A Plague of Heretics (41 page)

By the time he finished his morning oatmeal gruel, Thomas appeared in a highly agitated state, as by now everyone in Exeter knew of Matilda’s death. He was almost beside himself with concern and fear for his master’s welfare, as already rumours were circulating that the coroner himself was a suspect.

‘And I’ll wager I can guess who is promoting that notion,’ growled Gwyn. ‘I’ll wring the swine’s neck myself if he causes you serious trouble, Crowner!’

Together, the three set off for Rougemont, after John had arranged with Andrew for one of his ostlers to ride to Stoke-in-Teignhead with a hasty note which Thomas had penned for him. His sister Evelyn could read fairly well, as she had spent time in a nunnery when young. In the note, John explained what had happened and expressed his sincere hope that William was improving. He also asked that a message be sent to Hilda, explaining his inability to visit any of them for the time being.

Up at the castle, John went straight to see Henry de Furnellis, who confirmed that a soldier had already left on their swiftest horse to bring Nicholas de Arundell back to Exeter.

‘Is there any news of Richard de Revelle yet?’ demanded John. ‘No doubt he’ll be abroad soon to make as much trouble as he can.’

The sheriff shook his head. ‘Not a sign of him here, but Sergeant Gabriel says the porter on the South Gate saw him riding out with a servant as soon as it was opened at dawn.’

‘He’s up to something,’ growled Gwyn. ‘He’ll not just ride away and lose an opportunity like this.’

The sheriff agreed. ‘He can’t be going to his manor at Tiverton. He’d have used the East Gate for that.’

It was afternoon before they discovered where the

former sheriff had been.

The sheriff was being too optimistic when he expected Sir Nicholas de Arundell to arrive by noon. Though the messenger he sent at dawn to the manor near Totnes went as fast as his good rounsey could take him, de Arundell was not at home. He was out supervising his men assarting the edge of the woodlands, and it took an hour to find him and to persuade him to come to Exeter to resume his former duties as a coroner. His reluctance was all the more stubborn when he discovered that he was expected to hold an inquest on the wife of the existing coroner, a man for whom he had the greatest respect, as well as gratitude for past help. Being told that John de Wolfe was also the prime suspect was even worse, but eventually, when his literate steward read out the letter penned by Henry de Furnellis’s clerk, he felt obliged to comply with what was essentially the king’s command, conveyed through the sheriff.

By the time he reached Exeter, it was well past the middle of the afternoon. He met de Furnellis, and they went to the house in Martin’s Lane for his obligatory viewing of the scene and of Matilda’s body, a task for which he had the greatest distaste.

His examination was cursory, just a glance to identify the deceased and a quick confirmation of the bruises on her throat, which by now had become more prominent, as commonly happened after death.

‘What about the viewing by the jury?’ he wanted to know. ‘Surely we cannot make the poor lady suffer the indignity of being pushed up to the castle on a handcart!’

De Furnellis had already pondered on this, as Rougemont was the obvious place for the inquest. The Guildhall was the only other venue large enough, but he had no jurisdiction over the burgesses and portreeves, who jealously guarded their independence.

‘We must use Rougemont, and Matilda can be laid out decently there in the garrison chapel,’ announced Henry. ‘I’ll arrange for a closed wagon to take the body up there straight away.’

To allow time for this and to provide Nicholas de Arundell with some food and drink after his hard ride from Totnes, the sheriff took him to the New Inn in the High Street for the better part of an hour.

When they eventually reached the castle, a considerable crowd had gathered around the gatehouse and quite a number had already pushed their way inside. As an inquest was a public affair, they had every right to be there, but the sheriff drew the line at letting a mob into the hall. He had decided to use the inner ward and had soldiers bring out a chair for the coroner and some benches for the senior officials and clerks.

Gwyn and Thomas de Peyne had come up from the Bush with John de Wolfe, but due to the late arrival of de Arundell they had been cooling their heels in John’s chamber, high in the gatehouse. De Wolfe was in an icy mood, tense and internally seething with anger at the mischief that Richard de Revelle was causing – but he acknowledged the need for an inquest and a proper disposal of his wife’s body. The fact that she was irrevocably dead and gone had still not fully sunk into his mind, and he seemed to be gliding along on some superficial plane of consciousness. However, he was still able to worry about the condition of his brother and whether his family and Hilda had had the message explaining his absence.

When they went down to the inner ward for the impending inquest, Thomas flatly refused to act as clerk in a case where his master was being suggested as the culprit, but he hovered behind one of the sheriff’s clerks to make sure that he wrote down an accurate record.

As the main players assembled, Nicholas de Arundell hastened to de Wolfe’s side, where he stood brooding at the edge of the twenty people marshalled as a jury.

‘Sir John, this is a terrible tragedy,’ he said solicitously. ‘When you aided me in my predicament last year, not only you showed me kindness, but your wife was also very supportive to mine.’

Nicholas was a tall, fair man, an ex-Crusader like John, but some years younger. Now obviously embarrassed by the role he was being forced into playing, he tried to excuse himself to John, but de Wolfe set his mind at rest.

‘I know how difficult this must be for you, but there is no one else to turn to. You at least had a few months’ experience of a coroner’s duties, and I am sure you will act with honour and fairness.’

Reluctantly, the country knight moved to his place before the crowd, fervently wishing himself back at his manor and his agricultural pursuits. He sat in the only chair, which had been placed in the centre facing the jury, and on each side the benches were occupied by Ralph Morin, the castle constable, the two portreeves, Archdeacon John de Alençon and the sheriff himself. As Gwyn had also gruffly declared himself unavailable, his role as coroner’s officer was taken by Gabriel, the sergeant of the castle garrison, who called the inquest to order and declared it in session.

The crowd, which now numbered at least a hundred, fell silent. The whole assembly made a strange tableau in the inner ward, surrounded by high castellated walls of red sandstone, which gave Rougemont its name. Uneasily, Nicholas de Arundell got to his feet and began the preamble, confirming that they were there to enquire into the death of Lady Matilda de Wolfe. He was just starting to charge the jury with their duty to discover ‘where, when and by what means’ the lady came to her death, when there was a disturbance at the gatehouse end of the courtyard. A crowd of more timid onlookers was scattered as four horsemen clattered through the entrance arch, the leader shouting as he came.

‘Stop these proceedings!’ he yelled. ‘They are outwith the law!’

He reined in at the edge of the crowd and slid from his saddle, one of his companions doing the same. He stalked forward, pushing through the onlookers, and advanced to face the row of benches. The sheriff leaped to his feet, his old face red with anger.

‘De Revelle! What in Christ’s name do you think you’re doing? Get out of the way, blast you!’

Nicholas, who had been another adversary of Richard in the past, also advanced on him.

‘Have you not already caused enough trouble in this county?’ he demanded angrily. ‘What mischief have you dreamed up this time?’

De Revelle, his dandified clothes dusty from hard riding, stood his ground. ‘This so-called inquest is invalid! You are not a coroner, you cannot officiate here!’

‘He is here at my invitation and, indeed, my direction, as I am the king’s representative,’ yelled the sheriff.

‘He is no longer a coroner and does not now hold the king’s writ,’ retorted Richard. ‘Nor has his appointment been ratified by the county court, as is necessary.’

His voice had the smug satisfaction of one who knows he has the weight of the law behind his argument.

‘So what do you suggest we do?’ snapped de Furnellis angrily. ‘Just bury the poor lady without any enquiry?’

For answer, Richard stood aside and with a sweep of his hand indicated the man who had accompanied him. ‘This is a genuine coroner, Aubrey de Courtenay, appointed by the king and confirmed by a county court. He holds the jurisdiction of West Dorset and will officiate at this inquest!’

De Courtenay stepped forward and saluted the sheriff with a hand across his breast. He was a short, pigeon-chested man with a florid face and a big nose. Under his heavy riding cloak, a dull brown surcoat could be seen and on his head was a woollen cap with a large tassel hanging at one side.

‘Sir Richard has summoned me from my home at Lyme for this purpose. He is correct in saying that in these circumstances only another coroner can officiate.’

A few yards away, John de Wolfe viewed this interruption with consternation. It now came back to him that this de Courtenay was a distant relative of Richard’s wife Eleanor, who was connected to the powerful Courtenay family. The former sheriff had obviously seized the opportunity to obtain someone who might be persuaded to be partisan in this affair.

Henry de Furnellis began to argue with de Revelle and the new arrival, denying both the need and the legitimacy of changing coroners in midstream, but they would have none of it.

‘Everyone here is biased in favour of John de Wolfe,’ shouted Richard, sweeping an arm around to encompass the seated worthies. ‘If you insist on continuing with this farce, I will take this matter to the royal judges, the Justiciar and the king himself!’

Aubrey de Courtenay also weighed in with his own insistence on taking over the proceedings, on pain of bringing everyone before the king’s justices at the earliest opportunity. Their demands might have been rejected, but Nicholas de Arundell suddenly capitulated.

‘I cannot continue in these circumstances,’ he announced in a tone that allowed no argument. ‘It is quite true that I am no longer a coroner. Neither am I sufficiently versed in the law and the practice of that office to stand in the way of an accredited man.’ Suiting his words with his actions, he walked to the end of the line and stood alongside John de Wolfe, muttering his apologies to him.

Henry de Furnellis made one last stand against this conspiracy. ‘Why have you thought fit to interfere in this matter, de Revelle?’ he snapped. ‘What business is it of yours how justice is administered in this county? You took little interest in it during the short time you were sheriff – from which post we all know you were dismissed for malpractice!’

Richard’s skin was as thick as one of Hannibal’s elephants and he ignored the jibe. ‘Because it is my only sister who lies so brutally murdered!’ he retorted. ‘And I will not stand idly by while the killer is standing there, absolved by all of you, who are John de Wolfe’s friends!’

The sheriff still struggled manfully against the inevitable. ‘You have no right to prejudge the issue before a single word of testimony is heard!’ he shouted. ‘De Wolfe has every right to challenge you for defaming him!’

‘Then he may have to do it from inside a prison cell while he awaits the gallows!’ screeched Richard, by now so carried away that he was careless of what slander he uttered.

The stocky coroner from Dorset became impatient. ‘Am I or am I not going to hold this inquest?’ he asked plaintively. He stepped forward and sat himself in the chair that Nicholas had vacated so abruptly. ‘Let us hear what the jury has to say on the matter.’

Though juries in the countryside were supposed to be composed of all the adult men from the four nearest villages, this was often patently impossible, and in towns even less practicable, so anything from a dozen to a score were usually empanelled.

The idea was to include all those who might know something useful about the event, so in addition to being the jurymen who delivered a verdict, they were also the actual witnesses.

Somewhat to his surprise, John realised that he was also one of the jury, being the person who had first found the body.

The new coroner called for evidence of identity, but before John de Wolfe could step forward, Richard had virtually hopped in front of him.

‘She is my sister, Matilda, a lady of good Norman stock, in her forty-sixth year,’ he exclaimed.

By the time he had uttered the words, John had marched across from where he stood on the end of the line and pushed his brother-in-law out of the way with a thrust of his shoulder. There was a gasp from the crowd, as many half-expected him to strike de Revelle a hammer blow with his fist.

‘I am Sir John de Wolfe, and Matilda was my wife,’ he glowered. ‘A husband undoubtedly takes precedence over a mere relative when it comes to identification. Yes, she was of Norman blood, so there is no question of presenting Englishry.’

De Courtenay nodded his agreement. ‘Let the clerk so record that fact. I will leave the matter of a murdrum fine to the royal judges when the case is presented to them in due course.’