courthouse in the castle. This man Longus failed to appear last time, but if he flaunts this attachment that I have placed upon him, you'll soon be looking for a new armourer!'

With his team trailing after him he marched out, ignoring his brother-in-law completely. Out in the bailey, he stopped and rubbed his stubble thoughtfully.

'Before we go looking for Longus and his crony, I may as well have a word with the girl Agnes. I suppose she'll be around the back of the house in one of those huts.'

Gwyn was most familiar with the domestic arrangements, as at every place they visited he made a point of rapidly getting on good terms with the domestic servants, especially the cooks.

'The wash house is next to the main kitchen,' he declared, striding around the side of the manor house. They found Agnes, together with another girl who worked at laundering and mending the Peverels' linen, dumping a batch of washing into a large wooden tub. A ten-gallon cauldron hanging on a tripod over a firepit supplied hot water, and Agnes was rhythmically prodding the soaked fabric with a club-like stick. The other girl, little more than a child, was throwing in a handful of crude soap, made from goat's tallow boiled with beech ash.

When Agnes saw the men approaching, she dropped her dolly and came hesitantly towards them, wiping her reddened, crinkled fingers on her ragged kirtle. The big, dark man had been kind to her before, saving her from those bastards Longus and Crues, when they were dragging her from the church, so she felt no fear of him.

'We just wanted to make sure that you were well, Agnes,' said John reassuringly. 'No one has tried to harm you, have they?'

The girl shook her head, the untidy plait of hair swinging as she did so.

'Thank you, sir, but I have been left alone. Though I fear that if you stop coming here, one day they will seize me again, because they need someone to blame.' She looked at him with eyes that held more than a spark of intelligence, belying her rather bovine face. John thought that for a young girl who had almost certainly never set foot outside this village in her whole life, she was far from being a simpleton.

'You remember nothing more of that night when Sir Hugo died?' he asked, with little hope of any useful reply.

Agnes's podgy face creased in a frown. 'I can't actually recall any more than I told you before, but … ' She left the sentence hanging in the air and de Wolfe seized upon it.

'But what, girl?' he rasped, then was afraid that he had spoken too sharply and might have frightened her words away.

'That night, sir — and when you gave me questions — I was upset. Now I seem to remember hearing voices when I was leaving the ox byre, but I cannot be sure and I don't know who they might have been.'

'You said "voices"? You mean there were more than one?'

The girl look abashed, rubbing her bare toes in a half-circle in the dirt of the yard and twisting her fingers together in nervous concern.

'I'm just not sure about any of it, sir! It's sort of come to me slowly — as I've thought about that terrible night. I seem to half remember hearing someone — maybe it was one, maybe two. Or maybe none at all!'

She began to cry and Gwyn, the softest heart among them, went to kneel by her and put a huge arm around her shoulders. 'Don't fret, good girl! You just stop worrying about it, it may come back to you later.'

He threw a warning look at de Wolfe, but the coroner could not resist one last question.

'And you have no idea whose voices they may have been?' he asked, in what he imagined was his most gentle voice.

Agnes sniffed and gulped, then shook her head.

Gwyn wiped away her tears with a finger the size of a chicken thigh and, as they left her in peace, he slipped half a penny into her hand.

'Interesting, but of little use, even if what she says was true,' muttered John, as they left the wash house. 'Maybe more than one assailant — and we presume men, not women.'

'Never saw this stabbing as a woman's crime, Crowner,' growled Gwyn.

'Two women had a motive — and everyone in the damned village had the opportunity,' retorted de Wolfe. 'Avelina thinks Hugo killed her husband — and Beatrice was tired of living with a philandering adulterer, when she was sweet on brother Joel.'

They were walking towards another, larger open-fronted shed, set right at the back of the compound against the stockade. This was the forge and armoury, where they expected to confront Robert Longus.

He was there, as well as his assistant, the heavy oaf Alexander Crues. Both were wearing stained and scorched leather aprons over their tunics and breeches, to protect them from the sparks and hot metal that spat from the anvil on which they were hammering at some small glowing objects. Behind them in the forge, an older man was tending a furnace and a small boy was pumping away at a bellows to keep the charcoal incandescent.

Longus scowled when he saw the coroner and his three attendants. So far, poor Agnes seemed the only person in Sampford Pevere! who was not unhappy to see them. The conversation took its expected course, with Longus denying any knowledge of anything and truculently refusing to come to Exeter on Thursday, on the grounds that he had absolutely nothing to say about anything at any inquest.

'You'll come and like it!' barked the coroner. 'Why were you not there the last time?'

'I told you before, because my master, Sir Hugo, said that I was not to go.. It was a waste of time, he said, and he needed me here to do my work. And he was damned right, too!'

'Well, as I told you last time, if you're not there on Thursday, the sheriff will send a posse to fetch you back to the gaol in Rougemont! And if you feel like vanishing to avoid them, I'll outlaw you, which is as good as you being dead. Understood?'

He glared at Robert Longus, then switched his pugnacious expression to the inarticulate assistant, who was standing stupidly with his mouth open.

'And all that goes for you, too!'

They strode away, leaving the armourer to blaspheme under his breath at their retreating figures. He pulled off his apron and heavy gloves and threw them on to the ground.

'I'm off to see Ralph about this. If we've got to go to Exeter, then I want him with us.'

Eustace was enthralled by what he saw as the drama of the day's visit, and though he continued to plague Thomas with whispered questions, the clerk had become less irritated by the earnest young man. In truth, Thomas began to relish his superior knowledge as the teacher in him came to the fore. He began to enjoy explaining the intricacies of legal procedures and the difficulties of this case, where no hard evidence was forthcoming from anywhere.

'What are they doing now?' murmured Eustace, as they followed John and Gwyn from the forge back out into the village.

'Going to see two other suspects again,' said the clerk. 'It often happens that, deep inside, the conscience of a guilty person gives them the desire to confess. If you keep at them, sooner or later they may break down.'

Thomas delivered this with the air of an expert, though in fact he had only once witnessed the coroner pull this off. Eustace was suitably impressed, however, and looked at the clerk with added respect. They all went out of the manor bailey and up to the reeve's dwelling, where they found Warin Fishacre outside in his half-acre croft, hammering in a stake to tether the house cow on to a fresh circle of grass. His son-in-law Absolon, whose father was Nicholas the smith, was holding the stake, while Warin struck it with a heavy wooden mallet. He stopped as de Wolfe led his men through the lopsided gate and they both waited uneasily for them to approach. They were some distance from the thatched house, where a young woman sat outside on a stool, feathering and gutting a pair of fowls.

'What brings you here again, Crowner?' asked the reeve, suspiciously.

John went straight to the heart of the matter, his frustration over this case making him feel that there was nothing to lose.

'Did you or your son-in-law kill Hugo Peverel?' he asked bluntly. 'You both had good cause, as I understand it.'

Fishacre looked quickly across to the house and decided that his daughter was out of earshot. 'Good cause indeed, Crowner! I would gladly have hanged for his death — but God saw fit to bring it about by other means.'

'And I thought of killing the bastard, but I was too much of a coward,' said Absolon, a large young man with an open face and shoulders like an ox from working in his father's smithy. 'No, Crowner, we didn't send him to hell, where he surely is. But I will admit to you that 1 threw that cow turd on to his coffin, for I suspect that you'll not tell our masters in the manor house.' He looked with sad eyes towards his young wife. 'Though it's early days, she already suspects she's with child. And the devil of it is that we'll not know if it's mine or his.'

'Unless the child is born with red hair,' muttered Warin, looking up at his son-in-law's black locks. 'But it won't be the first Peverel bastard in the manor. There are a few here already, living in squalor while their fathers enjoy the fruits of our labour, living in style in their big house.'

His voice dripped with bitterness, and de Wolfe glimpsed again the enmity and hate that seemed to pervade this village. He kept at them for a few more moments, trying to shake their stubborn denials, but his heart was not in it. John felt instinctively that much as the Fishacres had yearned for Hugo's death, they had no hand in it — and in truth, looking at this riven family, he would have had little stomach for trying to prove it, even if they had.

The Exeter men moved on up the track to the thatcher's hut, which was smaller than the reeve's dwelling, just a single room of wattle and daub. At least it had a good roof, as Godwin could ply his own trade upon it, using reeds and straw left over from other buildings.

The thatcher's family were having their dinner when John arrived. He motioned to the others to stay at the gate, while he went to the open doorway and put his head inside. The hut had virtually no furniture apart from a few stools grouped around the clay rim of the central fire-pit. Hazel-withy hurdles divided off two corners where straw and ferns under sacking covers provided beds for Godwin, his wife and surviving son, a youth of about eighteen. The far end of the long room had a more substantial wooden partition, beyond which could be heard — and smelt — a cow and a suckling calf. In a small wooden cage on the floor, a slinky ferret scrabbled at the bars, desperate to escape. No doubt the owners would claim it was to catch rats, but John knew that a more likely purpose was illegal coney hunting.

Godwin, a burly man of about fifty, had flaxen hair turning grey at the temples. One side of his face was stained a livid red from a birthmark that extended from his eyebrow to his jaw. He sat on one of the stools, eating porridge from a wooden bowl with a horn spoon. His wife, a wan, sickly creature, was standing over the fire, ladling the thick gruel from a pot into a bowl held by her son, who crouched on the other stool. There was no table, but a shelf on one wall seemed to function as the woman's kitchen, as it carried a few earthenware cups and some homemade wooden platters.

When they saw the coroner's shadow in the doorway, the thatcher and his son climbed to their feet and stared at him, while the Wife backed away to the wall, a hand to her mouth in consternation.

'You're back, sir?' said Godwin, more as a question than a statement. 'We thought the law had given up on Sir Hugo's death.'

John raised his hand, palm forward in a placatory gesture. 'Sit down and finish your dinner. I'll not keep you long. I've not been able to return lately, as I had to go out of the county these past couple of weeks.'

'What brings you now, sir?' asked the youth, a younger copy of his father in his Saxon colour and features, though he had been spared the disfiguring birthmark. He had bits of straw in his hair, which showed that he was following his father's trade.

'We've not forgotten the crime that was committed here,' said de Wolfe. 'These matters take time, but the law never gives up trying to administer justice.' He managed to say this with more conviction than he actually believed, given the calibre of many law officers, such as the corrupt de Revelle or the lazy de Furnellis.

Godwin waved an arm at his wife, who was cowering against her cooking shelf. 'Gunilda, bring that other stool for the coroner. Sir, will you have a cup of ale? That's all I can give you, unless you would like some of this poor fare.' He pulled his spoon out of the porridge, which made a sucking noise, so glutinous was the texture.

John hastily declined both the offer of a seat or refreshment.

'I have to ask this, Godwin Thatcher — of you and of your son here. It is common knowledge in the village that you had cause to hate your last lord, Hugo Peverel., Is that not so?'

Gunilda gave a muffled sob and buried her face in her arms. Her husband looked stolidly at the coroner. 'Why should we deny it? He was a cruel and vile man. He took my eldest son and killed him on his damned gallows-tree, before our very eyes.'

The son suddenly kicked his stool across the room in a fit of anger.

'And for what? Killing an already wounded hind, so that we could have something decent to eat for once. This is not part of the royal forest with their harsh laws, he could easily have overlooked it.'

John nodded, for he knew that poaching was a way of life in the villages, especially for the poorest people. The only real offence was getting caught.

'That's as may be, but did you kill him in revenge? You had motive enough and everyone in the manor had the opportunity.'

The wife burst out crying and fled to the other end of the hut, where she vanished behind the screen to cower down with the cattle.

'Would I admit it now, if I had, Crowner?' said Godwin calmly. 'I tell you, if I had known that I could have got away with such a deed, I would have killed the bastard. But I am a coward and have a sick wife and a son to look after. I could not afford to let my neck be stretched like my poor Edwin.'

'And your other son here? Did he avenge his brother's death?'

The younger man shook his head slowly. 'It never came into my mind, sir. Perhaps it should have, but it seems beyond the comprehension of simple cottars like us to even think of killing one of our lords. We don't dare even to speak out of turn before them, let alone murder them.'

As with Warin Fishacre, the coroner felt that these folk were telling the truth — and if they were not, there seemed no prospect of them admitting anything. He tried badgering them a little more, but was met with the expected stolid denials.

As he turned to leave, he had one last question. 'And the putrid rat?' he asked, with a lift of his black eyebrows.

The shadow of a smile passed over Godwin's face. 'It must have fallen from my pouch when I bent over the grave, Crowner!'