The Awful Secret

Chapter Fifteen In which Crowner John rides to Exmoor

However else fate had been against them that day, in the matter of wind it was kind. The southerly breeze of the morning turned into a westerly blow when the horizon-wide cloudbank rolled in. The wind, together with the flood tide, gave them a fast if uncomfortable passage back to Bideford Bay, the spray constantly whipping across the decks and the knarrs pitching like unbroken horses as they dug their blunt bows into the whitened waves.

It was almost dark when they reached the entrance to the estuary and it took all the considerable skills of the ship-masters to get them safely into the channel, but the relief of entering calmer water caused a cheer to be raised amongst the cold and sodden warriors. They made passage around Appledore and up the Torridge in the dark, though the diffuse moonlight above the clouds and a few feeble lights from dwellings on either riverbank was enough to allow the shipmen to feel their way back to their berth against Bideford bridge.

At de Grenville’s castle, his steward and servants raced around banking up fires to dry out their men-at-arms and to prepare hot food. Within a couple of hours, everyone had settled back to drink ale and spin ever-improving yarns about the day’s events.

In the hall, afterwards, they all sat around a roaring fire set in a hearth in the middle of the floor, the smoke making eyes stream and lungs cough, but the blessed warmth was more than worth it, after the rigours of the ocean.

De Wolfe sat on a bench next to Richard de Grenville. After a time his mind wandered from the tale-telling and boasting to wonder what he was doing there. He was no further towards spotting either the killer of Gilbert de Ridefort or the origin of the pirates that had killed all but one of the crew of the Saint Isan. He ran through the possible suspects for the Templar’s murder. Of the potential killers, he would have liked to make the abbot the prime suspect, perhaps using one of his acolytes for the deed – he doubted that Cosimo was capable of wielding the necessary weapons. Failing him, he favoured Brian de Falaise, as the most aggressive and short-tempered of the Templars, always looking for real or imagined insults. But then he wondered if the type of injuries inflicted on de Ridefort was not too subtle for the blunt de Falaise, and his musings turned to either the more enigmatic Godfrey Capra – or the leader, Roland de Ver. Perhaps the fatal head injury could have come from someone like de Falaise, but the biblical allusion of the wounds in the side and hands may have been added, perhaps even after death, by either of the other knights. Somehow, he did not consider any of the Templar sergeants as candidates, although logically there was no reason why they should not have taken part in the killing.

He shrugged off the profitless grinding of the problem in his mind and drank the last of his quart of cider. Then he realised that de Grenville was asking him something.

‘That fellow you brought back with us, the one we threw into my gaol in the gatehouse. What are we to do with him? Do you want to take him back to Exeter?’

‘No. Richard de Revelle would hang him the day he arrived there. I have no proof that he has done any wrong, save fight for his lord as he was ordered.’

‘That surely is enough to hang him! He resisted the forces of the law on the soil of Devon – even against the county sheriff and the coroner. He tried to kill you – your shoulder plate still bears the mark.’

John held out his tankard to a passing servant for a refill. ‘I suppose so, though I bear him no ill-will for that. It was in fair fight and I certainly did him more damage when I clouted him across the head than he did me.’

‘So why did you bring him back?’

‘I suppose it was an impulse – I had some vague idea of getting information from him about Lundy.’

The amiable lord of Bideford got up and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I must stay and entertain my guests here, but you are welcome to see if you can get anything from him.’

A little later, the coroner sought out Gwyn, who was sitting around a similar fire in the bailey, drinking and telling tales with Gabriel and his men-at-arms. They went to the cells, two small, foul-smelling rooms opposite the guardroom. The night guard brought a tallow dip and unlocked a door in its flickering light. On the dirty straw inside, the man from Lundy was slumped against the wall, conscious but holding his head and groaning. A filthy bucket was the only furniture, but half a loaf and a jar of water stood untouched just inside the door. He lifted his head as they entered, screwing up his eyes at the poor light they carried. He was in about his thirtieth year, his weatherbeaten face suggesting he spent much of his time at sea. ‘Have you come to hang me?’ he muttered thickly, in a tone that suggested he cared little if they had. His bloodshot eyes focused on the coroner, and he recognised him as the man he had struck with his sword just before his memory failed.

‘You may surely hang, fellow,’ said de Wolfe, ‘but I have no great desire to see you on the gallows, so it depends on whether you have anything useful to tell us.’

‘What can I tell you? I am nothing but a serf to my lord William.’

‘Doing what, man? I am the county coroner and have some power to save your neck, if you can be useful to me.’

‘I labour on the manor farm on Lundy for much of the time, but am also a ship-man when required. We run back and forth to Clovelly or the ports here.’

‘And a little piracy when needed?’ grunted Gwyn.

The man gave a cynical laugh. ‘It would certainly put my head into the noose if I said yes to that, eh?’

‘I am not much concerned about piracy in general, but about one matter in particular.’ De Wolfe explained about the vessel Saint Isan and the evidence of the Breton lad. ‘Your lord William denies that he was involved and bids me look elsewhere – but as he claims that half the boats between Cardiff and Constantinople are pirate vessels, that’s not much help to me.’

The man’s eyes took on a little more life as he saw a hope of saving his neck. ‘If I can help you in this, will you speak for me?’

‘If you are very helpful, I may just forget to have that door locked in the morning. Maybe then you could even find your way back to that godforsaken island.’

‘I never wish to see it again, sir. I have no family there. If I could lie low in one of these boroughs, I could even gain my freedom.’

A villein who managed to escape from his hamlet to a town and survive for a year and a day was entitled to become a freeman. From the prospect of the gibbet a few moments ago, the islander now saw a better future, if only he could satisfy this black hawk of a man who hovered over him.

‘What can I tell you? I know something of the sea and ships along this coast.’

‘Which ports have a reputation for piracy? Are some more active than others?’

The fellow nodded vigorously, ignoring the pain it provoked in his neck. ‘Some are free of it, like Ilfracombe and these towns up-river here. It is the smaller places that harbour them, where most of the village is involved in the enterprise and where everyone stays silent about it.’

‘Such as where?’

He considered for a moment. ‘Watchet and Minehead in Somerset, then Lynmouth and Combe Martin in the east of this county. Down west there are plenty – Clovelly, Hartland Quay and Bude are the nearer ones. But other marauding ships come from far and wide to prey on merchant vessels using the Severn Sea.’

‘Had you heard anything of the seizing of this particular ship, making for Bristol? What about the cargo? Would that end up somewhere to be sold?’

De Wolfe and Gwyn stood over the man as he thought again. ‘When did this occur?’ he asked.

‘Towards the end of the first week of this month.’

‘Then it certainly wasn’t from Lundy. We had no ships afloat then.’ He thought again. ‘Something comes into my mind … gossip from seamen that came over to Lundy from Combe Martin about then. It wasn’t them, though they’re not averse to taking a small boat or two occasionally. Something in my head, even through the hurt you gave me, Crowner, tells me that Lynmouth may be involved.’

‘Lynmouth? It’s a tiny place. Could they put a big enough vessel to sea?’ asked de Wolfe.

Gwyn wagged his hairy head confidently. ‘A few cottages are enough to raise a crew – ten or twelve men to row and wield swords or pikes. Nowhere is too small for that.’

The coroner looked down again at the prisoner. ‘Tell me more.’

‘I know Lynmouth, I have sailed into there many times.’ He looked sheepishly at his hands. ‘De Marisco has more than once sent certain goods he acquired from other ships into there so that they could be carted to Taunton and Bridgwater for sale, with no questions asked.’

De Wolfe felt that at last he was getting somewhere. ‘So in Lynmouth, can you say who might be responsible for running a galley out of there?’

‘I’m no traitor to my mates, Crowner.’

‘It’s your neck that will be stretched, if that door stays shut.’

This persuasive argument removed any vestiges of loyalty between thieves. ‘I know some names, but not who is the leader – it might be their lord himself, for all I know. But there is Eddida Curt-arm, a strange fellow with short limbs, who is supposed to be a fisherman. Another who works with him is Crannog, a Cornishman, with an accent like your man here.’

Gwyn grunted, unsure whether this was a compliment or an insult.

‘And Adret Picknose, that’s another name I know. Other faces would be familiar, but I cannot put names to them. They certainly have at least one vessel with six pairs of oars in Lynmouth. It is masted, but narrow in the beam. They keep it on the beach around the west side of the river mouth, out of sight as much as is possible.’

A few moments more proved that the man from Lundy had nothing else useful to tell them. True to his promise, de Wolfe told him that he would be quietly released in the morning, as the castle gates were now firmly shut until dawn. In any case, after the buffet on the head he had received, he needed a few more hours to fully recover his senses.

‘The sheriff won’t be happy about you letting him free,’ said Gwyn happily, as they walked back across the bailey. ‘He would have liked someone to string up as a token of his successful exploits.’

‘We won’t tell him, then. Let him think the man remains incarcerated. And if this information about Lynmouth turns out to be true, maybe he will soon have some better villains to hang!’

Early next morning, the billeted knights rose from their pallets around the embers of the fire in the hall and, after seeing to their men and beasts outside, came back to a breakfast served by de Grenville’s servants. De Wolfe related what he had learned from the solitary prisoner taken from Lundy, omitting to mention that the man had slipped away into the morning mists. ‘Now that we are here in the north, it seems obvious that we should see if there is any substance in this tale of pirates working out of Lynmouth,’ he suggested to the sheriff.

Richard de Revelle muttered about a wild-goose chase, but after the fiasco at Lundy, he was easily persuaded that it would save their faces if they achieved something elsewhere. ‘This need not concern you, Sir Roland,’ said the sheriff, to the leader of the Templars. ‘You have no stake in this matter. It concerns local crimes only. Maybe you would wish to travel straight back to Exeter today, and perhaps act as escort to the good Abbot here?’

The senior Templar looked at his two companions and they shook their heads. ‘Thank you, but we can go directly back to London via Taunton, which would take us near your possible nest of pirates. Having come this far, we would like to stay with you – and maybe our swords will be of some help if it comes to another fight like yesterday.’

The Italian priest, hunched at the table in his dark robe, also seemed keen to stay with the Exeter contingent. ‘I will be glad of the company and added protection of these Knights of Christ, as my destination is Winchester. Like them, there is no point in my returning the long way round through Exeter.’

Though their reasons seemed sound, de Wolfe felt instinctively that they still did not trust him to have lost track of Bernardus de Blanchefort, which was so obviously the raison d’être for both parties to be in Devon. He wondered if it was safe for him to keep his rendezvous with Thomas at the bridge in an hour’s time and decided to take precautions in case they set a spy on him.

When he had eaten, he wandered out into the bailey, saying that he wanted to check his horse’s legs before the day’s ride. Finding Gwyn, he went through the motions of examining Odin, whilst he gave his officer instructions. ‘When I go to meet Thomas, follow me at a distance and keep a strict look-out for anyone from our party. It would likely be one of the Templar squires or one of Cosimo’s brutes. Give me a signal if they appear and I’ll keep clear of our clerk and de Blanchefort.’

Soon afterwards, he wandered casually out of the castle gate and strolled up the riverbank to the marketplace, which was busy with early morning traders selling their goods to the folk of Bideford. He kept an eye on Gwyn, who loitered along the water’s edge, then made his way to the bridge. This was a long, rather spidery timber construction. As at Exeter, there were plans to replace it in stone, but nothing had yet been started. He saw two figures, one tall, one short, leaning on the wooden parapet where it abutted the bank. Checking that the distant Gwyn still seemed unconcerned, de Wolfe beckoned them down to the muddy grass on the further side of the abutment. Here they were out of sight of the marketplace and the castle, but he could still see Gwyn by looking under the bridge.

De Blanchefort, in his bulky mantle and large hat, looked anxiously at the coroner. ‘Have you managed to arrange anything yet? It seems impossible to get a passage from this place. They have only coastal vessels berthed here.’

De Wolfe explained the situation and said that they would have to move on to Lynmouth that day. ‘There may be a better chance of a ship straight across to Wales from there. The channel is narrow and several ports lie on the other side where there will certainly be vessels going on to Ireland. And you would be safer there whilst waiting than on this side of the channel where your presence is well known.’

‘And if there is no passage from this Lynmouth?’ persisted Bernardus.

‘Then you will have to make your way back here or to one of the southern ports.’

De Blanchefort still looked unhappy, yet he had no choice but to agree. De Wolfe studied him as Thomas asked about the practicalities of the onward journey. The former Templar looked drawn and haggard, compared with his appearance when he first arrived in Exeter. It seemed that the life of a fugitive was wearing him down and de Wolfe fervently hoped that he could board a ship out of Lynmouth – and out of his life. Bernardus stared under the worn timbers at the marketplace, bustling with people. The stage used for the miracle plays was still there and he pointed at it. ‘Perhaps I should abandon this craven desire to escape and get up there.’

De Wolfe’s eyes followed his finger. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I should mount that platform and tell the people the truth. My life is nothing, but for how long can I carry this burden of the secret? Let me stay and be done with it, Crowner!’

Thomas crossed himself and de Wolfe sighed. ‘We have been through all this before, de Blanchefort. What use would it be for you to speak for five minutes to a few dumb townsfolk, who would understand little and care even less? Before you could explain or impress even that poor audience, you would have half a dozen Templars and a mad abbot leading a troop of soldiers to seize you and silence you for ever. For God’s sake – if you still believe in Him – get yourself somewhere where you can plan in safety, whatever it is you feel obliged to do.’ He grasped the man’s arm and shook it. ‘You know better than I what would happen if either de Ver or Cosimo dragged you away to London or Paris. Is self-destruction what you desire?’

De Blanchefort seemed to sag like a pricked bladder. His hands came up to his face in an agony of indecision. De Wolfe looked at them and prayed that the palms would not end with jagged stabs like de Ridefort’s.

He heard Thomas speaking to him urgently and pulled his mind back to his clerk. ‘Where do we next meet, Crowner, and when?’

‘We leave the castle within the hour and should be at Lynmouth this evening. It is something approaching twenty-five miles distant. Follow well behind us and meet me at Lynton church at noon tomorrow.’

‘I know nothing of these places. How will I find the church?’

‘It’s in the village on the hill above the valley that shelters Lynmouth. But be alert for any signs of the others, though I hope by then all our business will be completed, one way or the other.’

With a last look at de Blanchefort, who was still staring fixedly at the marketplace, de Wolfe shrugged in exasperation and, after checking that the distant Gwyn was still making no warning signs, he climbed the riverbank and made his way back to Bideford Castle.

The party that left Bideford was now smaller, as the hospitable Richard de Grenville and his men remained behind. The sheriff’s expedition was four fewer than when they had left Exeter – two had been left dead on the beach at Lundy and two others, slightly wounded, would remain in Bideford until they were fit to travel home.

With the sheriff and Templars in the vanguard of the column, Cosimo and his silent minions in the centre and Ralph Morin, John and his officer bringing up the rear, they left Bideford by the long bridge and travelled across the well-beaten track to Barnstaple. They did not enter the town, but continued north-east through the wooded valleys then on to the higher, more bare ground sloping up to Exmoor. They passed the villages of Shirwell and Arlington, then crossed the moor to Parracombe, the smell of the sea reaching them as they turned north to Martinhoe. One of Gabriel’s men had been born in this area and was able to guide them as the settlements became sparse on the lonely stretches of heathland.

The journey was a silent one, apart from some gossip between the men-at-arms. The sheriff attempted conversation with Roland de Ver, but their common interests were so few that it petered out before many miles were covered. The abbot appeared to be sunk in contemplation as he trotted his mare, whilst the coroner and his man were so used to long periods of silence when on the move that any talking would seem to them like aimless chatter.

However, every few hours they stopped to rest and refresh themselves from provisions carried in their saddle-pouches and to feed their horses. Here they found their tongues to some extent, again mainly ribald badinage between the soldiers, but also some rather strained conversation between the leaders. As they neared the coast again in the early evening, de Wolfe felt it was time to make some plan of action. When they stopped just outside the tiny village of Martinhoe, just inland from the high cliffs, he broached the matter with Richard de Revelle, who was nominally the leader of the expedition.

‘It will be almost dark by the time we reach Lynmouth, so I suggest we camp overnight somewhere well short of the place where we can remain unseen. Then in the morning we can come upon them unexpectedly to see if there is truly any sign of piracy.’

The sheriff could find no reason to object to this, and Ralph Morin called across to the soldier who knew the area well to ask his advice about a suitable place.

‘Sir, there is a rocky valley further along from here, a mile or so short of Lynton. After dusk, it is unlikely that anyone would come there to discover us, if we camped on the western end of the defile.’

They continued until they reached the edge of the sea, where steep wooded slopes and bare cliffs dropped into the line of surf below. The track wound along the sides of several bays, then climbed up to moorland again and soon entered a trough-like valley, where the grass and bracken were dotted with jagged rocks, which appeared on the skyline like broken teeth. The man-at-arms with local knowledge saluted Ralph and said, ‘Lynton village is at the other end of this coombe, sir. If you wish to stay concealed, I would go no further – and light no fires.’

The constable sent three men back half a mile with the horses so that they could be tethered without fear of their neighing being heard in the nearby village. The rest spent an uncomfortable night wrapped in their cloaks and horse blankets, eating cold food, mainly hunks of meat and dry bread supplied by de Grenville before they left Bideford. At least no rain fell on them, but a mournful breeze whistled up the valley all night.

De Wolfe woke a few times – his body had become used to a bed after his years of tough campaigning and even the pile of dead ferns on which he lay failed to ease the ache in his limbs from the hard ground. The moon sped in and out of scudding clouds and lit up the eerie landscape, the fang-like rocks silhouetted against the sky. For those of a more imaginative turn of mind than John de Wolfe, such as his clerk Thomas, it was a place to conjure up illusions of evil spirits and the unquiet souls of the dead, but no such visions kept de Wolfe awake. He thought only of the soreness of his hips against the turf, and hoped that Thomas had managed to bring the difficult Bernardus along without too many problems.

Grey dawn came at last and everyone stretched, cursed and crawled to their feet to seek the small stream where they could drink and splash water in their eyes to awaken themselves. They ate the remainder of their provisions and the horses were brought back for all to remount and prepare for whatever the day might bring.

‘Abbot, there is no need for you to put yourself at risk any longer,’ said Richard de Revelle, with false solicitude. He was as anxious as the rest to see the last of the strange priest and his taciturn servants. ‘Once we get to the village you could carry on along the well-marked track towards Taunton.’

Cosimo smiled his enigmatic smile. ‘Thank you, Sheriff, but I will wait for my fellow-travellers, the Templars. It will be more reassuring to ride in their company.’

The six men from the Order had already announced steadfastly that they would ride with the law-men into Lynmouth, both from curiosity and a desire to help in keeping the king’s peace. However, de Wolfe still felt that both parties were determined to keep him in view until the bitter end, to make sure that he had not deceived them over the renegade Templar. Again, he decided that he would have to be cautious about meeting Thomas later in the day.

Once they were mounted, Ralph Morin suggested that they make all speed down to the port, to avoid giving any warning that might allow evidence of piracy to be hidden, so they set off at a brisk canter, the rested horses eager and frisky. As they thudded through the small village of Lynton, the villagers gaped open-mouthed at the sight of these troops, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere so early in the morning.

Lynton was perched above a deep glen, which dropped sharply down from Exmoor, the little river Lyn rushing through it. At the end of the village, past the small wooden church that de Wolfe intended to use as his rendezvous with Thomas, the track turned sharply down to the left into the glen and followed the stream as it tumbled towards the sea a quarter of a mile away. The cavalcade slowed as it navigated the steep slope and John found he had to avoid deep ruts if Odin was to keep his footing.

Gwyn, alongside him, pointed down with a finger. ‘Plenty of wheels pass up and down here! Can that all be for fish?’

Within a couple of minutes, they had reached the bottom of the glen, where the track flattened out on to a widening area above the beach, high wooded headlands rising on each side. Before it seeped through the pebbles, the river formed a large pool, filled at every high tide. A few small boats and curraghs lay on its banks, but beyond, on the wide, stony beach, a couple of bigger vessels were awash on the rising tide.

On either side of the track, between the river and the left-hand hill, stood a few small shacks and cottages, mostly of cog or wattle and daub. At the further end, almost on the beach, was a longer building, roofed with flat stones, which appeared to be an alehouse. A few surprised men came out of the buildings at the sound of hoof-beats, and after one look at the mailed soldiers, two turned tail and ran towards the sea. A few women and small children peered from doorways, fearful to come out at the sight of these menacing strangers.

The troop halted outside the tavern and the sheriff sent Gabriel and two men to run after the fleeing villagers.

De Wolfe trotted his horse up to de Revelle and the constable. ‘I think the beach holds the key to this,’ he said, sliding off his horse. ‘We can’t ride on pebbles, so let’s take to our feet.’

Cosimo and his two men stayed well back on their steeds, whilst the rest hurriedly tied their reins to some bushes that lined the bank of the stream. Then, running as fast as their mailed hauberks would allow, they followed Gabriel to the beach, where the muddy earth of the village street merged into the pebbles.

Around the left-hand corner of the valley, the beach widened until it reached a rocky headland further along, and on this extension of the strand, two long, narrow vessels were lying side by side, pulled up high and dry. Each had a series of thole pins for oars fixed in the bulwarks and a short, stubby mast.

‘Galleys, just as that captive said!’ howled Gwyn, as he stumbled over the oval grey stones that formed the beach.

Ahead, more than a score of men streamed out of a long, ramshackle wooden shed built well above the high-water mark at the base of the wooded slope. At the sight of the helmeted soldiers coming towards them, most ran back inside, but a few others sped away towards the steep, tree-covered cliff behind.

‘Into that building, at once!’ yelled the sheriff, who seemed to have gained courage since his escapade on Lundy two days before. Holding up his sword in both hands, he trotted towards it, with the constable and the six Templars in a line on each side of him.

Sure that they were able to look after themselves without further help, de Wolfe diverted, Gwyn close behind him, to look quickly into the two galleys that lay on the beach. The first was empty, having no decking to provide any cover, but when they looked into the second vessel, he saw two men crouching below the gunwales. As soon as they saw that they were discovered, they leapt up with a yell, one brandishing a rusty spear, the other a long dagger.

De Wolfe still had his sword in its sheath and jumped back to gain time to slide it out, but Gwyn, with a chain-mace in his hand, swung it at the spearman and knocked the weapon out of the fellow’s hands as he jabbed with it. The man leapt out of the galley on the other side and ran for the cliff, followed by his accomplice, who did not wait to try his dagger on the coroner.

‘Let them go, Gwyn. We’re missing the party over there.’

They turned and ran towards the wooden building, from which almost a score of men had emerged, all now armed, to face the Templars and the sheriff’s soldiers. There was much yelling and screaming, but within five minutes it was all over. The local bandits were not only outnumbered but had no armour. Three were felled in the first few seconds, the Templar knights and their sergeants standing shoulder to shoulder forming an efficient killing team. Morin and the sheriff wounded two more, who collapsed bleeding on the stones, then chased three more away. The locals, mostly dressed in short seamen’s tunics and worsted breeches, fought valiantly: they knew they were in it to the death, either at the end of a sword or a rope. But their cause was hopeless and, after being gradually forced back and almost encircled by the soldiers, they suddenly broke rank and began to run away, dropping their weapons on the stones.

With no armour or swords to slow them, a couple made it through the closing ring of attackers and joined their comrades at the base of the cliff, where some had already vanished into the trees. The rest were seized by Gabriel’s men and thrown roughly to the pebbles, sword points at their throats or ribs.

The coroner and his officer, distracted by the scuffle at the galleys, arrived too late for any fighting, which the sheriff was quick to notice. ‘Maybe old age is slowing you up, John! Or are you losing your stomach for fighting, these days?’

The remark was too puerile to merit an answer and de Wolfe ignored him, addressing himself to Ralph Morin. ‘Half these rogues have got away across the beach. We should try to catch at least some of them, surely.’

Morin called to Gabriel and some men were sent lumbering across to the cliff to seize some of the fugitives. The soldier who knew the locality panted across to the constable. ‘Sir, they can get back to the village at Lynton up that bank. Shouldn’t we ride up there and catch them at the top?’

‘I’ll do that with a few of your men, Ralph,’ offered the coroner. With Gwyn, he began to trot back to the horses, Sergeant Gabriel and five men-at-arms behind them. But when they reached the alehouse and looked up what passed for the village street, he saw that they had further problems. One of the abbot’s men was hanging off his horse, one foot caught in a stirrup, his body on the ground. An arrow was sticking out of his neck and a large pool of blood was soaking into the soil.

‘Where the hell is Cosimo?’ shouted de Wolfe, staring around. The priest’s horse was still tied to a bush, but the saddle was empty and there was no sign of his other acolyte.

‘In there, Crowner!’ shouted Gabriel, pointing at the low doorway of the alehouse.

Figures were moving inside the dark interior and De Wolfe raced for the entrance, sword in hand and Gwyn at his back. He skidded to a halt on the threshold, looking at the tableau in the bare room. In the further corner, Abbot Cosimo was crouched against the whitewashed wall, kneeling on the earthen floor, whilst immediately in front of him, blood streaming from his left hand, was the second of his bodyguards. He held a sword and was waving it slowly between two ruffians who were crouched in front of him, one with a dagger, the other with an axe.

Only as de Wolfe darkened the doorway, did the two attackers realise his presence. The one with the axe began to turn, but the coroner gave a two-handed swing of his heavy sword, level with the floor, which took half the breeches off the man together with a considerable part of his right buttock. He screamed and dropped to the floor, his blood mingling with that which was running down inside the guard’s sleeve and dripping off his fingers.

The other man turned and jumped with his dagger at Gwyn, who had come in alongside his master. Almost casually, the red-haired giant spitted him with his sword through the centre of his chest, with such force that the point came out under the man’s right shoulder-blade. The guard turned and, with his sound hand, lifted the abbot gently to his feet, without a word to anyone.

‘Thank you, Sir John, that was most timely,’ shrilled Cosimo. ‘With only one arm, I fear that even this man of mine may not have able to protect me much longer.’

‘What happened, Abbot?’

‘We were waiting with the horses when, without warning, an arrow felled one of my men from his horse. The other was struck in the arm, though he plucked it out. When these two appeared, he ran me in here for shelter. But these two swine cornered us – perhaps they thought they could use me as a hostage to bargain for their own safety.’

‘Now that you are safe, I have to go up to the village above – some other villains are escaping,’ explained de Wolfe. ‘The sergeant here will do his best for the wound in your servant’s arm.’

He took with him Gwyn and the soldiers, they found their horses and galloped back up the glen, slowing to a brisk walk on the steepest gradient towards the top. Once on the flat, they stared at the score of crofts that was Lynton, scattered around an open area through which the track passed. There was no sign of anyone, for no doubt the inhabitants were hiding fearfully in their houses.

‘Those cliffs must come up behind the village – in those woods towards the sea,’ said Gwyn. They wheeled round to the right and passed between two huts and their tofts – the gardens and strips of land that made up the personal estate of each occupant. There were no fields on this side of the village, as it was too near the cliffs. Scrub and trees lay behind the dwellings, and spreading out, the riders pressed on as far as they could, until the undergrowth and the steep drop forced them to a halt.

‘There’s one – and another!’ yelled Gwyn, spurring his mare sideways to cut off a man who was crouching in the bushes.

Within minutes, they saw half a dozen figures creeping out of the trees. One was cut down by a soldier, and another was seized by the other men-at-arms, who leaped from their horses and grabbed the fugitive, who was exhausted after his frantic climb up from the beach far below.

Gwyn and de Wolfe pursued another pair, but they vanished between the crofts.

‘We’ve missed a few, damn it,’ snarled de Wolfe. ‘There were more than seven who made a run for that cliff.’

Leaving two of the soldiers to deal with the captives and the corpse, the coroner and his officer rode back into Lynton’s village street, but there was no sign of anyone. They cantered to the far end, almost to the start of the valley of rocks, but the track was deserted.

‘They must be hiding in the houses – maybe their own, for many of those shipmen must live up here. There are too few dwellings down in Lynmouth.’ John was annoyed that they had not been able to account for all the miscreants – it seemed as if most of the men in the two villages were involved in crime, from the way that they had fought or run before even knowing why the sheriff’s expedition had come.

Leaving the other men-at-arms to patrol the village, he and Gwyn rode back down to the port where Richard de Revelle and Ralph Morin, together with the Templars, had rounded up all the prisoners. They were tied hand and foot, sitting in a dejected circle outside the alehouse. A small crowd of women, old men and children had emerged and were wailing and weeping, both for the few dead men laid out on the riverbank and the soon-to-be dead prisoners, whose fate must surely be hanging.

‘What was in that shed on the beach?’ demanded de Wolfe of the sheriff.

‘Goods of all sorts, none of which could possibly be afforded by this miserable vill,’ answered de Revelle complacently. ‘Undoubtedly looted from passing ships – to be carted away to Bridgwater or Taunton or even Bristol to be sold.’

‘I’d better look at it all later, to record it on my rolls,’ muttered de Wolfe. He saw a chance to let Thomas appear without arousing any suspicion. ‘I told my clerk to follow us from Exeter when he could. He had an attack of the bloody flux, but was recovering when we left, so I hope he finds us soon. I could do with his penmanship.’ He looked up at the sky and, though the sun appeared only fitfully, reckoned it was still about four hours to noon, when he had arranged to meet Thomas. ‘What do we need to do here now?’ he asked the constable.

‘I’ll set fires in those two galleys to stop them being used again, though this village will be without many men for a few years to come, if we hang all this lot.’ He indicated the bedraggled prisoners sitting in the mud, but was interrupted by a shout from one of the soldiers, who stood with outstretched arm, pointing at a sea-going knarr that had just appeared close inshore, having come around the eastern headland.

The tide was now just past its top and there was enough water for the knarr to enter the mouth of the little river before it ran aground. The ship-master and one of the crew splashed ashore and came to the village, looking in astonishment at the scene.

The sheriff was suspicious of this new arrival, but it became obvious that a vessel of this type was no pirate and it was soon established that it was the Brendan, out of Bristol, bound for Falmouth. The shipmaster had instructions to call at Lynmouth to pick up ten hogsheads of wine to take onward to Falmouth.

‘Obviously part of a looted cargo,’ snapped the sheriff. ‘Where else would that much wine come from in a place like this?’

The man shrugged, indifferent to the source of the cargo. ‘I do what I’m told,’ he said. ‘I don’t own the vessel, I just sail it.’

‘Well, you’re stuck here until tomorrow’s tide, that’s for sure,’ said Gwyn. ‘Unless you want to leave in the dark tonight.’ Philosophically, the master went back to his vessel to cook, eat and sleep until the morrow, while John decided it would soon be time to try to keep the appointment with his clerk.

Before he went, he became involved in another argument with his brother-in-law over jurisdiction. The sheriff announced that he intended trying the captives at a special Shire Court set up here today and hanging them straight away, but de Wolfe instantly objected.

‘Piracy and murder are pleas of the Crown. They must be arraigned before the king’s justices at the next Eyre of Assize!’

‘Impossible! We are fifty miles from Exeter and it would take almost a week to march these men all the way back. Then they would have to be kept in prison until the judges condescend to come to Devon. God knows when that will be!’

‘The Eyre is due next month, you know that.’

‘They said that last month, but they’ve not been to the city since October. We can’t guard and feed all the rabble in the West Country indefinitely – and the result will be the same. They’ll be hanged.’

They argued back and forth, but de Revelle was adamant. For once, Ralph Morin sided with him, as a matter of practicality, the captives being so far from the only town where the judges would sit. Though the Shire or County Court, run by the sheriff, was normally held in the Moot Hall in Rougemont, there was no legal reason why it could not be held anywhere in the county, as long as the sheriff was present.

Reluctantly, de Wolfe had to agree, mainly because of the geographical problems, but on condition that the details of the accused and their property were recorded by him for forfeiture. This was another reason for having Thomas present, though he could hardly admit to knowing that his clerk was already in the neighbourhood.

The coroner spent more than an hour inspecting the contents of the shed on the beach. It was a veritable treasure house of goods, even though much must have been carted away already for illicit sale in the big towns of Somerset. Bales of silk, rolls of worsted, cheaper russet cloth and hessian were piled on casks of wine. There were small barrels of raisins and other dried fruit from the South of France and even a pile of green cheeses from Mendip. He was not sure if the coroner’s duties ran to making a complete inventory of the looted cargoes, but hoped that they would have time for Thomas to make a list, not least to prevent it being spirited away by the villagers or even the manorial lord. If it could not be recorded, some soldiers must be left behind to guard it until trustworthy bailiffs could be sent from Barnstaple to have it carted out to safety. He doubted that the rightful owners would ever see any returned, but at least it could be sold for the king’s treasury – if the hands of people like the sheriff could be kept off it.

He walked back to the alehouse, guessing that by now it could not be far off noon. Outside were twelve fishermen-turned-buccaneers squatting dejectedly in their bonds, with Morin’s soldiers now searching for more looted goods in the houses and fish-sheds.

De Wolfe walked Odin away unobtrusively, leaving Gwyn to keep an eye on the Templars. He wondered if they still fancied stalking him on suspicion of concealing de Blanchefort somewhere, though with both of Cosimo’s strong-arm men virtually out of action, he felt that the Italian was no longer a threat.

Lynton was still deserted, apart from the three soldiers, who were burying the body of the slain fugitive at the edge of the village. Short of a house-to-house search, which might be necessary later, there was no way of discovering where the men who had escaped from the beach had hidden. De Wolfe thought that they might have taken to the woods or moors, to keep well out of sight until the sheriff’s men had left the district. There was no manor-house anywhere near and he did not know who the local lord was – or whether he knew or cared if his subjects were part-time pirates.

He stopped Odin in the centre of the village to look around and decide what to do next. The church was on his left, a small timber Saxon building. It had no tower and looked little different from a barn, apart from the plain wooden cross nailed to the gable at one end. He sat for a moment in the silent hamlet, looking around him. Then a movement caught his eye further up the track, at the edge of the village. A pony moved out from behind a thicket and he saw that sitting on it side-saddle was Thomas de Peyne, small and black in the threadbare mantle that still gave him the air of a priest.

Cautiously, the clerk trotted down to his master, looking right and left all the time in his usually furtive manner. ‘I said meet at the church!’ snapped the coroner. ‘And where’s the Templar?’

Thomas glanced apprehensively at the nearby building. ‘There are men in there – I looked just now and they all shouted at me to get out.’

Light dawned on de Wolfe. Now he knew what had happened to the escaped Lynmouth men. ‘Are they claiming sanctuary?’ he demanded.

Thomas gulped. ‘I didn’t wait to ask them, but certainly they were rough men in rough clothing. I doubt they were there for their devotions.’

The coroner stared up the road again. ‘What have you done with de Blanchefort?’

‘I hid him in a small wood, just off the road outside the village. After finding those men, I thought it better to leave him there until I had seen you.’

John nodded his agreement. ‘This may be to our advantage, but he must keep out of sight, at least until tonight. Has he some food with him?’

‘Not much, but enough to survive a day.’

‘As an old Templar, he should be used to roughing it. Now, ride up and tell him that he must stay there until dusk, when we will fetch him. Then come back. There is work for you down below.’

As the clerk hurried away, de Wolfe dismounted and tied Odin to the rough gate in the thorn hedge around the churchyard. He walked through the circle of yew trees and pushed open the church door. Immediately there was a scuffle at the far end and five men crowded together to put a hand on the altar, a plain table with a tin cross and two candlesticks. The rest of the building was empty, the narrow window openings throwing a dim light on to the bare floor of beaten earth. They watched with apprehension as the menacing figure stalked up the nave towards them, a tall, dark, hunched figure in an armoured jerkin and metal helmet, with a huge sword swinging from his baldric.

‘We claim sanctuary!’ shouted one tremulously, and the cry was taken up by the others, as they shrank back from the approaching apparition.

‘Sanctuary! Sanctuary!’

The coroner stopped a few yards away to study them. Three were fairly young, another middle-aged and the last was a short, misshapen figure, with a large head and short arms and legs. De Wolfe remembered the captive from Lundy mentioning the name Eddida Curt-arm, which would fit this one very well.

‘I am Sir John de Wolfe, the king’s crowner,’ he boomed, in a voice that instantly silenced their cries. ‘I respect sanctuary and, indeed, if you persist in claiming it, you will need me to save your necks, as all your accomplices look as if they will hang today.’

He looked at the group, all dressed much the same in tattered, faded fisherman’s tunics and short breeches. All except the dwarf had tangled hair and bushy beards and moustaches.

He was round-faced, with a high forehead, his little eyes glinting with a cunning that de Wolfe marked down as dangerous. ‘What do we do now, Crowner? Surely we have forty days’ grace?’ asked Eddida.

The coroner stood, arms folded, glaring at the men. ‘First, you are murderous scum, and if you had not gained the safety of this consecrated place, you would be hanged like the rest. But now you have several choices. You can give yourselves up to the sheriff and stand trial today down in Lynmouth. Or you can stay here for forty days, when you will be fed by your village folk, who must guard against your escape on pain of heavy amercements. At the end of the forty days, if you have not confessed your guilt and agreed to abjure the realm of England, you will be shut up in here without food or water and allowed to die. If you try to escape from here, you are deemed outlaw and any man can cut off your head without penalty. Finally, at any time from this moment forth, you can confess to me and abjure the realm.’

After this long speech, he stepped back a pace and waited as they murmured amongst themselves. As they did so, Thomas came in through the door and rather nervously came to the coroner, jerkily bending his knee to the altar and making numerous signs of the Cross. ‘Bernardus will stay where he is until tonight,’ he murmured, looking apprehensively at the gang of rough-looking men clustered around the altar. Then their spokesman, Eddida, broke away and came to the single step that separated the rudimentary chancel from the body of the church. ‘We will all confess and abjure, Crowner.’

‘Then I will return later today. You are safe both here and in the churchyard – there’s no need for you to clutch at that altar. There will be soldiers at the gate to prevent your escape.’ He turned and walked towards the door, calling over his shoulder, ‘You should get outside and cut some wood from the yews. You’ll each need a rough cross to carry, and I’ll see if I can find sackcloth robes for you.’ With that he shooed Thomas out of the church and slammed the door behind him.