Figure of Hate

Chapter Eight

After Tuesday morning's hangings, at which John had to be present to record the event and seize any goods and chattels of the felons, he went home to his noontide dinner. Here he received the expected frosty reception from Matilda, which was her usual reaction to him having been away overnight. Once again he reflected on the unfairness of her attitude, when it was she who had so eagerly supported his appointment as coroner a year earlier. Yet now she resented his absences from home carrying out the very duties that she had been so keen for him to accept. He knew she suspected him of taking the opportunity offered by these excursions to drink and womanise, though he thought wryly that, given the quality of the ale at Sampford and his current devotion to Nesta, neither of these allegations could possibly be true.

As he sat silently chewing poached salmon and cabbage, he threw covert looks at his wife, wondering what was going on in her mind. He had noticed lately that in addition to her devotion to religious observance — she went at least twice a day to services at either the cathedral or St Olave's — Matilda was becoming increasingly obsessed with her Norman ancestry, tenuous though it was. The de Revelles had left St-Lô in the early years of the century and those now remaining in Normandy were but distant cousins. Several years before, Matilda had spent a month visiting them and had come home with the firm conviction that she was a scion of a noble house, exiled among English barbarians. The fact that she, together with two previous generations of ancestors, had been born in Devon could not shake her belief in her exalted heredity. Even though John's late father was of pure Norman stock, she had despised him for taking a Cornish-Welsh wife, and she looked on her husband as something of a Celtic mongrel. Of late, when she deigned to hold a conversation with him, the subject reverted increasingly to her noble family across the Channel and how she yearned to see them and the fair orchards of Normandy once again. Secretly, John wished she would take ship for Caen and never return, but so far she seemed to have no plans to repeat her pilgrimage.

After the meal, they sat on either side of the hearth in the monk's chairs whose side-wings kept out some of the draughts. Mary brought them each a pewter cup of red wine poured from a small skin on a side table and left them to their silent vigil.

After a few minutes, John felt that he should make an effort to converse with his wife to bring her out of her latest sulk. Knowing of her snobbish fascination with the local aristocracy, he thought the current drama in Sampford Peverel might catch her attention, and he related the events of the past day. If there was one group of people that Matilda knew almost as well as the ecclesiastical establishment, it was the Devon gentry, among whom she was always prodding her husband to advance himself. Her small eyes lit up with interest as she scented a prime topic for gossip with which to regale her friends at church.

'You know the scandal there was at Sampford earlier in the year?' she demanded. 'After Lord William was killed at Salisbury.'

John shook his head in false innocence, hoping that he might glean something useful from this fount of rumour that was his wife.

'Well, with four sons, the manor should naturally have gone to the eldest, which was Odo. But the second son Hugo disputed the claim and it became a great issue, which had to be settled by the King's justices and even by the chancery in Winchester.'

'So what was the problem?' asked John. He had heard the bones of the story elsewhere, but maybe Matilda had the meat.

'The second son, this Hugo, contested the succession on the grounds that his brother was not a fit person to rule the manor. He claimed that Odo suffered so badly from the "falling disease" that he would be unable to attend properly to the duties of a manor-lord.'

What little de Wolfe had seen of Odo gave no cause for thinking that the man was incapable in any way, but he waited for his wife to add some detail.

'It was claimed, so I've heard from Martha, the goldsmith's wife, that this Peverel had sudden convulsions and strange aberrations of behaviour. Several times, he had fallen from his horse and damaged himself.'

'How would this lady know of that?' demanded John.

'Her husband is Wilfred, the master of the goldsmiths' guild. It seems he was in Winchester when the case was being heard, as he happened to be in some civil dispute in the courts over the quality of a necklace.'

Trust Matilda to be connected to the grapevine when some tasty scandal was being aired, thought John cynically.

'And obviously Hugo won the day,' he observed.

Matilda sniffed contemptuously. 'Huh, it was to be expected! Like his father, Hugo was well known on-the tournament circuit, rubbing shoulders with barons and powerful knights who either jousted themselves or took a great interest in the wagering. This Odo was a dull stay-at-home, never so much as lifting a lance. That was probably on account of his affliction, but still, he had no powerful friends like Hugo, so he lost the decision.'

'Well, now the battle begins again,' grunted John.

'For though this Ralph has assumed he is next in line, Odo seems willing to dispute his claim on the grounds that the chancery decision related to him and Hugo, not Ralph.'

Matilda shrugged dismissively. 'Then he'll lose again, for I hear this Ralph is also devoted to the tourney field, so will know the same influential men who swayed the decision for his brother last May.'

With some careful probing, John discovered that his wife knew nothing more of any use, and soon the effects of a large meal and the wine sent her upstairs with Lucille to seek the solace of her bed.

De Wolfe, free from any tasks that afternoon, decided to seek his mistress, both for the pleasure of her company and possibly as another source of information from her fund of tavern gossip. With Brutus as a feeble alibi, he walked through the bustling city down to Idle Lane, where he had told his two assistants to meet him.

He had ridden on ahead of his officer and clerk when they had left Sampford Peverel early that morning, as he had to hear two appealers before the hangings.

These were persons who were accusing others of offences against them, one a theft of money, the other a wounding. The plaintiffs had to decide how they were going to seek justice — either by battle, by ordeal or through the courts. John's task was to try to sweep their dispute into the royal courts, which would benefit the exchequer as well as offer a more sensible solution than the old superstitious and barbaric practices. Having had no time the previous night to discover whether Gwyn and Thomas had learned anything useful in Sampford, he was keen to hear what they had to say.

When he entered the main room of the inn, he found his men sitting at his favourite table. Inevitably Gwyn was eating, demolishing a meat pasty supplied by Nesta.

Brutus, who adored the dog-loving Cornishman, made straight for him and sat under the table, waiting for the titbits from the pie that he knew would come his way. John sat himself down on one of the benches alongside the scrawny clerk and waited for Edwin to limp across with a quart pot of ale. Gwyn had cider and Thomas a cup of watered wine, given in pity by Nesta, as she knew how much he disliked ale, even her superior brew.

'The mistress will be with you directly, Cap'n!' croaked the ancient potman, rolling the white of his blind eye horribly at the coroner. 'She's stirring the mash in the brew shed.'

While Gwyn finished chewing and then picking bits of mutton, onion and pastry from his whiskers, John asked his clerk whether he had heard any more from his uncle concerning his readmission to holy orders.

Thomas was the nephew of the Archdeacon of Exeter, best placed to hear news of an ecclesiastical nature.

'Nothing at all for weeks, master,' replied Thomas dolefully, his weak face displaying his chronic concern that his long-awaited reinstatement might never materialise. 'I fear they have conveniently forgotten me in Winchester.'

'How do they reinstall you as a priest, Thomas?' asked Gwyn, after a massive belch. 'Do you have to be dipped in holy water — or maybe they circumcise you!' He could never resist teasing the poor fellow.

'I don't need to be made a priest again,' snapped the clerk huffily. 'Ordination is for life, nothing can remove it, not even the Pope himself.'

'So what happens?' asked John, genuinely interested.

'As I told this great oaf, ordination is indelible.The grace, once bestowed, is ex machina, it cannot be repeated, nor can it be removed.'

'So what happened when you were thrown out?' persisted Gwyn.

'The Church's authority for me to exercise my ministry was revoked and any sacramental acts carried out by me would thereafter be void. Though still nominally a priest, I have been falsely condemned to ecclesiastical impotence!'

As the Cornishman cackled at this, John spoke more seriously.

'Then how will you be restored?'

'There is no great ceremony. The bishop, during a celebration of the Mass at which I am present, needs only to publicly read the Chancellor's document, which cleared my name. Then hopefully he will add a personal blessing and restore me to my lost functions.'

'And that's all that's required?' queried the coroner.

'The bishop would need an assurance that I could sustain myself by employment appropriate to the status of a priest and also have a designated place in a consecrated building to celebrate Mass.'

'How are you going" to manage that?' asked John.

'Does it mean you will need to find a living in some church?'

Thomas shook his head. 'There is no need — I will remain your clerk for as long as you wish. And my uncle has promised to intercede with the cathedral chapter to grant me a share in the stipendary service at one of the altars in the cathedral.'

He had brightened up during this talk about his beloved Church, but now relapsed into a doleful depression. 'But none of this matters, if Winchester has forgotten my very existence.'

He looked so miserable that John was moved to encourage him.

'I'll do what I can for you, Thomas, though I have no influence in matters concerning the Church. When I next see the archdeacon, I'll raise the issue yet again.

Meanwhile, tell me if you learned anything from that disciple of St Patrick you were with last night.' Just as Thomas was about to speak, Nesta bustled up, wiping her hands on a white cloth, which she dumped on the end of the table.

'There's a splendid mash bubbling away,' she said cheerfully. 'A few more days and it'll be the best I've ever brewed, though I say it myself. A new recipe, with some young nettle leaves added, ones I dried last spring.'

John moved up the bench for her to slide alongside him and he slipped an arm around her waist to give her a squeeze.

'Damn the ale, just let me have the ale-wife!' he said, with a gaiety that momentarily transformed the normally dour coroner into a roguish lover.

Gwyn looked fondly at him across the table, seeing de Wolfe for an instant as he had been twenty years before, when they would both dash off uncaring into battles and brothels alike. Now it was only in Nesta's company that he saw John relax, cast off the cares and concerns that his doggedly conscientious nature insisted on bearing.

When they had settled down again, the patient Thomas began his story.

'As you guessed, Crowner, Father Patrick is quite fond of his drink. When I called on him, he had already got through half a jar of mead. By the time I left, he had soaked up most of the other half, as I managed to avoid all but a few mouthfuls.'

'But did you learn anything of use?' demanded de Wolfe, beginning to feel that his officer's gift for endlessly spinning out a story was rubbing off on his clerk.

'Some useful gossip, I think..He confirmed that the family is at loggerheads most of the time, especially since William was killed. He seems to have been a very strong character and kept the rest firmly in their places.

Without him, they are all fighting like cats' in a barn.'

'His widow seems a tough old bird as well,' observed Gwyn.

John felt this was a poor description of a handsome woman in her prime, but he agreed that she had a formidable personality.

Thomas tapped the side of his long, thin nose. 'It seems she has a suspicion that her husband's death was not altogether accidental,' said the clerk, in a dramatic whisper.

'How could it not be?' objected Nesta. 'I recall the chatter about it in here at the time. He fell from his horse in full view of hundreds of people.'

'I hope that the priest wasn't breaking the confessional when he told me…' Thomas stopped to cross himself. 'But he claimed that Avelina has several times accused Hugo of somehow contriving the death, so that he could inherit the manor.'

'That seems nothing but a widow's bitterness to me,' said Nesta stubbornly. 'First, how could he do it — and why was it not detected by those at the tourney who went to William's aid? Also, it was this Odo, the eldest son, who was to be the heir, not Hugo.'

'Did you discover any more details concerning why Odo lost the inheritance?' demanded de Wolfe.

'It was solely on the grounds that he has this falling sickness. Patrick said that he has had this affliction since he was a youth. It isn't getting any worse, but Hugo seized upon it as an excuse to have him disinherited.'

'What happens in this condition?' asked Nesta. 'Does it occur often?'

Thomas lifted his humped shoulder in a shrug, 'I didn't go into that, but the priest said it can come on at any time, especially if Odo gets excited or harassed. Usually he just falls senseless to the ground, but sometimes he has a slight fit, with spasms of his limbs.'

'Did any other scandal drip from this fat Irishman's lips?' asked Gwyn sarcastically.

'Only about Hugo's wife — or rather widow now.'

'Beatrice? She was certainly making cow's eyes at young Joel,' grunted John.

Nesta's interest was raised another notch, as any romance intrigued her greatly. 'Was she unfaithful to her husband with his brother?' she asked eagerly.

Again the clerk twitched his shoulders.

'Father Patrick didn't say so in as many words, but he was the confessor to the whole family and must have known the truth, which he conveyed with nudges and winks. She had no love for her husband, that was obvious.'

'It must have been shaming for her, to see him so brazenly seducing the village girls,' pouted Nesta, championing a woman she had never seen.

'Enough to stick a knife between his ribs seven times?' queried Gwyn.

'A woman scorned is as dangerous as a squadron of mounted knights!' exclaimed John, feelingly though he did not explain how he came to know such a thing.

'She couldn't have done it,' objected Thomas. 'She went to bed while Hugo was still alive and her maid slept outside her door all night.'

'Pah! A maid is ever loyal to her mistress, especially if some silver changes hands,' said de Wolfe. 'That means nothing, but I don't see how she could pass back through the hall to get outside.'

'No need for that, Crowner,' said Gwyn. 'Yesterday I had a good scout around the buildings and found a little postern door at the back that the servants use to bring food in from the kitchens. It not only opens into the hall behind those screens, but also leads to a passage where there is another stairway in the thickness of the wall, leading up to the chambers above.'

'So any of the family could have gone outside without those left in the hall seeing them,' muttered John, half to himself. He turned back to his clerk. 'Did you gather if this affair between Joel and Beatrice is at all serious, or just a young stallion wanting to ride a pretty mare?'

'I just don't know that, master. There was a limit to what I could squeeze out of the priest, half drunk though he was.'

The coroner finished his ale and Nesta waved at one of the maids to fetch a large jug across. When their pots were refilled, he turned to Gwyn.

'What about you? Did you get any tongues to wag in that dismal tavern?'

The big Cornishman pulled at the ends of his moustache before replying.

'A surly lot, but eventually we got talking, with the help of those pennies you gave me to lubricate their tongues. Seems the whole damned village hated the Peverels, especially Hugo. Not many tears shed at his passing, that's for sure.'

'What's the problem, then? They can't all have daughters for him to seduce.'

'He was a harsh man in every way, so it seems. His father was a tough fellow, but they preferred him to his son.' Gwyn dipped his face back into his ale-jar to gain strength for his narrative. 'He drove the bondsmen too hard and was unreasonable when there was any problem. Hugo imposed crushing penalties at his manor court and he was over-fond of hanging people, which caused much discontent.'

'There are many manors where that applies,' observed John. 'Were there any who had a special grudge against him, enough to want him dead?' Gwyn nodded, his tangled red curls bobbing around his large head.

'The reeve for one, according to the village harnessmaker. It seems that his daughter was married a month ago and Hugo insisted on spending the first part of the wedding night with her, claiming droit de seigneur!'

An outraged Nesta clucked her tongue and Thomas almost hopped up and down on his stool in indignation.

'Droit de seigneur!' he squeaked. 'There's no such thing in law, it's just an immoral folk tale cynically conjured up by unscrupulous barons and manor-lords!' John knew that, although the feudal system allowed a lord to impose the 'merchet', a monetary charge, on any of his subjects for allowing a daughter to be wedded, the alleged right to sleep with the bride on the first night had no legal justification. Yet there was no doubt that some lords indulged in it, because there was no one to challenge them in the tyrannical system of closed manorial communities.

'Not only did the reeve, this Warin Fishacre, swear that he would avenge his daughter's degradation,' continued Gwyn, 'but the bridegroom, who almost abandoned the marriage after Hugo stole his bride's virginity, put it about the village that he would also get even with his master.'

Thomas was still outraged at the idea that droit de seigneur continued to be thought of by some as a legitimate perquisite of the gentry.

'It is a total fiction, invented by some whose purpose it suits,' he squawked indignantly. 'They claim it to be an ancient tradition, under its other name, the jus prima noctis, the "right of the first night".'

Gwyn reached out and ruffled the lank hair of the little clerk.

'Calm down, dwarf! It just means that Sampfbrd is conveniently living in the past.'

'So we have at least another two candidates for wishing the death of this figure of hate,' ruminated the coroner. 'Did you dig up any other scandal in that miserable alehouse, Gwyn?'

'It was hard to find anyone who didn't hate the bastard,' growled the Gornishman. 'This gossipy harness-maker told me that another bondsman who was rubbing his hands in delight that day was the village thatcher. It seems that soon after Hugo came into the lordship, he had the thatcher's youngest son hanged for poaching an injured stag that he came across in the forest when he was cutting thatching pegs. The father and his two other sons were said to be waiting for a chance to settle that score with Hugo Peverel, though it may have been all bluster.'

Nesta leaned across and took a mouthful of ale from John's mug.

'You seem to have a wide choice of suspects for your murder, Sir Crowner. Is there anyone in Sampford Peverel who didn't wish to see this hateful fellow dead?' John gave her a squeeze. 'There's another, not resident in that unhappy manor, who declared in my presence that he would kill Hugo when he next met him!'

Nesta's big eyes widened at this. 'And who is that?'

'Reginald de Charterai, the knight who defeated Hugo fairly at the tournament on Bull Mead last week.

I told you all about that, remember?'

'Yes, but you didn't say the Frenchman threatened to slay him.'

'Well, he did, after that drunken confrontation in the Guildhall, though at the time I thought it was empty words spoken in anger. But what's even more interesting, he's been staying in Tiverton these past few days, within a few miles of Sampford Peverel.' The other three stared at him in surprise — this was the first they had heard of this twist.

'What the hell's he doing there?' demanded Gwyn.

'It seems he's paying court to Avelina, the handsome widow — the elder of the two handsome Peverel widows now,' he added whimsically. 'The brothers almost had apoplexy when she told them that she had invited Reginald to visit her at the manor today.'

'I don't see that she could ever be a suspect in this,' said Nesta. 'Whatever happens to her stepsons, she can never retrieve her dead husband's estate for herself.'

'But if she suspected Hugo had a hand in her husband's demise,' squeaked Thomas, 'and her new lover de Charterai had reasons for hating him sufficient to threaten "to kill him, then either one or the other — or both — might have encompassed his death for revenge.'

De Wolfe gave one of his throaty rumbles, like an old lion. It could mean anything but often was a signal that he doubted some assertion.

'I can't see an honourable knight like de Charterai repeatedly stabbing a former jousting opponent in the back — though even chivalrous men will do terrible things when goaded by a fair lady!' He gave Nesta a pinch on her bottom that made her jump.

'So what's to be done next, Crowner?' asked the practical Gwyn.

'Back to Sampford early tomorrow to hold this inquest and see Hugo laid in the ground. I doubt we'll learn anything new, unless some of the villagers decide to voice their grievances.'

'Little chance of that — they still have to live under their new lord after we've left,' grunted his officer.

'Who's it going to be? I wonder.'

John rasped his fingers over his stubble. 'It sounded to me as if Odo was going to reopen his fight to inherit, though Ralph seemed confident that the justices would find for him against Odo, just as they did for Hugo.'

Will that take a long time to settle?' asked Nesta.

'They were quick enough last time. I think they took the case straight to Winchester and got some members of the curia to deal with the matter. It doesn't do for a large manor like Sampford to be left in limbo for long.'

'God knows when the justices will come to Exeter next,' said Gwyn. 'If the Peverels want another quick decision, they had better go chasing the Chief Justiciar or the Chancellor again.'

John stretched his long legs out under the table, feeling the warmth of Brutus's brown fur against his calves.

'That's their problem, I'm glad to say. Though if I find that it was one of the brothers who dispatched Hugo to get his inheritance, then there'll be yet another dispute over who gets that unhappy manor.'

The next morning was unexpectedly fine and the high road leading north-east out of the city was in as good a state as it ever would be, the mud dried yet not powdered into dust. Thomas and the coroner left by the East Gate as soon it was opened at dawn and met Gwyn at St Sidwells, the nearby village where he lived.

A couple of hours later they were trotting down the road into Sampford, this time from the Tiverton direction, and soon passed Agnes's mean cottage, which marked the start of the village. Apart from a few women and children around the dwellings and some old men tending their tofts and animals; there seemed few people about, though in the distance an ox team was ploughing one of the strip fields.

'I trust that bailiff has assembled a jury as I ordered,' muttered John. 'But these damned brothers seem to delight in being obstructive.'

'You said you'll hold the inquest in that barn they use for a manor court?' asked Gwyn.

'It seemed the best place, especially if there was to be rain. Knowing them, they'll not yet have brought the corpse from the church, so let's ride there first to see what's going on.'

They trotted along the track, which followed the ridge past the manor house and the green to the church at the far end. Outside the gate, they dismounted and Thomas held the horses while Gwyn and his master went into the churchyard. Halfway down the path to the porch Gwyn stopped and pointed to a spot a few yards to one side.

'That wasn't there on Monday. Have they had another death already?'

De Wolfe looked across and saw a mound of fresh red earth. His face darkened as suspicion flowed into his mind like a spring tide.

'The bastards wouldn't dare!' he hissed and, lengthening his stride, he hurried into the little church. Inside the door he stopped and looked down towards the altar. There was nothing there — no bier, no body.

'Perhaps they've taken it to the barn ready for the inquest,' growled Gwyn, peering over John's shoulder.

'I very much hope so, or there'll be big trouble!' rasped the coroner, but his hopes were short lived. The rotund figure of the priest emerged from the tiny sacristy, an anxious expression on his podgy features.

'Where's the corpse?' roared John, careless of the hallowed surroundings.

Father Patrick shuffled forward in his faded cassock, his hands held out in supplication.

'I told them it shouldn't be done, after what you ordered, Crowner,' he babbled in his thick Irish brogue. 'But they insisted and I have no power to resist my lords, sir. My very living is within their gift.' De Wolfe advanced until he was towering over the unfortunate priest.

'You mean he's already buried? That grave outside?' he bellowed.

The vicar nodded, cowering back from this irate knight, who looked as if he might unsheathe his sword, church or no church.

'Yesterday, Crowner. You see, his corpse was beginning to turn colour and my masters, especially Sir Ralph and Sir Joel, said it wasn't seemly.'

'Seemly! The law is the law, whether it's seemly or not!' thundered John.

Father Patrick nodded vigorously. 'Of course, Crowner! But then our neighbour, Sir Richard de Revelle, came across and recommended that we have a quick burial. As he was the sheriff until recently, we all assumed he knew that the law allowed it under those circumstances.'

De Wolfe looked at Gwyn and exhaled noisily.

'Bloody de Revelle! I might have known it.' Ignoring the disconsolate priest, he turned on his heel, strode out of the church and, with an angry glance at the pile of fresh soil, went to his horse and cantered back towards the manor house, Gwyn and Thomas following behind. On striding into the hall, he found the three brothers sitting around a table with Richard de Revelle, all drinking ale and picking from a platter of savoury pastries. Standing near by were the steward, the bailiff and the reeve, looking decidedly anxious as they saw the King's coroner bursting in like an avenging angel — or perhaps devil was nearer the mark. He marched up to the table and stood aggressively with his legs apart and his fists bunched at his waist.

'Right, which of you ordered the corpse to be buried?' he snapped, without any niceties of greeting.

'Good morning, brother-in-law!' said de Revelle, with sarcastic false civility.

'You keep out of this, de Revelle. I'll come back to you in a moment.' He glared at the three Peverels until one of them stood up. It was Ralph, and it seemed that on this occasion Odo was content to let his brother assume seniority.

'It was a family decision, Sir John. We were of the opinion that your demand to leave our relative unburied for so long was utterly unreasonable.'

'You will abide by the law, sir. I expressly forbade you to dispose of the cadaver until today.'

Ralph, though more than a decade younger than John, tried to look as if he were a master chiding a servant.

'Your opinion was considered and rejected. The weather has become unseasonably warm and it was an insult to our brother's memory to allow some petty rule to worsen the anguish already suffered by this family.' Odo thought better of his passive role and joined the argument.

'You had already examined the body yourself, Sir John — so what can be gained by leaving it above ground for two more days?'

'Because the law demands that it be before the jury at the inquest!' retorted de Wolfe. 'They have to see the corpse and confirm the wounds and cause of death with their own eyes, otherwise the proceedings are invalid.'

'Damned nonsense,' drawled the former sheriff. 'We did without coroners until last year. This country is becoming plagued by bureaucracy since Hubert Walter started playing at being king.'

'Have a care, de Revelle!' responded John in a dangerously restrained voice. 'What you say comes near sedition, as the Chief Justiciar was expressly appointed by King Richard to protect his interests in England. Though we all know that sailing near the political wind is something with which you are all too familiar!' The coroner knew that, whatever their other faults, there was no suspicion that the Peverels were anything but faithful to the Crown, and that they were not tainted by any support for the Count of Mortain. He had added this pointed comment deliberately, to warn the brothers against becoming too close to such an untrustworthy figure as Richard de Revelle.

'That body must come up again — and right away!' he snapped, returning to the main issue.

Everyone in the hall stared at him — even the serving men and maids lurking around the screens at the back were hanging on every word.

'You mean … desecrate our brother even further? Never, sir, this is something we will not countenance!' Ralph's voice was almost a shriek.

There was a babble of protest from the others, even the steward and the bailiff joining in, though Gwyn noticed that the reeve, Warin Fishacre, was silent. John stood stolidly until the noise settled, then he folded his arms and addressed them in a voice that invited no contradiction.

'This manor has deliberately flouted an instruction by the King's coroner and will be amerced in the sum of five marks, to be confirmed by the justices at the next eyre in Exeter. If you claim to be the current lord, Sir Ralph, then I hold you personally responsible, and am attaching you in a recognisance of another five marks to appear at that court to answer to the judges for your actions.'

Ralph stared at the coroner as if the latter had just descended from the moon. 'This is outrageous, sir! You cannot fine me and drag me to court like any common villein. I am a knight of the realm!'

'And so am I — but I abide by the law, which you do not' snapped de Wolfe. 'Furthermore, I will be holding an inquest in two hours' time, to inquire where, when and by what means your brother came to his death against the King's peace. For that, I require his body to be produced and I now command you, in the name of the King, to open that fresh grave and have the body brought to the building you use for your manor court. I trust that my previous instruction has been carried out — to get the men of the village there to act as a jury.'

Gwyn was standing just inside the door of the hall, with Thomas peering rather fearfully from under his arm. The big man grinned as he saw the mixture of astonishment and outrage on the faces of the Peverel brothers and their steward. The bailiff managed a deadpan expression and the reeve suddenly found that he need to rub a hand over his mouth to conceal his feelings.

Joel, the fresh-faced young man who had yet to learn that authority was not something to be trifled with, struck a pose and spoke with an attempted hauteur that Gwyn felt made him sound ridiculous.

'And what if we ignore your totally unreasonable demands, Coroner? May I remind you that we have friends in high places.'

John looked at the speaker as if he were some errant schoolboy before his pedagogue.

'Then your friends must include the Pope and the Almighty, for they are the only ones who are more powerful than King Richard and his justiciar!' he said sarcastically. 'If you obstruct me further, then I will have to go back to Exeter and return with men-at-arms in a posse comitatus dispatched by the sheriff … the real sheriff!' he added, with a scathing look at his brother-in-law, who had so far remained silent.

The eldest brother decided that conciliation was the only possible course.

'Sir John, much as this situation distresses all of us, I see that you are determined and therefore we cannot hold out against you,' said Odo. 'All I ask is that we now get this painful matter over as quickly as possible and with the least ill feeling.' He looked agitated, and his big face was flushed with emotion as he turned to the bailiff to give his orders. 'Walter, send that man who acts as sexton to find others and retrieve the coffin at once. Reeve, get yourself about the village and tell every man to be at the courthouse by mid-morning.' And then he collapsed to the floor unconscious, all his limbs twitching slightly for a moment until he lay deathly still.

No one seemed too concerned by Odo's spasms, though the smirk on Ralph's face suggested that this was another confirmation of his right to assume the lordship. The steward and two of the house servants picked up the eldest brother and laid him on one of the tables, the same two servants remaining alongside to ensure that he did not roll off when he recovered.

John, feeling slightly discomfited by the thought that he may have been the instrument of Odo's fit, was concerned for his well-being.

'How long will he be like this?' he asked Walter Hog.

'Usually only a few minutes,' replied the bailiff in a low voice. 'He'll wake up and then he always rubs his face with both hands. Then he'll stride up and down the chamber like a sleepwalker, before sitting down.

Then he'll slumber for an hour and wake up in his normal frame of mind. It's always the same, his behaviour is identical every time.'

Ralph came across from where he had been looking at his elder brother and told the bailiff to get about his business.

'Do what Sir Odo told you, Walter. We have to please the coroner, don't we!' he sneered.

Turning to de Wolfe, he jerked his head towards the still figure on the trestle. 'You want me to come to your court, Crowner? Then I'll probably get you to mine as a witness, if I need to contest my poor brother's claim to the manor. You've seen how he reacts to a crisis.

Can such a man be allowed to direct the lives of more than seven score people? I think not!' With that, he turned on his heel with a flourish and made for the staircase to the upper floor.

'You certainly know how to make enemies, John,' said a voice behind him. Turning, he found Richard de Revelle smiling sardonically at him. In token acknowledgement of the bereavement in the manor, he had left off his usual bright garments and wore a long tunic of black linen, but with ornate silver threadwork around the neck, hem and sleeves. Over this was a full cloak of dark grey serge, not unlike John's usual attire, giving him a funereal appearance.

'You had a hand in advising them to bury this body, against my express orders,' de Wolfe snapped.

'When the orders are foolish, unreasonable and unkind, then that is the right counsel to offer,' retorted the former sheriff.

'Always the glib answer, Richard. Why are you interfering in the affairs of this manor? There must be something in it for you, you never do anything for nothing.'

'I am a good neighbour, John! My land runs along the Peverel boundary to the north and west. It is only right that I try to help friends in their hour of need.'

'Huh! Who needs enemies when they can have friends like you, eh?'

Turning his back on his brother-in-law, de Wolfe marched to the door and, with a jerk of the head at his clerk and officer, made his way back to the church.

Determined that there would be no evasion or duplicity this time, John stood near the grave to make sure that his Orders were carried out. With Gwyn and Thomas at his side, he watched while Walter Hog supervised his men as they reopened the pit. Again a group of onlookers was gathered along the dry-stone wall around the churchyard, mostly wives and old men too infirm to work in the fields.

Two villeins were waist deep in the hole, throwing the rich red soil out with flat wooden shovels tipped with iron strips. As the earth had only been put in place the previous day, it was soft and light, so the work went ahead quickly and a large pile was soon heaped along each side.

'The box is not lap down, Crowner,' the bailiff reassured them. 'It's on top of his father's remains, put there not six months ago.'

'Not a very fancy memorial for two lords of the manorl' grunted Gwyn. Td have thought they'd have done better than this.'

'Most gentry are buried within the church itself, near the altar,' commented Thomas, automatically making the sign of the cross.

'That's the very point,' answered Walter. 'The old man, William, was planning to rebuild the church in stone to ensure that his immortal soul got a clear passage into heaven. This old wooden place has been here since Saxon times. But the Lord beat him to it, I'm afraid — and he's done the same to Hugo, who also claimed he was going to carry out his father's plan.'

'Then presumably the family will now build a new church and put William and Hugo under its floor?' asked Thomas hopefully.

The bailiff looked around and lowered his voice.

'Maybe, but I hear that money is short. Both Hugo and his father lost heavily in the tournaments these past couple of years — that's why Hugo was so incensed when that Frenchie beat him last week. According to what the steward tells me, there'll not be much money left for church-building, unless Sir Ralph can do better with lance and sword than his brother.'

'But this is a large, fertile manor,' said de Wolfel 'It should be rich with all that land under the plough and those many carucates of pasture for cattle and sheep.' The bailiff shrugged. 'I do my best, Crowner. Sir Odo is keen on making the best of the land, but he never gets support from the others. They never restock enough, neither beast nor seed — and they've sold off too much to repay their debts. Bad management, that's what's ruining this manor.'

Walter Hog's recriminations were cut short by a call from one of the villeins who acted as sexton. He was tapping something solid with the end of his spade, as his companion began scraping earth sideways.

'We're down to the box, Bailiff. Do you want 'er taken out or shall we open 'er where she lies?' he called, in the thick local dialect.

Walter looked enquiringly at the coroner, who shook his head.

'The corpse will be needed only for an hour or two.

If you can get the lid off easily, just take the body out and carry it on that bier up to the courthouse.' The coffin was a plain box made in haste from elm planks, and the top gave way without trouble when strips of iron provided by the smith were levered into the joints. John and Gwyn leaned over the grave as it was removed and watched with interest as the diggers peeled back the linen wrappings that shrouded the cadaver. Hugo Peverel appeared much the same as when they had seen him on Monday, still dressed in the tunic in which he had died. When a kerchief was lifted from his face, it was seen to be somewhat swollen and reddened, but otherwise in fair condition.

'Damned liars, saying that he had to be buried because he was going off!' muttered Gwyn. 'There's days of use left in him yet!'

They left the bailiff to see that the corpse was removed and carried up to the barn for the inquest, while they sought some sustenance after their ride from Exeter. John could have returned to the hall, where no doubt his rank would have ensured that he would have been fed, albeit grudgingly, by the hostile family.

But he chose to avoid them and, with his two assistants, made for the alehouse on the green. As they passed the open space, Gwyn jerked his head towards the manorial gallows, two" high posts supporting a crossbar, which, together with a pillory, stood threateningly alongside the area where the village lads played at football and the men practised their archery. It was empty today, but a rope noose swayed ominously in the breeze.

'That's where the thatcher's son came to his end,' he said. 'I wonder if his father or brothers had enough guts to stick Hugo the other night?'

De Wolfe grunted and shrugged his shoulders. 'God knows! It could equally have been that reeve or his son-in-law, inflamed at Peverel bedding the daughter on her wedding night.'

The tavern was empty, as all the men were either in the fields or being rounded up for jury service, and the three officials had the room to themselves. The alewife had a blackened pot hanging from a tripod over the fire-pit and from it she ladled a thin broth into wooden bowls. Silently, she set these on the window ledge for them, together with a fresh loaf torn into pieces. From a leather bucket of dirty water set by the ale casks, she produced some horn spoons and rubbed them dry with the hem of her grubby apron. The stew tasted better than it looked, and even the ale she offered seemed less sour than on Monday.

'If I come here too often, I might even get to like the bloody stufft' grumbled Gwyn, as he tucked in.

The more fastidious Thomas ignored the drink, but found that the long ride had given him an appetite, so that he ate his broth with something approaching relish.

They discussed the relative merits of each candidate for the killing, but came to no conclusions. It seemed that virtually anyone in the village could have stabbed Hugo in the back, as the opportunity to creep up on him asleep on a dark night was universal — and motives were thick on the ground. When they had exhausted the possibilities, none of which John felt was likely to be confirmed at the inquest, Gwyn brought up the matter of the silversmith, murdered the previous week.

'What are you going to do about this Robert Longus, the armourer who refused to come to your inquest in the city?'

'Rest assured, I've not forgotten him! Before we leave, I'll attach him by sureties to attend a resumed inquest next week. If he doesn't show up, then I'll get him summoned to the Shire Court. Four failures to appear there and he'll be outlawed.'

'What about the other man that was said to have been with him when they robbed and killed the silversmith?' asked Thomas. 'If the armourer is from this manor, then so perhaps is the other?'

De Wolfe stared through the window opening as he finished his ale, thinking about this other problem.

'Unfortunately, that man Terrus who survived the assault says he has no recollection of the face of the other attacker, so there would be no point in getting him all the way up here from Totnes to try to pick him out. '

'I'll keep a close eye on the bastard today, to see if he has any particular crony in the manor,' offered Gwyn.

'With the lately deceased Hugo giving him such a firm alibi, we've only got the word of Terrus against theirs,' said John regretfully. 'I wonder if Ralph Peverel will back up the story too?'

'He will, Crowner,' said Thomas gloomily. 'If only to spite you. These people stick together like glue.'

'Especially an armourer,' added Gwyn. 'There's a special bond between a tourney fighter and the fellow who tends to his weapons and accoutrements, for the knight's life may depend upon him.'

The Cornishman Said this with genuine feeling, as he had long been in that position himself. As de Wolfe's virtual squire, as well as friend and companion for twenty years, he was more like John's brother than servant — though he never took advantage by overfamiliarity.

Through the window opening, the coroner noticed an increasing drift of people from the lower end of the village, all making their way towards the manor-house stockade. As well as the men and boys needed for the jury, women and children trudged past, the latter intent on congregating outside the barn to eavesdrop on the proceedings. Eventually, John decided it was time to move and, giving the ale-wife a penny for their food and drink, led his team out into the rutted road and walked up to the manor.

The barn was large and bare, with one chair and some benches at one end for the lord, his steward and other manor officers. The freemen and villeins spread themselves around the walls in their accustomed places, as they were well used to attending the compulsory manor leets.

When the coroner walked in, he found the Peverel brothers, including Odo, already seated. Their steward and bailiff, together with the priest, stood behind them.

Though strictly speaking they should all have been in the body of the court with the jurors, John decided not to make an issue of it, though he took exception to Ralph lounging in the one and only chair. He strode across and stood in front of the putative manor-lord.

'I rather think it is the coroner who presides at an inquest, sir,' he said, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

Recognising that he was pushing his luck a little too far, Ralph eased himself from the chair and sardonically waved de Wolfe into it, then sat down on a nearby bench next to Roger Viel, the steward. At this point, de Wolfe was irritated to see the dapper figure of Richard de Revelle enter and sit next to Odo, who seemed quite recovered from his falling fit.

John motioned to Gwyn to boom out the opening call for the proceedings, just as the sexton and another man carried in the bier with the shrouded form of the deceased lord. They set it down before the coroner, between him and the three score men who formed the jury.

'There is no point in enquiring into presentment of Englishry,' began the coroner. 'Of course, Sir Hugo Peverel was of Norman lineage and, especially given that he was stabbed in the back, then the murdrum fine will undoubtedly be levied.'

There was a groan from the assembly, as it would be the villagers, both free and unfree, who would have to find the money, not the ruling family.

'However, I will not fix any penalty now, but in these unusual circumstances of a murdered manor-lord, leave it to the justices in Eyre to decide on the amount of such a fine.' An almost audible exhalation of relief went round the barn at what was at least a postponement of their collective punishment.

The inquest then took its usual course, with the first finder being called to relate how the body was discovered. This was the good-wife who came to steal hay for her rabbits, and from then on the chain of events was followed through the bailiff and the reeve up to the point where the coroner was summoned from Exeter.

After this, the nervous Agnes was called, prodded to the front of the barn by her mother. With frightened sideways glances at the covered corpse, she snivelled her way through her account of the evening, drawing black looks from the brothers and de Revelle as she haltingly admitted to being ravished by the lord of the manor, even if it was willingly and for profit.

'He were fit and well when I left him, sirs,' she finished. 'Looked sleepy and contented as he lay back in the hay, so I left 'un there and went 'ome.' John then heard from the bailiff and the steward, who could add nothing except what they had done after the body was discovered. Warin Fishacre, the reeve, gave his evidence in a surly, monosyllabic way, mainly about his being dispatched to Exeter by the bailiff to fetch the coroner.

Finally, de Wolfe called the male members of the ruling family. Though he felt inclined to make them stand before him in the body of the court, like the other witnesses, he had sufficient Norman blood in his veins to defer to their status enough to take their evidence from where they sat. Even so, Richard de Revelle mischievously objected to their being questioned at all.

In his high, braying voice, he claimed that it was unseemly, possibly unlawful, for manor-lords to be interrogated in their own manor.

'They have a position to maintain, Coroner. There is a gulf between them and their tenants and bondsmen which needs to be kept- or all deference and discipline will be put in jeopardy!'

John glared at the former sheriff, knowing that Richard was doing everything he could to make life difficult for him.

'This is a king's court, de Revelle, not a manor leet! We are all subjects of the Crown and must abide by the laws laid down by the Curia Regis, which is the instrument of the King's will. Those who disregard it, flaunt their loyalty to the sovereign.'

Once again, he prodded the issue-of fidelity which was de Revelle's weak spot. Turning to Odo, he spoke more gently. 'I trust you are feeling well enough to answer my questions, sir?'

Another muted whisper spread around the barn at this hint of a fresh attack of the malady that was known to afflict the eldest brother.

Odo inclined his head and said that he was now in perfect health once again. John led him through,the impoverished tale that he had heard before, about the period after supper when Hugo had last been seen.

The same story, almost in the same words, was wrung from the more reluctant Ralph and Joel. John had the impression that only the brevity and uselessness of their account allowed them to deign to offer it without more strenuous objections.

De Wolfe then turned to the many faces ranged before him around the court, faces of all shapes and ages, from twelve-year-old lads to a few bowed and crippled greybeards.

'Is there any among you who has other information for me that might throw light on this tragedy?' There was a general shuffling of feet on the packed earth of the floor and many scanned the faces of their neighbours to see whether anyone was likely to step forward. But the moment passed without any volunteers, though John felt a tension in the air that suggested that more than one would have voiced some opinion, if their masters had not been sitting before them, glowering around to see whether anyone dared step out of line.

With a sigh, de Wolfe raised a finger to Gwyn, who went into action and marshalled the large jury to shuffle past the bier. The coroner rose and went to the corpse, pulling down the winding-sheet to expose the puffy face. A ripple of concern went around the men, and the women at the door jostled and craned their necks, trying to see what was on show. Though all were country folk, used to perished and wounded animals and the frequent deaths of their generally short-lived population, the sight of their own lord in a state of early mortification was certainly out of the ordinary.

Gwyn then turned the body over and pulled up the tunic to reveal the stab wounds, which were still oozing blood and lay in skin that was purplish owing to the corpse lying for a couple of days on its back.

'See these wounds? They are from a blade with one sharp edge,' snapped John. 'Not a large knife, nor yet a dagger.'

Gwyn herded the jury past the corpse like a sheepdog with a nervous flock, until all had had the chance of a close look at the fatal injuries. Then he placed the body in its proper position and covered it with the shroud.

John went back to his chair and closed the inquest, confirming his earlier fears that no further evidence would be forthcoming.

'You will consider what you have heard and decide on a verdict. You need to be assured of the identity of the deceased and where, when and by what means he came to his death. All those matters will be easy for you to determine — what we do not know is who brought him to that death.'

The foreman of the jury, the village miller, rapidly announced their verdict. John stood for a final word, looking to the side to make sure that Thomas was scribing everything as he sat at the end of one of the benches.

'Sir Hugo Peverel, a Norman and lord of the manor of Sampford Peverel in the county of Devon, died on or about the tenth day of October in the year of our Lord eleven hundred and ninety-five, in the said Sampford Peverel, from grievous knife wounds to the back of his chest. And the manner of death was murder by a person as yet unknown.'

He turned to the brothers sitting brooding behind him. 'That completes the legal formalities. Your kinsman's body may now be returned to the church.' There was a general exodus behind the bier, which was already being carried out through the tall doors.

As he passed de Wolfe, Ralph gave him a look sufficiently sour to curdle milk, which was entirely lost on the coroner.

'I trust you are satisfied, Sir John,' he snarled. 'You have humiliated us, upset our ladies beyond measure and added further indignity to the body of our brother.'

'But I have upheld the laws of England, without which there would be disorder and anarchy,' retorted John, blandly.

Ralph and Joel marched away, noses in the air, but Richard de Revelle also stopped for a harsh word with his sister's husband.

'Your time is coming, John!' he sneered. 'I will be sheriff again, you mark my words. Perhaps not under this king, but under another, more worthy man. Paid when I am in power again, I will not rest until I have seen you humiliated, as you have done to these fine people here today.'

Before de Wolfe could think of an appropriate retort, de Revelle had stalked off, trailing the Peverels as they made their way to the churchyard.

John saw the steward and bailiff rounding up the villagers and soon most of the inhabitants were moving down past the green to the little church of St John the Baptist. A voice at his elbow told him that there was to be another short burial service, before the body was put back into its box in the ground. The voice belonged to the reeve, who had a strange expression on his face, part anxiety, part determination.

'I hope to God that this is the last we see of Hugo Peverel,' he muttered, half to himself, as he walked close beside the coroner. De Wolfe took the chance to sound him out a little further, as they moved with the tail-end of the crowd towards the church.

'I heard that the deceased caused some distress to your family?' he asked quietly.

'That's putting it very lightly, Crowner. My poor wife cried for days, to say nothing of my sweet daughter Maud. It affected not only our family, but that of Nicholas the smith, father of my son-in-law — who almost failed to remain my son-in-law, after what that bastard Hugo did to his bride.'

John looked behind him, to make sure that only Gwyn and Thomas were within earshot.

'It was totally illegal, Reeve, you know that? There is no such thing as droit de seigneur in the eyes of the law.'

Fishacre gave a bitter laugh. 'The eyes of the law are tightly closed in this manor, sir! What could we do? We are not only bondsmen, but cottars, the lowest of the low. These Peverels have the power of life and death over us, either by the gallows or by starvation if we do not bend to their will.'

'But lords have obligations, not least to keep to the traditions of the manor, as voiced in the manor courts,' reasoned John.

This only brought forth another sardonic response from Warin Fishacre. 'Tradition and the law count for nothing when there is no one to enforce them, sir.

Matters may be different near Exeter, but here we never see a law officer from one year to the next. And the last sheriff, he was so thick with the Peverels that they could have hanged the lot of us without him turning a hair.'

De Wolfe had no answer to that, but wryly thought that the new sheriff was also unlikely ever to show his face here, as long as he had a coroner to do his work for him.

By the time they reached the church, the body had been taken inside, now wrapped in a new linen shroud.

The men of the manor had all filed into the small building and the women and children congregated outside, either in the churchyard or along the wall that separated it from the roadway. He saw that the armourer, Robert Longus, and another rough-looking man were standing at the door to check that every man, including all youths above the age of twelve, was attending to do respectful homage to their late lord.

As John walked down from the lych-gate, he murmured to the reeve.

'Did they do this yesterday, when the illegal burial took place?'

Warin Fishacre shook his head. 'It was a rushed affair, Crowner. I think the old sheriff, de Revelle, talked them into it in a hurry. Only the brothers and the senior manor officers were present. They are trying to make up for it today, though they had said they would have a big memorial service in the future, when the new church is built — if that ever comes to pass!' As de Wolfe was well aware that he was in bad odour with the Peverel family, he stood unobtrusively at the back of the crowded church, which was crammed full with the men of the manor, most looking sour and resentful. As was customary, none of the women of the family was present, but from his viewpoint he could see that the brothers, Richard de Revelle, the steward, bailiff, falconer, houndmaster and other more senior members of the household were grouped behind the bier, on the other side of which Father Patrick was again mumbling the words of the burial service.

Gwyn stuck close beside his master at the back, but Thomas, never one to miss the opportunity to attend any devotional event, wormed his way through the packed congregation until he was almost at the front.

As the muttered words of the priest droned on, lightened by the splashing of holy water on the corpse, John studied the atmosphere in the church. Though admittedly a funeral service was not an occasion for high spirits, he sensed a sullen mood among the massed villagers. He felt that they were there only because they had been ordered to attend, rather than from any feeling of respect or obligation to their late master. He decided that the reason that the thuggish armourer and his mate were outside the porch was to ensure that there were no absentees, and he would not have been surprised to learn that Longus had sent men to scour the village for skulking backsliders.

The Irish-accented Latin of the parish priest came Io an end and a general shuffling at the front heralded the end of the proceedings. John beckoned to Gwyn and they left the church ahead of the rest and went to stand against the inside of the churchyard wall, a few yards from the open grave which still held the empty coffin. Behind them, the women and children gaped and whispered over the wall as the procession emerged from the porch. The men had squeezed themselves aside to allow the bier to be brought out first, preceded by Father Patrick, who slowly marched ahead along the grassy path between old grave mounds, holding aloft the cross from the altar as he quavered incomprehensible chants.

The corpse, swathed in its white bindings, was carried on the bier by two of the bailiff's assistants, and behind them came the Peverel men, de Revelle and then the manor officials. John managed to conceal a grin as he saw that immediately after them came Thomas de Peyne, who had insinuated himself into the procession and with his faded black tunic and persistent tonsure looked like an additional priest as he crossed himself and mouthed the Latin texts far more faithfully than the Irishman up ahead.

At the graveside, the sexton and another helper got down into the pit and took the corpse, which was handed down by the pall-bearers, as the family and their retainers stood at the head of the grave. Once the body was back in the planked box, they hammered home the nails of the lid and clambered out again. Now the men of the manor, directed by the armourer and his henchman, filed slowly past the open pit. Obviously acting on prior orders, each stooped to take a handful of soil from the heap alongside to throw down on to the coffin. Again the watching coroner had the firm impression that they did this sullenly and with bad grace, driven to the gesture only under the watchful eyes of the armourer and the family.

Each fistful of earth landed on the coffin with a dull 'thunk'. Some of the impacts seemed much louder than others, as if the thrower were expressing his feelings with unnecessary violence — though John's keen ears noticed that several times the opposite occurred, as if the reluctant mourner were merely miming the action.

When the last of the villagers had paraded past, they began melting away, some making for the lych-gate, others to another gap in the wall behind the church, leaving behind only the Peverels and their attendants.

Suddenly there was a roar of anger from Robert Longus, who had moved up to the grave and was peering in.

'Stop! All of you men, stop and come back here!' he yelled. The brothers, who were talking in low voices with de Revelle and their steward, were a few yards away and immediately hurried over to where the armourer was standing, gesticulating with a forefinger into the pit.

'Who did this? Own up, damn you!' he shouted generally to the rapidly thinning crowd in the churchyard. De Wolfe and his officer, sensing some new drama, also threaded their way between the grassy mounds to the new grave and joined the others as they peered down into the four-foot hole.

Among the scattered red earth on the coffin lid, they saw a large pat of dried ox dung and a dead rat, swollen with putrefaction far more than the body inside the box.

'Get those abominations out of there!' screeched Ralph Peverel, grabbing the nearby sexton by the shoulder and almost pushing him down into the grave-pit.

As the man scrabbled to retrieve the offending objects, John realised why several of the farewell offerings had made so little noise, but he could not recall who was passing the grave at that moment — and he hoped that the others would also fail to identify the culprits.

The brothers fumed and ranted for a while and the bailiff, the steward and others tried to assist the armourer in chasing after the villagers, who were melting away like frost on a sunny morning. Naturally no one would admit to having thrown down these contemptuous offerings, and as the sexton and another villein shovelled the earth back into the hole the outrage gradually subsided.

The Peverels and Richard de Revelle also left, pointedly ignoring the coroner and offering him no refreshment in the manor hall before he departed for Exeter.

John de Wolfe had one last task to perform, however, before he shook the mud of Sampford from his boots.

Beckoning the bailiff away from the family group, he look him aside just within the lych-gate.

'Walter, I spoke to you on Monday about this armourer fellow, Longus. He deliberately refused to appear before my inquest in Exeter, so I am going to attach him in the sum of two marks to attend when I resume the inquiry into the death of a silversmith just before the fair.'

Walter Hog nodded; he was an intelligent man and knew that de Wolfe had the power to make trouble when necessary.

'I do not have a date for that inquest, but I shall send a message well beforehand. I trust that you will see to it that he understands the gravity of his situation and will give him leave to travel to the city. If he repeatedly fails to obey, then he may well be outlawed and nothing your manor-lord can do will prevent that, understand?'

'I will do my best, Crowner.' The bailiff looked around to make sure that the Peverels were well out of earshot. 'There may well be resistance from my masters, sir. Robert Longus is a favourite with Sir Ralph, because of their interests in the tourney, so he may try to protect him. But I will tell him the penalties if he fails — I can do no more than that.'

John clapped Walter on the shoulder. 'You do that, and I'll impress the same upon him before I leave. But tell me, is there any other fellow who is thick with this Longus? The matter I am investigating involved two men.'

Again the bailiff looked around uneasily. John had the impression that Walter, an outsider from Somerset who had not been long in this manor, was not all that happy with his position here and would be glad to move on when the opportunity arose. 'There is his assistant in the armoury, the man who was on the church door with him. By virtue of their common tasks with the weaponry, both in the forge and in the armoury, they spend much time together.'

John looked across to the corner of the churchyard, where Longus and the big, coarse-faced fellow were still haranguing a cottager about the offensive objects in the grave.

'His name is Alexander Crues — a man of little brains, but much muscle, commented the bailiff disparagingly. 'They accompanied Lord William to every tournament and now do the same for Ralph.'

'What about Hugo Peverel?' asked de Wolfe, which caused Walter Hog to shrug before answering.

'Longus was Hugo's armourer and he depended on him greatly. They were more like master and squire, though of late they seemed to have become more distant with each other. I suspect that some animosity grew between them, and Longus seemed to cleave more to Ralph.'

John pondered this as he strode across towards the armourer, with Gwyn close behind. Thomas de Peyne had emerged from the church with Father Patrick and was looking uncertainly at his master, not wishing to get mixed up in any brawl, which seemed a possibility from the grim expression on the coroner's face as he advanced on Robert Longus.

'I want a word with you, fellow!' he snapped, looking from the man's truculent face to the rather piggish features of his clumsy-looking assistant. The armourer glared back at de Wolfe.

'If it's about my not coming to your damned inquest, then you can blame him!' he snarled, indicating the almost completed mound of earth which the sexton was hammering down with the flat of his shovel.

'What d'you mean?'

'Sir Hugo forbade me to stay behind in Exeter that day. He said he needed me at home here, to prepare for a tourney in Bristol the next week.'

Robert was a big man, but the coroner topped him by half a head and now he glared down at him. 'That's no excuse. It was you I summoned, not your master.'

'Then you try telling him that, Crowner! Though I'm a freeman, my bread and meat depend on the manor lord, so I'm not going to cross him.'

'Very convenient, especially when the man is dead and can't confirm what you say,' retorted de Wolfe, but the armourer seemed determined to argue to the bitter end.

'You heard what he said that day! He said I was with him all that Sunday and Monday and couldn't have been… been wherever you said I was, on the word of some half-crazed craftsman who was still out of his wits from a knock on the head. Sir Hugo said that as there could be no truth in the matter, there was no point my wasting his time by absenting myself at some useless inquest!'

'That's for me to judge, damn you!' snapped the irate coroner. 'So you'll appear at my court in Exeter when I send for you, within the next week or so. Understand?'

'I'll have to ask the new lord, Sir Ralph,' growled Longus reluctantly. 'If he says it's all right, then maybe I'll come, though he'll vouch for it being a wicked waste of time and travelling. And if it falls near a tourney day, then you can be sure he'll not let me go!' It was all John could do not to grab the man and shake him till his few remaining teeth rattled. Gwyn was obviously of the same opinion.

'Shall I give him a few clouts to mend his manners?' he offered.

'You will attend or it will cost you two marks on the first failure, Longus! And then I'll attach you to the county court in the sum of five marks … and if you persist in absenting yourself, you'll find yourself an outlaw, not an armourer. It's not your job you'll have lost then, but maybe your head!'

For the first time, the man had no answer and stood sullenly scowling at de Wolfe, hate radiating from him like heat from an open fire.

The coroner jabbed a finger towards Alexander Crues, who stood open mouthed and loose lipped, listening to this heated exchange.

'This fellow, he is your assistant in the armouring?' Robert jerked his head in reluctant reply.

'And was he in Exeter with you at the time of the fair and the tournament?'

'Where I go, he goes! We both attend on the lords when they are at the jousting.'

'And was he lurking near Topsham with you when you attacked and robbed that silversmith?' John had no scruples about bending the rules of legal procedure when he was not presiding in a court, but Longus failed to let slip anything incriminating.

'I was never at bloody Topsham, as well you know! Even if Sir Hugo can't speak for me, Sir Ralph will attest that I was with him all the time.'

De Wolfe prodded Alexander in the chest with a long linger. 'And I suppose you'll stick to the same story, eh?'

'I dunno what you're on about, sir,' he mumbled thickly. 'I was with Robert here all the time.' He said this with a mechanical certainty that sounded as if he had memorised it after numerous repetitions.

'Wasting our time here, Crowner,' murmured Gwyn.

John sighed his agreement. 'Right, Longus! When you are summoned to Exeter, you will bring this other fellow with you, understand? I'm attaching you both, so it will cost you a couple of marks apiece if you don't show up.'

With that, he turned on his heel and marched away, frustrated by his inability to make any impression on the two men, especially given that they were backed up by the support of Ralph Peverel. Unless he could obtain some further evidence from somewhere, even getting them to a new inquest would probably be a fruitless excercise. As they walked back to the manor stockade to get their horses for the journey home, he thought that the silversmith's death would remain as much a mystery as that of Hugo Peverel, unless someone came across with more information.

Within a few minutes, he was in the saddle and leading Gwyn and Thomas homeward, breathing a sigh of relief as he left the boundaries of that unhappy manor behind him and set off along the high road towards Exeter.