Figure of Hate Page 14

  Opposite the green, he passed one dwelling whose end wall had fallen down, as the clay, straw and dung plastered on to panels woven from hazel withies had dissolved from rain streaming down from the decayed thatch above. Sitting outside on a large stone was the only man in sight, an old fellow who had suffered a stroke the previous year and could now only drag himself along on one good leg, using a crutch made from a branch. He lived with his daughter, who eked out a living for them by growing and collecting herbs and plants to make medicine for the villagers.

  'God be with you, Adam!' called the bailiff. 'You saw no sign of our lord Hugo last night, I suppose?' The cripple had been inside until now, lying on the heap of dried ferns that served him as a bed, so none of the searchers had yet spoken to him. He raised the arm that was not paralysed and beckoned the bailiff to come closer. When he approached, the old man made some gargling noises from a mouth that was sagging at one side, spittle dribbling as he tried to make himself understood. Leaning over the tattered fence of sticks that kept a pair of goats from wandering, Walter managed to make out what Adam was telling him. It was that late the previous evening, he had come outside to empty his bladder for the night and had seen Hugo Peverel staggering down the lane, dragging a girl by the hand. Adam seemed to find this no surprise, having rived for sixty-eight years in Sampford and seen a succession of Peverels seducing the village maidens.

  'Did you see where he went?' asked Walter, not really expecting any useful reply. Adam muttered something about moonlight-and raised his good hand to point unsteadily across the road at some cottages and other rickety buildings along the opposite edge of the village green.

  'Across there, towards the ox byres,' he spluttered.

  Walter left him with a word of thanks and ambled across the track that was Sampford's main street.

  Between the widely spaced cottages there were a couple of large shelters where the plough teams of oxen were stabled in the winter, though at this time of year they were grazing out on the meadows, waiting for the men to start work after the manor leet.

  The stables had already been searched, but to humour old Adam the bailiff decided to have another look. He walked up to the sheds, which were little more than sloping roofs of old thatch supported on poles, .

  with hurdles of woven branches forming the walls.

  As he went into the gap that served as the entrance of the first stable, his lethargy was brought to an abrupt end by a piercing scream from inside. A woman he recognised as the wife of the mole-catcher was standing at the other end, alongside a hurdle that held back a high stack of winter fodder for the oxen. She had an armful of loose hay, which she dropped as he ran forward, holding her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.

  'God's teeth, Gertrude, what's the matter with you?' he shouted.

  Tremulously, she pointed over the hurdle. 'I was taking a bit of hay for my conies - only a handful,' she gabbled defensively. Walter knew that she kept rabbits penned in her garden for food and stole a little hay to bed and feed them, as did many other cottars. He peered over the panel of twigs and his pulse began to race as he saw a booted foot and most of a leg sticking out from under the pile of fodder. Gertrude, a heavily built matron with a bad turn in her eye, came nervously up behind him to look over his shoulder.

  'I lifted a bit of hay and there it was, sticking out from under the rick.'

  She pointed a wavering finger at the tight yellow hose that covered the leg like a second skin. With an oath, Walter Hog dragged back a hurdle and bent over the limb, hurriedly pulling away handfuls of the sweet smelling hay. More fell down from above as he burrowed at the pile, and with another curse he seized larger armfuls and tossed them aside to clear a space over the body. He needed to expose it only up to the waist before he knew it was his lord and master, as he recognised the good-quality hose and the finely embroidered hem of the green tunic that came to the knees.

  'Run, woman, go and tell the reeve, the steward anyone! Go to the leet if you see no one on the road .... tell them the lord is found, though I fear he's dead!'

  Gertrude picked up the hem of her shabby kirtle and hurried off, forgetting to pick up her scavenged hay on the way. Left alone, the bailiff, sweating with excitement and a little apprehension, decided to drag the body out, as the more he threw the fodder aside, the more cascaded down from above, the stack being well over head height. Walter had realised immediately that the body was a corpse and not just a drunken man, as his first touch on the man's calf told him it was cold and stiff.

  He cleared the other foot and pulled on them both, the body sliding back easily on a layer of hay on the earthen floor. It was face down, and as soon as it was free the bailiff saw that in the middle of the back the tunic was saturated with a wide dark red circle of blood, in the centre of which were several small tears.

  Walter rocked back on his heels, shocked and bewildered - trying to take in the fact that his master had been stabbed to death.

  Chapter Six

  In which Crowner John rides to Sampford Peverel

  Any thought of the usual noonday dinner was abandoned in the confusion that followed. The manor court had been cancelled halfway through and no work was being done in the fields or village, apart from seeing to the livestock. Virtually all one hundred and fifty inhabitants were standing around in groups, gathered at their garden gates, outside the alehouse or in the road to discuss the event which had fallen like a thunderbolt out of the blue. Some were even in the church, praying, not so much for the soul of Hugo but for salvation for the village in yet another time of crisis.

  It was not just a topic for wonder and gossip, but a cause of real concern about their future. They had already suffered one upheaval this year, when William Peverel had been killed at the tourney, followed by the dispute about his successor. Now it had happened again, and the villagers were wondering who would lead them into the coming winter. An uncaring or inefficient lord could mean life or death for some, if the economy of the manor was not well run. There was always a thin line between survival and starvation in a bad season such as this one, and though a good steward and bailiff were vital, the real responsibility lay with the manor-lord. Some were muttering quietly under their breath that they were not all that unhappy that the unpopular Hugo was no more, but would his successor be any improvement? Some wished Odo would take over, as he should have done by right of primogeniture, but most assumed that Ralph would now become lord, as Joel was surely too young.

  But at midday all this was academic as far as the freemen and bondsmen out in the lanes were concerned. What mattered was what was being said in the hall of the manor house, where the whole family and the senior servants were assembling. The three surviving brothers were sitting on stools and benches around one of the bare tables, and another dozen men were standing around in front of them. The low buzz of conversation was stilled as feet were heard on the stone staircase, and the male Peverels came to their feet as the dowager and the new widow entered the hall, followed by their handmaidens, who were dabbing at their eyes, more from a cautious sense of duty than sorrow. The bereaved ladies themselves showed no sign of grief, but rather a fretful anger at the disruption to their comfortable routine.

  Odo came forward and held out his hand to courteously escort the ladies towards the only three chairs that the hall possessed. Brusquely, Ralph pushed in front of him and, with a sweep of his hand, invited them to be seated. The action was not lost on those present, who saw this as the first arrow-shot in the next battle for supremacy.

  The Peverel ladies, Avelina and Beatrice, sat down, and their maids fussed around, arranging the skirts of their mistresses' kirtles and adjusting the fur-edged pelisses over their shoulders, for the day was cool and the fire in the hall did little to assuage the draughts coming through the window slits.

  'This is an unhappy day for us all - indeed, an unhappy year!' said Odo sonorously. He was attempting to retrieve the initiative as the men sat down again at the table, with the ladies at
one end, their handmaidens standing behind them. Odo, at thirty-seven, was the eldest of the late William's sons, and alone among them was not a tournament addict, being more interested in estate management and getting the best from the manor lands. It had therefore been all the more galling - indeed, humiliating - for him to be deprived of the inheritance the previous April. He was a tall, gangling man, less thickset than his father and brothers, but with the same straight Peverel nose and russet hair. The thin lips of a rather weak mouth were always turned down at the ends in permanent disgruntlement.

  Not to be outdone by Odo's pronouncement, Ralph imperiously beckoned the senior staff forward.

  'Roger Viel - and you, Walter Hog - stand before us there!' He pointed to the other side of the table, then crooked a finger at the others, so that the stable marshal, the master-at-arms, the falconer, the houndmaster, the armourer and the steward's clerk came to stand in a row facing their betters.

  Avelina spoke up for the first time.

  'Where has my stepson been taken?' she demanded.

  Forty-one years old, and handsome rather than beautiful like Beatrice, her dark hair and high cheek-bones gave her a somewhat Latin or Levantine appearance, though she was in fact pure-blooded Norman.

  'His body has been taken to the church, my lady.' Roger the steward answered in a suitably sepulchral voice, having arranged the removal himself. 'When the bailiff found the body of our lord, he called me and I thought it the most respectful place, rather than bringing him back to this hall, which of necessity would be in turmoil for some time.'

  The steward never used two words where ten would suffice, thought Walter Hog, waspishly.

  'Hugo has not been left alone, I trust?' asked Beatrice, her blue eyes looking larger than ever as she gazed around at the men seated at the table, pausing fleetingly on the fresh face of Joel, the youngest son.

  'He is attended by Father Patrick, madam,' said Ralph, rather curtly. 'He has orders not to leave the bier on any account.'

  Odo suddenly thumped the table with his fist, making a couple of pewter wine cups rattle.

  'We must decide what is to be done! My brother lies foully murdered. His death must be avenged and his killer brought to justice!'

  'Our justice, brother!' snapped Ralph, ever anxious to assert his anticipated authority. 'We need no interference from king's officers. This is a manorial matter and we have an obligation to keep it within the manor. There is no need to wash our grubby linen in public.'

  The bailiff, growing increasingly uneasy, ventured an opinion. 'Sir Ralph, whatever we might think of the powers in London or Winchester, the Chief Justiciar proclaimed new rules last year. When a body is found, the first finder must knock up the four nearest households to raise the hue and cry to search for the miscreants!'

  Ralph Peverel glared back at the bailiff. 'There's no problem then, is there? This mole-catcher's wife was the first finder, virtually in your own presence. And as for raising the hue and cry, the whole bloody village was roused, not just four households!'

  There was a murmur of approval around the table, but Walter Hog remained stubborn, though he saw trouble approaching at high speed.

  'Indeed, sir. But these new rules, which it is said Hubert Walter issued at the express wish of King Richard, demand that the first finder must immediately notify the bailiff, who must straightway report the death to the coroner. I've even heard that the body should not be moved from where it was found - strictly speaking, moving Sir Hugo to the church was illegal.'

  'To hell with that!' rasped Ralph irritably. 'Do you seriously expect us to leave our noble brother face down in an ox byte? If it was some villein or serf slain by outlaws, then this new officialdom could be tolerated. But here we have the lord of the manor done to death - so we can dispense with all that nonsense!'

  Bailiff Hog looked even more uncomfortable as he took a deep breath, swallowed and confessed.

  'I took it as my duty to inform the coroner, sir. An hour ago I sent the reeve on a good horse to Exeter to summon Sir John de Wolfe.'

  A sound-winded palfrey could cover the fifteen miles to the city in less than three hours, and not long after Crowner John had returned from his dinner and a short sleep to the chamber in the gatehouse, Warin Fishacre clattered up the drawbridge and dismounted outside the guardroom. Sergeant Gabriel interrupted his game of dice to take the reeve up the winding stairs and waited while the hunched figure told his story to the coroner. Gwyn and Thomas were in their usual places and listened with interest - since the debacle on Bull Mead the previous week, the name of Hugo Peverel was all too familiar.

  'God's guts, this is the first manor-lord we've had slain since I became coroner,' muttered de Wolfe.

  'You claim he was last seen in the company of a maid from the village? What has she to say about the matter?'

  Fishacre shrugged his stooped shoulders, His thin backside was still sore from the urgent ride.

  'We don't even know who she was yet, Crowner! I left Sampford soon after the body was discovered, but probably they've found her by now.' He stopped to cough noisily into his hand before continuing. 'I expect she'll get the blame and be hanged for it, whether she killed him or not!'. There was a bitter sarcasm in his voice that was not lost on John.

  'Have you any idea who might have wanted to kill Hugo Peverel?' he demanded. 'It seems unlikely that a willing maid would want to stab him in the back while he was having his way with her!'

  'Some of the maids have been far from willing, Crowner. Not that it made any difference to our lord, if he took a fancy to a girl.'

  Again John sensed that the reeve had a deeper interest in the seduction of serving wenches than that of a mere observer.

  'Other than young women, have you no idea who might be a mortal enemy?' he persisted, knowing that manor reeves often had the best insight into the intrigues of their village. Warin Fishacre's gaunt features twisted into a sardonic smile.

  'It's not my place to gossip about my betters, sir. But many would say that it would be hard to find someone who wasn't his enemy!'

  With that, de Wolfe had to be content and, rising, he took his cloak from a wooden peg hammered between the stones of the wall and threw it over his shoulders.

  'I'll have to go back home and tell my wife that I may be away for the night, which will not please her. Get your horse fed and watered, reeve, and we'll meet at the East Gate in an hour.'

  As he left them, Thomas groaned at the thought of a few hours on the back of his pony, but Gwyn looked pleased at the prospect of a ride out of the city, especially as this sounded like something out of the ordinary run of cases. He slapped the solemn looking reeve on the shoulder and guided him towards the doorway.

  'Let's get your beast fixed up, then we can get some food and drink in the hall before we set off,' he boomed heartily.

  Behind him, the clerk collected up his writing materials and stuffed them into his shapeless shoulder bag, wondering gloomily what violent events he would have to record on them in Sampford Peverel.

  Eventually, the pangs of hunger among the occupants of the manor house in Sampford overcame any vestiges of grief and a generally subdued household sat down to a delayed meal of mutton stew with leeks, then boiled pork, beans and onions. Bread, cheese and boiled eggs filled up any remaining spaces in their stomachs, though appetites generally were less robust than usual, not from any overwhelming sorrow, but because of the upset and uncertainty that such an event inevitably brought in its wake.

  The two ladies were present at the meal, with their maids dancing attendance, though they both picked fitfully at the food. Joel, the youngest of the Peverel brothers, sat next to the new widow and was noticeably solicitous towards her, gently coaxing her to eat, drawing scowls from Ralph and Odo for his trouble.

  For her part, Beatrice was wanly preoccupied, though she gave Joel some encouraging murmurs of thanks and sly glances from under the long lashes of her lowered eyelids. The elder woman, Avelina, sat impassively, her thought
s seemingly far away as she ate delicately from the trencher on the table before her, using a small knife taken from the embroidered pouch on her belt.

  When the wooden platters of fruit were brought, few bothered to take an apple or pear, but the bottler was kept busy refilling pewter cups with wine and pottery mugs with ale and cider. This was the time when discussion began again, and Ralph led off, again intending to stake his claim to leadership.

  'Damn that busybody of a bailiff!' he snarled. 'Why in God's name did he go rushing to send for the bloody coroner!'

  Though in the best circles in these times it was considered indelicate to curse in the presence of ladies, chivalry was not held at a premium in Sampford and neither of the women of the family turned a hair at coarse language. In fact, Avelina had been known to easily outswear the kitchen staff when something annoyed her.

  Odo, though privately of the same opinion as his brother, felt obliged to contradict him as a matter of principle, to deny Ralph's bid for primacy.

  'Walter was right in law. We could be censured for not complying with the new rules. Not that they are all that new - it's over a year since the Justiciar promulgated them at the Kentish eyre.'

  The eldest son of William Peverel had spent a couple of years at the cathedral school in Salisbury, and as well as learning to read and write with moderate skill had harboured a frustrated yearning to become a lawyer until his disability ruled him out, just as it had disbarred him from his inheritance. He now followed the activities of the King's council and the politics of the day more closely than any of his brothers, who were concerned only with hunting and jousting. But Ralph was contemptuous of Odo's respect for the law.