Figure of Hate (29 page)

'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.'