The Poisoned Chalice (39 page)

Reginald de Courcy sat his horse and watched the diminishing vessel with mixed feelings. ‘Much as I should regret the escape of a cunning felon, I have to say that I must give him some thanks for ridding the world of that evil bastard who caused the death of my daughter,' he said, half to himself.

Alongside him, Hugh Ferrars, sober for once, muttered a grudging agreement. ‘Maybe he did us a service, though I would liked to have run Fitzosbern through in combat, after the swine was brought to justice.'

As they sat staring downstream, the sky darkening perceptibly as the huge black cloud-bank moved menacingly further south, a new voice was heard coming towards them.

From across the track to the village street came a tall figure, the bottom of his hooded cloak whipping around his legs in the wind as he walked across to them from his house. It was Joseph of Topsham, who had just been told of their arrival. ‘In the name of the Holy Mother, what's going on?' he cried, as he went to the coroner's stirrup.

John explained what had happened, and that they had been trying to arrest Eric Picot, Joseph's friend and partner. The coroner had a fleeting suspicion that the old merchant might have been a party to the crime, but dismissed it rapidly, knowing of Joseph's piety and straight-dealing.

The old trader was ashen-faced with shock and disbelief. He grasped the edge of John's saddle and hung on to support himself, almost in tears. ‘I can't believe it! He came this morning, he had arranged days ago to take passage on my
Saint Non
, leaving on this tide. He said he wanted to take Mabel over to meet his family at his vineyard in the Loire – his sister was coming to chaperone them.'

John looked down-river again and at the distant white blur that was the vessel. ‘It looks as if he's had his wish, Joseph.'

They waited another half-hour until the sails of the
Saint Non
were only occasionally visible between the squalls of sleet and rain that hurtled down the Exe valley with increasing fury.

‘No chance at all of Ralph Morin getting anywhere within hailing distance of her now,' declared Gwyn, with some self-satisfaction at having his nautical prophesies vindicated.

John stared into the distance until his eyes hurt, his hawk-like head poked forward under his hood as if to gain even a few inches on the fleeing ship. ‘I wish I had some magic device for looking through to see things nearer,' he fantasised. ‘Then I could see Picot's face over the stern of that boat to see if he is regretful, or triumphant at giving us the slip.' He sighed and swung Bran around to follow the others as they thrust their way through the gale back to Exeter, the wind stinging their eyes until their noses ran.

That night, the worst storm for forty years swept Normandy and the West Country, tearing off a thousand roofs and bringing down the tower of St Clement's church in Exeter.

Next day, both shores of the Channel were littered with the planks of wrecked ships and the corpses of their mariners.

¹
Now called Kent's Cavern.

 

¹
Gwent

 

¹
Now Preston Street.

 

¹
Now Gandy Lane

 

¹
Yet one of the provisions of Magna Carta, more than a decade later, was that sheriffs and coroners should not try Pleas of the Crown.