Figure of Hate (16 page)

John grinned and Gwyn added his belly-laugh to the jeers of derision from the crowd, but suddenly the coroner felt an urgent tugging at his sleeve.

'That's one of the bastards, I'm sure,' hissed Terrus.

He half hid behind de Wolfe as he covertly pointed across the front of the platform at the crowd clustered on the other side. 'That thick set fellow with the leather cape!'

John saw a heavily built man of about thirty with a narrow rim of mousy beard running around his face, which bore a surly expression, even though he was watching the hilarious fiasco on the stage. His clothing was plain but of fair quality, a short, tightly belted tunic under a black shoulder cape that had a dagged lower edge and a pointed hood hanging behind his thick neck. To the coroner, he looked like a retainer in a household, either a bailiff or a manor-reeve.

'Are you sure? No sign of the other one?' Terrus scanned the crowd almost fearfully, painfully reminded of the beating he had already suffered, then shook his head. 'No, just that one. But I'm certain it's him, even his garments are the same.'

'Right, you stay here until we call you.' He nudged Gwyn and together they walked behind the crowd to reach the other side of the stage where the man stood.

They moved into position, one on either side of him.

'We want a word with you, fellow.'

Surprised, the man turned around, his square face creased into a scowl. He had short, bristly hair the same colour as his beard, and his small dark eyes were deeply set under heavy brows.

'And who the hell might you be?' he rasped, showing a set of uneven brown teeth.

'The King's coroner - and this is my officer. Come over here where we can talk.' John waved a hand at an empty booth a few yards away, where there was no one to overhear them.

The man's scowl deepened. 'I'm coming nowhere! State your business here.'

For reply, Gwyn grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind his back, shoving him across the lane to the place his master had indicated. Though the man was burly and tough looking, he was no match for the Cornishman's strength and, cursing and wriggling, he was propelled under the striped awning of the deserted booth.

The coroner regarded him coldly. 'You can talk here - or in the gaol in Rougemont, it's your choice.'
 

'Holy Mary, what's the world coming to that a man can't watch a mystery play without being set upon by law officers?' he seethed, but John noticed a shifty look in his eyes which might suggest a lurking anxiety. Gwyn loosened his grip, but watched for any signs of escape.

'What's your name and where are you from?' was de Wolfe's first demand.

'It's none of your bloody business, but I'm Robert Longus, an armourer.' There were many such men about the town this week - they came either as freelances or as retainers to their knights, attending to the weapons and armour used in the tournament.

'Where are you from, armourer?' asked Gwyn gruffly.

'Again, it's not your concern, but I come from near Tiverton. What in hell is all this about?'

For reply, John beckoned to Terrus, and hesitantly the man approached, but stopped a few feet away from them, out of range of Robert's fist.

'This man claims you were one of pair who attacked him and killed his partner near Topsham on Monday morning,' snapped the coroner. 'Do you deny it?' The upshot of his reply, peppered with oaths as foul as any that the two hardened campaigners had heard in two decades of soldiering, was to the effect that it was pack of lies and that he had never been near Topsham in his life.

John turned to the silversmith, who was cringing like a rabbit before a ferret. 'What do you say to that, Terrus?' he demanded.

'It's him, I'm certain of it!' babbled the man. 'I'll remember his face for the rest of my life.' He dodged behind Gwyn's large bulk as Robert Longus made a sudden movement towards him, but the Cornishman held out a hand the size of a salted ham to hold him back.

'Calm down, fellow! Just pay attention to the coroner.'

'So where were you early on Monday?' demanded de Wolfe. Something about this man didn't ring true, for all his protestations.

'I was working for my master and minding my own damned business!' cried Robert furiously. 'Ask him yourself, if you don't believe me.'

'We'll do just that, Longus. Where can we find him?' The armourer hesitated for a moment. 'He should be at his lodging, no doubt breaking his fast at this hour.' It was late for most people's morning meal, but that was no concern of de Wolfe.

'Where's he staying? We'll go there now and settle this once and for all.'

Robert grudgingly told them that it was in High Street, and they set off up to the East Gate, which was the nearest entrance into the city from where they were.

With Terrus following reluctantly behind, keeping his distance, they marched off, John and Gwyn staying close behind the man, to see that he didn't give them the slip. Once through the gate, de Wolfe was somewhat surprised to see the armourer making for the left side of the street, where the New Inn was situated. This was the largest and most expensive of the hostelries in Exeter, where the judges and other visiting dignitaries stayed.

'Who is your master, anyway?' John called out to the fellow's back.

'There he is - you can ask him yourself!' retorted Robert, rudely. He pointed to two figures standing outside the door of the inn, wearing riding cloaks and seemingly waiting for an ostler to bring their horses around from the yard at the back.

'It's that bastard Peverel!' muttered Gwyn in surprise. 'Who's that with him?'

'His younger brother, by the looks of it,' replied de Wolfe bitterly. With so much to do today, the last thing he needed was another quarrel with Hugo. Robert Longus had put on a spurt and hurried ahead. By the time the coroner and his officer caught up with him, he had managed a few gabbled words to the Peverels.

Hugo scowled when he saw John approaching.

'Are you intent on persecuting me, de Wolfe? You've caused me trouble enough these past two days!'
 

The coroner ignored his words. 'Does this man belong to your manor?'

'He does indeed! Robert Longus is my armourer and a very good one at that. What concern is that of yours?'

His tone was as abrasive as he could make it, almost a snarl to denote his contempt of de Wolfe's meddling in his affairs.

'My concern is that he is accused of assault, robbery and possibly murder.'

Hugo glowered at the coroner, then turned to the younger man, who could only be his brother.

'Ralph, see how I am treated by these Exeter people! They lose no opportunity to persecute me with trumped-up charges, anything to discomfit me.' His brother shrugged but made no reply, and John gained the feeling that little love was lost between the two men. Ralph was a younger version of Hugo, probably in his late twenties, thought John. He had the same set to his features, but a less aggressive expression.

'There's no persecution, Peverel,' snapped John. 'Until this moment, I had no idea that this man was in your employ. Just give me a straight answer. He says you can vouch for his whereabouts early on Monday morning, when I have been told he was some miles away, perpetrating robbery with violence.'

As Hugo glared back, an ostler appeared, leading two horses by their bridles. 'I've no time to bandy words with you, Coroner. But if it gets you out of my hair, then yes, of course Robert was with me on Monday morning. We were preparing my equipment for the tourney. So you can forget any malicious nonsense about him being elsewhere.'

He reached up for the pommel of his saddle and swung himself up on to the beast's back, his brother doing the same behind him.

'Now I'm going home and am glad to be shaking the dust of this miserable city from my feet. I've met with nothing but insolence and antagonism ever since I arrived.'

He snatched up the reins, but at a sign from John, Gwyn grabbed the bit-ring and pulled the horse's head down to stop it moving on.

'That's not good enough, Peverel!' snapped the coroner. 'I am holding an inquest this morning into the death of a silversmith and I need the attendance of anyone who can offer any evidence on the matter.' For a moment, it looked as if the inflamed Hugo was going to give Gwyn's hand a crack with the riding staff that he held in his hand, but he restrained himself.

'That's no concern of mine! I've never heard of this dead man and have not the slightest interest in your problems.'

'Then your armourer here must attend. He has been accused of being involved in the death and needs to defend himself,' snapped de Wolfe.

'Indeed he will not' shouted the manor-lord. 'I need him at home. Robert, get back to your lodgings, fetch your horse and follow us. We'll wait for you at St Sidwells.'

With that, he wrenched his steed's head away from Gwyn's grasp and, touching its belly with his spurs, jerked it away from the inn, his brother following impassively behind. On foot, there was nothing John could do to detain them and, glowering with frustration, he watched them trot away towards the East Gate.

Then he swung round to Robert Longus, who was sidling away in the opposite direction.

'Hey, you! Don't you dare try to make off or I'll have you in shackles in the castle gaol.'

Gwyn strode after him and seized him by the shoulder.

'You'll be up at the Shire Hall in two hours' rime, understand?' continued John. 'If you're not there, I'll have you attached and arrested, even if I have to come to Sampford Peverel to do it myself!'

The Shire Hall was an austere stone box on the left side of the inner ward in Rougemont. A virtually empty shell, its architecture was similar to that of a barn, a single large chamber with an earthen floor, entered by a high arched doorway that could have admitted a haycart. The rough roof beams supported a covering of stone tiles, and the only furnishings on a low wooden platform facing the entrance were a couple of trestle tables, a few benches and some stools.

For all its unprepossessing appearance, it was an important place, and one in frequent use, not only for the fortnightly Shire Court, but for meetings of freeholders to conduct county business and for the periodic visits of the King's judges and Commissioners for the Eyres and Gaol Delivery. Coroner's inquests were often held there, as well as other functions to do with the forest law, frankpledge and many other legal, political and administrative meetings.

Today, John had little expectation of making much progress with his inquiry, but the formality had to be gone through, so that the corpse could be released for burial. When he went across to the hall from his chamber, he found that Gwyn had marshalled the reluctant jurymen into a straggling line below the dais, where Thomas was already sitting at a table with his pen, ink and parchment at the ready. To one side of the jury stood an elderly man and two youths, together with a middle-aged woman, who was quietly weeping into her hands. De Wolfe assumed that these were a brother, two sons and the leman of the silversmith, who Gwyn had said had travelled from Totnes to collect the deceased. In spite of John's threats, there was no sign of the armourer Robert Longus, and the coroner vowed to make him pay dearly for his flaunting of the law.

When two men-at-arms had dragged in a handcart on which the body lay shrouded under a sack, they were ready to start, and John pulled a stool to the edge of the platform and sat down while Gwyn bellowed out the customary opening call.

'Oyez, oyez, all persons having anything to do before the King's coroner for the county touching the death of August Scrope, draw near and give your attendance.'

As the dozen men were already drawn as near as they wished to be to the now foul-smelling cadaver, this produced no response, and the coroner went straight into the proceedings. He briefly described the circumstances of the death, then called forward the 'first finders', the two men from the quay-side. Haltingly, they described how they found the body in the river, which caused the men of the family to mutter angrily and the mistress to snuffle more heart-rendingly.

Then Alfred, the second silversmith, stated that his master and Terrus had left Exeter early on Monday morning to deliver expensive silverware to a client in Topsham and had not returned as they had promised.

Terrus himself then came forward and displayed his injuries and related how he and his master had been attacked by two mounted men. He failed to recall what had happened to August Scrope, as he himself had been knocked unconscious, his wits not returning until he found himself in St James' Priory.

'But do you recollect the faces of the men who assaulted you?' demanded de Wolfe, leaning forward on his stool. The craftsman nodded vigorously.

'That I do, Crowner - at least, one of them! He was the man I pointed out to you in the fair this morning.' John straightened up and directed his voice at the family members, as well as the jury. 'He was a fellow from Sampford Peverel, who calls himself Robert Longus. I warned him to attend this inquest but he has defaulted, and I therefore attach him in the sum of five marks to attend either a resumed inquest or the next county court. If he fails to appear then, he will be arrested or, failing that, attached to appear before the King's justices or his commissioners when they next visit Exeter.'