The Noble Outlaw

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Nicholas returned to the bosom of his family in Raden Lane with great rejoicing, his wife being overjoyed to have him free of the furtive constraints that had required him to skulk into the city in disguise. One of her first tasks was to take him to buy some decent clothes and boots, in place of the worn and dirty raiment he had had on the moor. Her cousin generously gave them both money and two good-quality cloaks that had belonged to her late husband. De Arundell walked with his wife through the crowded streets in a state of nervous awe, hardly able to believe that at any moment he would not feel the heavy hand of arrest on his shoulder.

'We owe everything to Sir John de Wolfe,' said Joan as they walked back towards her cousin s house, the old servant Maurice walking behind them, carrying their purchases from the Serge Market and several shops in High Street.

'Indeed we do, but be cautious, sweet wife,' answered Nicholas. 'Our troubles are not yet over, for we have to see what comes from the deliberations of Walter de Ralegh next week — and to be sure that King Richard has confirmed the Justiciar's promises. I doubt those swine down in the west will give in without a fight.'

'You fought them once and won, husband,' protested Joan loyally.

'I will meet any man in a contest of arms — but those bastards Pomeroy and de Revelle have influential friends and are expert in manipulating the law to their advantage.'

Joan refused to allow her husband's caution to dampen her joy at having him back, and when they returned again to Raden Lane she was able to share her delight with her friend Matilda de Wolfe. The coroner's wife had heard from her husband that Nicholas had returned with him from the moor, and she had hastened to Gillian le Bret's dwelling to offer her felicitations. She was eager to cast her eyes on de Arundell's romantic figure, as he had been by turns a knight, a manor lord, a Crusader, and then a hunted outlaw.

Nicholas welcomed her graciously as the woman who was the wife of his saviour John de Wolfe, as well as someone who had befriended Joan in spite of being the sister of one of the villains. Matilda was instantly charmed by this handsome man, and her resolve to side with John against her brother's cupidity was strengthened on the spot.

'Lady Matilda has been very kind to me, Nicholas,' declared Joan, as they settled around the hearth in Gillian's hall. Over pastries and wine, they discussed the future, and Matilda, a different woman when away from her husband, was encouraging about the outcome.

'My husband, the king's coroner, is very influential,' she affirmed grandly. 'He is acquainted with many powerful people — and indeed the king himself is by no means unaware of his worth, for John was a member of his personal guard when Richard returned from the Holy Land.'

She avoided mentioning that her husband had been unable to prevent the monarch from being captured in Vienna on that ill-fated journey.

'It's not the worth of your John that worries me, good lady,' responded Nicholas. 'But that other John, Count of Mortain, who may well use his considerable influence to confound the good that your husband has already achieved.'

Gillian le Bret broke in reassuringly. 'Sir Walter de Ralegh is originally a local man, albeit one who has risen high in the chambers of power,' she said. 'He knows the politics of the West Country very well and is a strong character, faithful to King Richard. He is unlikely to be intimidated by the barons and bishops who are beholden to Prince John's ambitions.'

Matilda held her tongue about the fact that it was Walter who had officially ejected her brother from the office of sheriff and had sworn in his successor, Henry de Furnellis. Although she was now firmly against Richard over his part in the seizure of de Arundell's manor, there was a limit to how much she was willing to acknowledge publicly concerning his treachery.

'We can only wait and pray until next week, when the king's judges will hear the matter,' said Joan practically. 'I am sure they will uphold justice and undo the wrong that has been visited upon us. My only wish is to get back to our home in Hempston and live quietly, to pick up the broken threads of my life!'

Matilda laid a comforting hand on the younger woman's shoulder.

'Amen to that,' she said piously. 'I'll add my prayers to yours, twice each day until Walter de Ralegh arrives.'

'We know now that it was definitely this Geoffrey Trove who is the culprit, but where the hell is he?' De Wolfe sounded more aggrieved than angry as he took the stripped bone of a sheep's shank from his platter and dropped it on to the rushes for the expectant Brutus.

'Perhaps he's already in hell, if he was as sick as that ironmaster suggested,' grunted Gwyn from the other side of the table.

'He might have left the city altogether,' said Nesta 'The fact that he's vanished surely means that he knows he's been marked down as the killer. Wouldn't he want to get as far as possible away from Exeter?'

It was evening, and John was supplementing his supper at home with some extra sustenance at the Bush, with Gwyn enthusiastically following his example. That afternoon, the big Cornishman had returned to Exe Island with Osric, and between them they had kicked down the door of Geoffrey's hut. Amongst the sparse furnishings was a workbench, on which was an iron frame about the size of a quart pot, containing a powerful spring device. It was obviously the machine that had discharged the bolt that had injured the guild master in Rock Lane. Gwyn had brought the strange weapon down to the tavern, where they studied it with interest.

'Evil as he must be, he is a clever fellow and a very good craftsman,' said John, peering appreciatively at the fine workmanship of the mechanism.

'Is that blood on one corner?' observed Nesta, whose younger eyes were the keenest. She pointed to a sharp edge where the end of the strong laminated spring projected beyond the square casing. Gwyn spat on his forefinger and rubbed it on the brown stain. It came away reddened and he nodded in satisfaction.

'Can't be the victim's blood, he was yards away when this thing was fired. So it must have come from the bastard who made it.'

'But where is he?' repeated de Wolfe once more.

Having tracked down the identity of the killer, he was now mortified not to be able to lay hands on him. If he had seized him, he could have dragged him before Walter de Ralegh when he held his special court in a few days' time. Geoffrey Trove could have been tried and sentenced without further delay, so that the evil fellow could have been hanged straightaway, relieving the minds of all the other guild officers who had been in fear of their own lives these past few weeks.

Nesta signalled to old Edwin to refill their ale pots, then slipped her arm through John's, as they sat side by side on the bench near the hearth.

'What's the connection between this Trove bastard and Hempston Arundell?' asked Gwyn. 'It must have been him who so foully attacked your wife, Crowner. But what did he mean about it being justice for Hempston or whatever he said?'

De Wolfe frowned as he did when in deep thought.

'He must have been one of those men that left the manor when de Arundell was evicted, then left the outlaw band some time ago. They said one was a freeman blacksmith, which is a bit unusual, but I can't recall what they said his name was. He must have combined getting even with the men who ejected his master-piece with wanting to scare de Revelle and Pomeroy.'

Nesta clutched at his arm. 'Do you think he's still plotting to do some harm to your brother-in-law and that pig of a man down in Berry?'

'He's hardly in a position to do much, is he? He's on the run, he must guess by now that we know who he is. I reckon he'll make tracks for some distant part of England, or even try to take ship across the channel.'

Gwyn shook his head, his wild locks bouncing. 'He could still slip a blade between Richard's ribs one dark night — with a bit of luck,' he added impishly.

Usually, when the royal justices or the Commissioners of Gaol Delivery arrived in the city, there was a considerable amount of pomp and ceremony. They were invariably met on the high road outside Exeter by the sheriff, coroner and portreeves, who escorted them into the city with a score of mounted men-at-arms led by the castle constable.

However, about noon on the following Monday, a small group of horsemen trotted in without the usual pageant.

These were two noblemen with a couple of clerks and a few armed servants, who made their way to the New Inn, the city's largest hostelry, which lay in High Street towards the East Gate. This was the usual lodging for judges, and as soon as the sheriff and coroner heard that Sir Walter de Ralegh had arrived, they hurried down to greet them.

Walter was a tall, grizzled man in his sixties, still with a strong Devon accent that betrayed his origins, having been born near East Budleigh, a village near the coast less than a dozen miles from Exeter. De Ralegh had risen high in the service of the king, both the old Henry and now the Lionheart. He was a senior justice and a man respected both for his forthright views and for his honesty, a rare quality in the corridors of power. Being a local man, he was often chosen by the Chief Justiciar to deal with problems in the West Country, and he had several times been involved with John de Wolfe in such matters.

The sheriff, coroner and judges now sat in a private parlour of the New Inn, Walter with his riding boots off to ease his feet after the ride from Honiton, where they had stayed the previous night on their journey down from Winchester. He introduced his companion judge, who was a former Commissioner who had recently been elevated to the Eyre circuit. This was Reginald de Bohun, a baron from the Welsh Marches who owned manors between Hereford and Shrewsbury, as well as estates in the north. He was a great-nephew of the great Humphrey de Bohun, Steward of England. Younger than Walter, de Bohun was about de Wolfe's age, of average height, with dark brown hair cut in the typical Norman manner, a dense cap left above a closely shaven neck. He spoke only when he had something useful to say, but John felt he was a man who decided matters on the facts, rather than on emotions or the convenience of the situation.

Walter de Ralegh, a blunter and more outspoken character than de Bohun stretched out his legs with a groan as he reached for a jug of cider on the table. 'I'm getting too old for all this hacking around the countryside,' he complained. 'This is the second time this year Hubert has sent me down here to deal with Richard bloody Revelle. Unless we can hang him out of the way, I might as well come back to Devon to live. It would save my arse from wearing out in the saddle.'

Hubert Walter, who had sent the pair of justices down to Exeter, had outlined the problem to them, but now John and the sheriff repeated it and filled in the details of the seizure of Hempston Arundell by the two miscreants.

'And this occurred while Nicholas de Arundell was away at the Crusades?' asked de Bohun.

'It did indeed, which makes it such a despicable trick,' growled de Wolfe. 'De la Pomeroy convinced his poor wife that some mythical man returning from the Holy Land had reported that her husband had perished.'

'And then he and de Revelle claimed that on the death of the freeholder, the manor reverted to the Crown,' added de Furneilis. 'But as Prince John had been granted all of Devon and Cornwall by the king, it actually escheated to him.'

'Who then conveniently passed it over to his favourites,' completed John. 'Pomeroy claimed that he was to get the actual land in fee simple and that de Revelle would share the rents and income with him equally.'

'All based on the basic lie that the manor lord was dead,' grunted de Ralegh.

'Did the wife accept this tale?' asked Reginald de Bohun.

John shrugged. 'It seems so, though her steward told me that she was so distraught by the reports of his death that she was in no fit state to fight back, other than to deny the claim and look to her servants to help her.'

De Bohun looked across at his judicial colleague. 'I think for the sake of fairness, we should not try this case behind closed doors like this,' he said firmly. 'Let us wait and hear what the various parties have to say about it on Wednesday.'

The enquiry into the annexation of Hempston Arundell was not a trial in the same sense as the Eyre of Assize or the Commissioner's hearings, for there was no jury, as the two royal justices would be the sole arbiters of the matter. The proceedings were heard in public in the same Shire Hall that saw so many other legal events, such as the county courts, the burgess courts, inquests and the Eyres and Gaol Delivery themselves. Even though the matter was serious and, given the rank of the disputants, might even have political significance, it attracted little public interest. However, a few spectators assembled on the hard-packed earth of the floor to listen to what was being said on the low platform at the end of the hail.

The sheriff's messengers had previously warned Richard de Revelle and Henry de la Pomeroy of the date of the judge's arrival, and had commanded them in the king's name to present themselves on pain of heavy amercements if they failed to show up. The two defiant defendants duly appeared with a retinue of supporters, including their bailiffs, stewards and reeves.

In deference to their rank, these main players were not obliged to stand in the body of the court with the common witnesses, but were provided with a couple of tables and some benches, set on one side of the dais.

On the other side, a similar trestle was placed for Nicholas de Arundell and his wife Joan, with her cousin Gillian le Bret as a chaperone. There were further tables at the back for the clerks, who were drawn from the sheriff's staff and the pair who had accompanied the judges. For once, there was no need for Thomas de Peyne to be sitting up there with quill and ink, but he stood with Gwyn and the coroner behind the clerks, listening to the proceedings.

In the centre, seats had been brought for the two judges. These were high-backed chairs, borrowed from the sheriffs quarters in the keep, and they were flanked by a more modest pair for the sheriff and a priest, who sat one on each side of the justices. As always, the Church insisted on being present, especially as this case might concern a wrong done to a man on Crusade.

Partly at de Wolfe's instigation, the priest was John de Alencon, Archdeacon of Exeter. Though he would play no role in the judgement, he was a firm supporter of the king and a covert antagonist of the Count of Mortain.

At the eighth hour of the morning, the cast of this impending drama assembled, with all of Nicholas's former outlaws standing uneasily below the dais, a row of men-at-arms behind them to separate them from the onlookers. Sergeant Gabriel patrolled the hall, loping around to make sure there was no disturbance, and he in turn was watched from the wide doorway by the massive figure of the castle constable, Ralph Morin, his forked beard jutting out like the prow of a ship.

On the platform, Richard de Revelle, dandified in a bright blue tunic covered with a fur-lined pelisse of red wool, nervously settled himself behind the table, with a more soberly dressed Henry de la Pomeroy scowling on his right hand. Between them was a stranger, a man of about thirty with a smooth, olive face. He was dressed in a plain black tunic and had a clerk's tonsure and a small silver cross hanging from a chain around his neck, suggesting that he was a priest of some kind. Lying before him was a roll of parchment and a large book.

Behind them stood bailiff Coffin of Berry Pomeroy and the steward from de Revelle's manor, together with two of their reeves. Nicholas was similarly supported by his steward Robert Hereward, and the reeve Martin Wimund.

At a signal from the constable, there was a discordant blast on a trumpet wielded by one of Rougemont's soldiers. Gabriel marched towards the platform ahead of the Archdeacon, who had entered the hall followed by the two royal judges, with the sheriff bringing up the rear. As everyone stood in deference, the royal judge climbed the step to the dais and stood before their chairs while John de Alencon delivered a short prayer, calling down the wisdom of God to help them arrive at a just verdict that day.

As soon as everyone had sat down and shuffled themselves into place, Sir Walter de Ralegh lost no time in getting down to business.

'Let this issue be put before us without delay!' He leaned forward and spoke in a loud, authoritative voice in a tone that indicated that he was in time no mood for prevarication. 'The king's officer in this county of Devon, Sir Henry de Furnellis, will state the nature of the dispute and call witnesses as to the facts.' The grey-haired sheriff climbed to his feet, but before he could open his mouth, the sleek cleric who sat next to Richard de Revelle also rose.

'My lords, I wish to submit that these proceedings cannot proceed, as it would be unlawful so to do.' Walter de Ralegh turned to glare at the interruption.

His eyesight not being what it was, he peered aggressively at the defendants' table.

'Who the hell are you, sir?' he demanded.

'I am Joscelin de Sucote, my lord. A clerk and lawyer, presently chaplain to Prince John, Count of Mortain, at his court in Gloucester.'

Walter squinted again to get the man into sharper focus. 'Oh, it's you again, is it? What the devil do you want here?' He turned to his fellow judge and muttered audibly, 'It's that damned lawyer of John's, who tried to interfere when I kicked de Revelle out of office.' Joscelin was unperturbed by the jibe. 'I have been assigned by the Count to assist his tenants-in-chief, as the prince himself has a considerable interest in the ownership of the disputed lands.'

Walter scowled at the self-assured man whose manner verged on the patronising. 'I'm not sure that I need to hear anything from you. You have no official standing in this court.'

De Sucote waved a hand airily. 'On the contrary, my lord, at their specific request, I am the legal representative of both Sir Richard de Revelle and Sir Henry de la Pomeroy and thus am fully entitled to speak on their behalf.'

De Ralegh glowered at Joscelin, whose Levantine appearance suggested that in spite of his French name, he came from the southern part of France and possibly had Moorish ancestry. 'Have they suddenly lost the power of speech, that they need you to try to explain their actions?' he bellowed.

Reginald de Bohun discreetly touched his arm. 'It would be best to let him have his say. He is entitled, if he really is acting for these men.'

The senior justice muttered under his breath, but waved a hand reluctantly at Joscelin. 'Say your piece then and get it over with.'

The lawyer leaned on his table with one hand and waved the other towards the group of men standing below him in the hall.

'These are outlaws, as is their leader over there!' He pointed a finger at Nicholas de Arundell sitting opposite.

'They were properly declared exigent by a previous sheriff, and as such have no rights whatsoever to bring a legal suit. In the eyes of the law, they do not even exist and by rights should be executed forthwith, as my clients here recently attempted to do on behalf of the people of this county.'

A buzz of concern went around the court and the former fugitives from Dartmoor looked about them in alarm, afraid that they had been betrayed by the promise of amnesty.

'Sit down, de Sucote or whatever your name is,' bellowed Walter de Ralegh. 'You are totally misinformed and are wasting the time of this court. Sir Nicholas and his men have been granted a free pardon by the king — not that they should have been branded as outlaws in the first place.'

Unabashed, Joscelin remained standing and again addressed the justices in a tone of polite insolence.

'I beg leave to dispute that fact, my lord. As I understand it, the so-called pardon was given by Hubert Walter, not Richard Plantagenet.'

Walter rose to his feet and angrily pointed a quivering finger at the lawyer-priest. 'You are becoming insufferable, sir! Firstly, the Chief Justiciar has been given authority by our blessed monarch to act in his name in all judicial functions and therefore his actions in this matter are the king's actions. Secondly, despatches that arrived at Southampton three days ago from the court at Rouen contained specific confirmation by King Richard of the Justiciar's action. So sit down and shut up, unless you have anything useful to say.' Even the arrogant clerk hesitated to continue his defiance of the fiery old warrior, though he would have liked proof of the king's confirmation of Arundell's pardon. A quick calculation in his mind told him that it was just possible for a reply to have arrived from Normandy in the time since the Justiciar had lifted the sentence of outlawry. Though it was not the sailing season in the Channel, vital despatches continued to pass in each direction throughout the year, and with favourable winds the crossing could be made in one day.

Reluctantly, he subsided to his bench, his first attempt at defence having failed.

The sheriff then outlined the circumstances of the dispute, from the alleged reports of the death of Nicholas to the riot at Hempston Arundell and the banishment of Nicholas and his men.

Reginald de Bohun began with a very pertinent question to Henry de la Pomeroy.

'Tell me how you heard that de Arundell had been killed in Palestine. Can you prove that you had such a message?'

Henry flushed and looked to de Revelle and his steward for help. 'It was common knowledge, I can't recall where and when I heard it. No doubt my manor officials will confirm that.'

'No doubt they would, but common knowledge is hardly proof,' said de Bohun sarcastically. 'You seem to have no name or details of the mysterious monk who brought news of this supposed death. Have you any evidence to persuade me that this was anything other than a convenient rumour?'

Pomeroy evidently did not, and after getting no help from de Revelle he sat down in confusion, still muttering about 'common knowledge'.

Nicholas then stood to state emphatically that he had not suffered so much as a slight wound during his two years' campaigning in Sicily, Cyprus and the Holy Land, let alone been in danger of being reported dead. The questioning went on for another hour, the two judges relentlessly picking at every item, in spite of Joscelin de Sucote's efforts to bolster the meagre facts and to challenge the judges' right to ask certain questions.

Joan then stepped forward to relate how the two manor lords had arrived on her doorstep with a troop of retainers and armed men, to inform her that her husband was dead and that the manor now escheated to Prince John, as he had previously been granted the whole of the two western counties by his royal brother.

In the court she stood alongside her husband, neat and demure in a blue gown under a heavy woollen cloak, and spoke in a clear voice that rang out over the hushed court.

'These men said that the prince had given Hempston into their care and that I was to move out within three days. I protested loud and long, but with no husband to turn to, nor any relatives closer than Trefry in Cornwall, I was helpless. My steward, faithful Robert Hereward who sits here, did all he could, but they beat him and turned him out of his dwelling.' There were vociferous denials from the defendants' bench, but Hereward, the reeve Martin Wimund and Philip Girard all vehemently confirmed their mistress's account.

The story moved on to the return of Nicholas from Outremer, to find his wife gone and a strange steward installed in the hall of his manor house. The altercation that ensued then was the most controversial part of the evidence, as the riot that broke out when Nicholas's old servants joined him in attempting to evict the intruders had led to the death of one of Pomeroy's men.

'I submit that these soon-to-be outlaws set upon the legitimate servants of the manor and sorely assaulted them,' brayed the lawyer Joscelin. 'They murdered one man and seriously injured others. They fled, realising the enormity of their crime, and when they failed to appear to answer for it at four sessions of the county court, they were quite properly outlawed.' A red-faced and choleric Henry de la Pomeroy jumped up to confirm this, though de Revelle sat strangely quiet, nods of assent seeming to be the most that he would contribute to his defence.

'But I understand that within an hour of the return of Sir Nicholas, a force of armed men arrived from nearby Berry Pomeroy, bent on ejecting them from the manor,' cut in de Bohun, seizing the weak point of the denials. 'Surely they must have been the greater force, and the returning Crusader with only the support of a few old manor servants would have little chance against them?

For another hour and more, accusations and counterclaims were bandied back and forth, with Walter de Ralegh forcefully keeping the parties to the relevant issues and Reginald de Bohun more quietly interjecting questions and comments which went to the heart of the matter.

Finally they came to the day of the attack on Challacombe and the fiasco at Grimspound. Here the suave voice of de Sucote laid great emphasis on the killing of the two men from Berry Pomeroy by Nicholas's archers, calling it 'yet more murders which should be punished by hanging'.

Walter de Ralegh dryly observed that when a much greater force turns up fully armed, those attacked must surely be entitled to defend themselves to the best of their ability. Pomeroy and de Revelle, together with their advocate, made great play of the claim that they were doing a public service by marching against outlaws in order to slay them and legitimately rid the Devon countryside of evil thieves and robbers.

'Again, very convenient timing,' observed de Bohun with scarcely veiled sarcasm. Having just heard that Sir John de Wolfe, the king's coroner, was riding to London to seek the intervention of the Justiciar, you suddenly decided to rid the high moor of men who had already been there for well over two years.'

The deaths of the soldiers at Grimspound was balanced by statements not only from Nicholas and his men, but also from de Wolfe, to the effect that an old woman, Gunilda Hemforde, had died in the attack and was found hastily buried in the yard at Challacombe. Strident denials of her murder were made by the defendants, but eventually some admissions were made by Pomeroy's men of some rough handling of the lady in an effort to get her to reveal the whereabouts of the outlaws.

Noon was approaching by the time all the evidence and disputation was completed. More citizens had drifted in by now, as news had percolated through the streets that a right royal row was brewing in the castle — a couple of score spectators were now packing in behind the half-circle of soldiers.

Finally, the two justices turned to each other and spent ten minutes in a head-to-head discussion, speaking in low voices that even the sheriff and the archdeacon could not discern. The murmur of conversation in the Shire Hall was muted as the two judges eventually broke apart and Walter de Ralegh stood up in front of his chair, a tall and forbidding figure. His head moved slowly from side to side as he spoke first towards the defendants' table, then at Nicholas de Arundell, the plaintiff.

'This issue perplexes my brother lord and myself, but it must be resolved,' he began in his deep, uncompromising voice. 'The fault is undoubtedly mainly on the side of those two manor lords Henry de la Pomeroy and Richard de Revelle, who have acted shamefully in this matter.'

There was a gush of protest from Joscelin de Sucote at this defamation of his clients, but Walter waved him back into his seat with a peremptory wave of his hand.

'To take advantage of a lady whose courageous husband was absent both on the king's business in Sicily and Cyprus and especially on the Holy Crusade, was despicable. We consider that using the patently fictitious excuse that her husband had died was a cruel falsehood based on an alleged rumour, probably circulated by the defendants themselves.'

He turned to John de Alencon, who sat next to him.

'Archdeacon, I understand that the Church has particular strictures against those who take advantage of absent Crusaders?'

De Ralegh knew this perfectly well, but wanted it voiced from an ecclesiastical throat. De Alencon was happy to oblige.

'Indeed it does. Rome is firm upon the issue, even up to withdrawal of communion from those who offend.'

'Then that may be a matter for your own consistory courts to pursue — but as far as we are concerned today, we have to make judgement on earthly grounds. There is another who bears responsibility for some of the wrongdoing, and that is John, Count of Mortain. The fact that his chaplain is here today shows that he is well aware of what has transpired. Whether he knew of it at the time, I cannot tell, but this allegation that the manor of Hempston was forfeit to him on the alleged death of its lord is a total fabrication. If it escheated to anyone, it would have been to the king.' He ignored another babble of protest from the table on his right.

'However, on the other side of the coin, there is no doubt that an affray took place when Sir Nicholas discovered that he and his family had been evicted. Whatever the truth of the matter, a man died from a blow on the head during the melee — though one might say that such a violent reaction was justified in the circumstances.' He paused and looked grimly around the court, reminding Gwyn of his own master at inquests.

'There is also the matter of the deaths at Grimspound. Again, de Arundell and his men were chased from their refuge, which was then burned to the ground — and a defenceless old woman ended up dead, in somewhat doubtful circumstances. They were then pursued by a much larger force under Pomeroy and de Revelle — and who can blame them for resisting to the best of their ability in order to save their lives, though this also ended in further killing?'

John de Wolfe, who had been inwardly rejoicing at the judges' partiality for de Arundell up to this point, suddenly had an inkling that it was not going to be a resounding verdict in his favour. What was the crafty old devil working up to, he wondered? The coroner stared at the judge's back, waiting anxiously for his next words.

'Our first Norman monarch, William of Falaise, encouraged the employment of various ordeals as a means of settling legal disputes. These ancient rites are meant to call upon the aid of the Almighty in determining who is right and who is wrong.' Walter laid a hand on the shoulder of the archdeacon and looked down at him. 'I am well aware that recently, Rome has become less than enthusiastic about the employment of such tests, and indeed I hear that there are calls for the Holy Father to ban them.'

He stared around again. 'But I believe that there is still merit in the ordeal — and what is more important, so do the people of England, who are firmly attached to them as a means of seeking justice.'

'Is the old bugger going to get Richard and Pomeroy to dip their arms into molten lead?' asked Gwyn in a hoarse whisper. 'Or run barefoot across nine red-hot ploughshares?'

De Wolfe shook his head, still intent on listening to Walter de Ralegh, for he now thought he could see where the man's mind was leading him.

'My brother justice and I have decided that this dispute must be settled once and for all, so that no one can then complain that favouritism or political interference tilted the verdict — for the aid of God himself is to be sought, which no man can question.'

The silence in the hall was almost palpable, as every ear strained to know what was going to happen.

'We decree that this dispute is narrowed down to the ownership of the manor of Hempston Arundell, the other issues of improper outlawry and the deaths of persons during armed combat being dismissed inasmuch as they are not contentious between the parties.' The heavy features of de Ralegh were turned first towards the table where de Arundell sat, hardly daring to draw breath — then across to de Revelle and Henry Pomeroy, who sat uneasily awaiting whatever was in store for them.

'We further declare that this single issue be resolved by the Ordeal of Battle, where Nicholas de Arundell will engage in combat with Henry de la Pomeroy and Richard de Revelle in succession. If he is vanquished by either, then the manor of Hempston is lost to him.' There was a shocked silence, then a hubbub broke out, both on the dais and down in the body of the court. Joan de Arundell screamed and threw her arms around her husband, howling that this was just a stratagem to have him killed. Nicholas, however, gently disengaged himself, as Gillian hastened to comfort her cousin.

He stood up, and in a loud voice accepted the challenge with all his heart, confident that right would be on his side.

On the defendants' table, Joscelin de Sucote rose to his feet and began making protests, but de Wolfe suspected that his heart was not in it — the judgement did not affect him personally, and if these Devon barbarians wanted to hack each other to pieces, then let them get on with it, he had done his best for them.

Alongside him, the barbarians in question showed very different reactions to Walter's decision. The burly, pugnacious Henry de la Pomeroy, who had fought in several campaigns and was fond of jousting and hunting, was confident that he could more than hold his own against the slighter Nicholas de Arundell, as long as there were no bowmen in the offing. Richard de Revelle, on the other hand, looked pale and shocked, his hand nervously caressing his pointed beard. De Wolfe saw him tugging at Joscelin's sleeve and gabbling urgently at him, which merely provoked the lawyer into repeated shakings of the head, as he presumably told Richard that there was nothing he could do at that point to reverse the decision of the judges.

As the chatter and catcalls from the floor grew louder, Ralph Morin signalled to Sergeant Gabriel to restore order. With stentorian shouts, buffets across the head and a few blows from their cudgels, the garrison soldiers soon calmed the audience down, allowing Walter de Ralegh to finish announcing the details of the trial by battle.

'As the disputants are all of noble birth, they shall fight with the short sword, rather than with the half-staff of the commoner,' he declared. 'Sir Nicholas, as one man against two, will have the choice as to who shall face him first. If he triumphs at the first bout, there will be an hour's respite for recovery before the second contest.' John, though worried at the outcome of this affair, grinned to himself as he saw his brother-in-law's face blanch at the prospect of facing de Arundell, whether it be at the first or second bout. But Henry de la Pomeroy was a different matter, thought de Wolfe uneasily.

'I must go up to Raden Lane and offer some comfort to Lady Joan,' fretted Matilda over the dinner table a short while later. John felt like telling her to stop fussing and to mind her own business, but he wisely held his tongue. He knew that she was well-meaning and also that she was worried herself, as her own brother, who until recently she had idolised, was going to be on the receiving end of a sword wielded by a hardened campaigner who had had his physical skills honed by a couple of years' hard living on Dartmoor.

He did his best to reassure her about the outcome.

'This need not be a fight to the death, Matilda. This has been boiled down to a dispute over land and they are not going to hang the losing survivor. A disabling strike with the sword — or a submission if one man is being soundly defeated, will suffice to satisfy honour.'

He did not add that there was nothing to stop one combatant killing the other if he could — and by the angry look in de la Pomeroy's eye, it seemed he would be happy to spill Nicholas's life blood all over the ground.

'When is this barbaric ritual to take place?' demanded his wife.

'The first contest will be at the eighth hour tomorrow morning, in the inner ward of Rougemont,' explained John. 'The second will be an hour later, the actual time depending on how long the first one lasts. Usually, few continue for more than a couple of hours, unless the pair are evenly matched in skill.'

His wife clucked her tongue and bemoaned the bloodthirsty tastes of bestial men, compared to the gentler sensibilities of her own sex. 'If Sir Nicholas perishes, that poor wife of his will be devastated,' she said with genuine concern.

'If he is defeated, he loses his home and his land and everything that goes with it,' pointed out de Wolfe. 'He would be destitute, yet another landless, penurious knight let loose upon the country. He might as well go back to being an outlaw on the moor, thanks to your brother and his grasping friend from Berry Castle.' For once, his wife had no caustic answer to throw back in his face.

That afternoon, John and his officer and clerk went back to the coroner's chamber in the gatehouse to refresh themselves with bread, cheese and ale — though Thomas drank cider, for which he now grudgingly admitted he was getting a taste. The little priest pulled his quills and parchment towards him, ready to start writing duplicate copies of inquests, but the other two seemed in a talkative mood, wanting to pick over the significance of the proceedings that morning.

'I had hoped old Walter and this new judge would have just hanged those two sods — or at least banished them from the realm or imposed a massive fine that would cripple them,' growled Gwyn, from his usual seat on the window ledge.

De Wolfe, sitting behind his trestle table, shook his head. 'They have too many powerful friends for that, Gwyn. John de Alencon told me afterwards that, on reflection, he felt it was unwise of him to suggest that the bastards could be excommunicated for cheating a man on Crusade, as the bishop is well known as a strong supporter of Prince John and will probably have strong words to say to the archdeacon when he hears about it. And you saw how the prince sent his clever lawyer down to aid them.'

'But what does this strange verdict of Ordeal by Battle mean, Crowner?' asked Thomas, his sharp nose almost twitching with interest. 'What on earth can that achieve?'

The coroner rasped a hand across his stubble thoughtfully. 'It was a clever move, assuming Nicholas wins. It would show that God as well as the king's justices agree that de Arundell was the wronged party, though that seems bloody obvious to everyone. But at least, by invoking the Almighty, it would prevent those who support the prince from claiming that the result was rigged by the Justiciar and his justices.'

'And if he loses?' grunted the Cornishman.

De Wolfe shrugged. 'Political expediency, it's called. Hubert Walter certainly wants Nicholas to triumph and to see de Revelle's nose rubbed in the dirt once again — but if it fails, then he can say that it shows that he was impartial.'

'Will he win, master?' asked Thomas. 'It doesn't seem fair, asking one man to fight two opponents.'

'Some of these ruffians who turn approver have to fight up to five of their accomplices to save their necks,' replied Gwyn. 'As long as there's a decent interval between bouts to allow them to recover, I don't see it makes much difference.'

De Wolfe went back to answer Thomas's first question. 'Who will win? I hope to God that Nicholas can vanquish Henry de la Pomeroy, who is a hard bastard and well used to fighting. De Revelle is a chicken-hearted coward and should be no problem, though I hope Nicholas doesn't kill him, as Matilda will blame me for the rest of my life.'

Gwyn swallowed the rest of his quart with a gurgling noise like a barrel being emptied. Wiping his moustache with an upward sweep of his hand, he became inquisitive.

'I've seen many of these trials by combat, but I still don't understand why bashing your opponent's head with a staff or skewering him on a sword should be a means of solving a legal dispute.'

Their clerk, a fount of knowledge on so many matters, was eager to show off his erudition. 'As the judge said, it's an ancient ritual, though new minds at the Vatican are becoming impatient with what they see as pagan magic, even though Almighty God is invoked.'

'How ancient?' asked de Wolfe, also curious about this odd practice, even though everyone was familiar with it as a part of English legal procedure.

'Ordeals of fire and water go back to ancient times, even in far-off places in the East, but as for the Ordeal of Battle, as the justice said, William of Normandy brought it to England at the time of the Conquest,' explained Thomas. 'But it was originally a German invention or even possibly developed by the pagans in the Northlands.'

Gwyn scratched his crotch vigorously. 'Wherever it came from, let's hope our man Nicholas has the stronger arm tomorrow, after all the effort we've made to help him.'

'Amen to that,' said Thomas, crossing himself devoutly.