The Noble Outlaw Page 9

  Nicholas slid a brawny arm around her slender shoulders, which were becomingly draped in a green pelisse over a pale yellow kirtle,

  'Don't fret, my love. No one was interested in a scruffy pilgrim like me. I'll have to leave in a day or two, but, until then, I'll not show my face outside the gate. As long as everyone in this household keeps a tight hold on their tongue, there'll be no problem.'

  A few minutes later, their chatter was interrupted the arrival of cold meats, bread, cheese and ale. After eating, de Arundell spent the rest of the morning until dinnertime talking to Joan about his existence on Dartmoor. He told of life in the abandoned village and tales of his men, many of whom had been retainers in Hempston and were well remembered by his wife. After a hearty dinner at noon, Cousin Gillian diplomatically went off to her solar to give the pair some privacy.

  'I just had to see you, Joan, apart from talking about a plan of campaign,' he began, hugging her on the settle in front of the glowing logs. 'D'you realise that I've only been with you for a few days since I went off to Outremer?'

  When he returned so unexpectedly from the Holy Land, his wife had already returned to Cornwall, dispossessed by Pomeroy and de Revelle and convinced that Nicholas was long dead. After the news of his resurrection percolated down to her relative's manor in Cornwall, she had had great difficulty in getting a message to him on Dartmoor, and it was due to Gillian le Bret and her servant Maurice that contact had been made again. Since then, they had only managed two fleeting meetings such as this, both in Totnes, where the risk of his being recognised was becoming too great for him to venture there again.

  'So what is to be done, my love?' asked Joan, a very practical woman despite her winsome prettiness. 'If you were not so shamefully outlawed, you could bring an action in the courts and certainly should win.' They had been over this ground many times before, and Nicholas shook his head impatiently. 'Impossible. I have no legal rights and if I dared show myself publicly to try to retrieve them, I would be dead within the day. There are too many supporters of the Count of Mortain around to risk it - to say nothing of that bastard de Revellel'

  Once again, they talked the problem through, up hill and down dale, without coming to any conclusion.

  'Some new approach is the only hope,' he said with anger, for this emotion was never far below the surface with de Arundell. 'I have even thought of seeking out the king in Normandy to ask for justice.'

  Joan looked frightened at this. 'The risks of trying to escape the country and finding King Richard are too great, Nicholas. You are as much an outlaw in Normandy as you are over here.'

  'It may be the only path open to us, Joan,' he muttered.

  'But would you ever get audience with him?' she persisted. 'You are just a poor knight, with even the small manor of Hempston snatched from you now. You need a strong champion to plead your case - or even to get it noticed by those in high places.'

  Nicholas moodily had to agree with her. 'What champion could I find?' he said bitterly. 'Though I was in Sicily fighting for our king as well as in the Holy Land, I never distinguished myself in anyway. I was just another country knight amongst thousands. I never even got within shouting distance of the Lionheart, I've only ever seen him from afar.'

  Joan gripped his arm and hugged him to her, desolate at seeing him so despondent. 'There must be some good men somewhere,' she whispered. 'Surely all those in positions of authority are not as corrupt as de Revelle and John Lackland?'

  Nicholas shrugged listlessly. 'Maybe there are - but I don't know any, Joan.'

  She tried to lift him from his gloom. 'I have heard that Hubert Walter, the Chief Justiciar, is a fair-minded man. He virtually rules England now that the king has gone permanently to France.'

  Her husband sighed. 'That may well be, dearest woman. But he might as well be on the moon for all the chance I have of putting my case before him.' The thought of Hubert Walter, who was also Archbishop of Canterbury as well as being England's chief law officer, triggered a chain of thought in Joan's active mind, which was desperate to help her husband in his dangerous predicament.

  'I have heard that the Justiciar was responsible for appointing the coroner in Devon and that they are good friends since their time in Palestine.'

  Nicholas looked at her blankly. 'What has that to do with us?'

  'Talking with Cousin Gillian these past few weeks, she has told me many things, for she is knowledgeable about all that goes on in Exeter. She says that the coroner, Sir John de Wolfe, is a most upright and honourable man. It so happens that I have become acquainted with his wife Matilda, as she kindly befriended me when I began attending Mass at the cathedral.'

  Nicholas was suddenly anxious. 'The coroner's wife! For the Virgin's sake, be careful, Joan! You did not let slip who you really are, I trust?'

  His wife shook her head emphatically. 'In Exeter, I am Lady Whiteford, the widow of a minor knight from the far end of Somerset, staying with my dear cousin Gillian here.'

  Her husband still failed to see the point of her sudden diversion. 'He might be as upright as the Archangel Gabriel, but what help is that?'

  Joan sat up on the bench, suddenly enthusiastic about her idea. 'Two things, Nicholas. He was a Crusader like you - and a very distinguished one, for he formed part of the king's bodyguard on his journey home. But more important, he hates Richard de Revelle and it was he who had him ejected as sheriff a few months back.'

  De Arundell scratched at the itching stubble on his face. He could follow the way his wife's mind was working, but failed to see how it could accomplish anything helpful. 'What can I do about it, Joan? For an outlaw to approach a senior law officer would be as good as laying my neck down on the block. Apart from the sheriff, he is about the most dangerous person in England I could fear to meet!'

  Although the celebration of Christ's birth was a week away, the Guild of Mercers decided to include some premature Yuletide festivities in their regular quarterly feast. The Guildhall was decked out with holly and bay branches and the traditional mistletoe. The food provided was even more lavish than usual, as was the music and entertainment- The mercers were one of the leading guilds, for although they dealt in most types of cloth, their speciality was the more luxurious fabrics, such as silk and velvet. Though not the most numerous of the Exeter merchants, they were amongst the most prosperous, and they certainly considered themselves the elite of the trading classes. The warden of the guild in Devon was Benedict de Buttelscumbe who, though only the son of a weaver, thought himself the primate of the Exeter burgesses and was eternally resentful of the fact that his fellow members of the city council had not elected him as one of the two portreeves.

  John and Matilda arrived at the Guildhall at dusk, as feasts traditionally began early, though the drinking afterwards might last until midnight. John wore his best tunic of sombre grey, with a heavy surcoat of black serge against the cold night air. In stark contrast, Matilda wore her voluminous new mantle of blue velvet over a kirtle of red satin, the knotted tippets of her bell-shaped sleeves reaching almost to the floor. As became all married women appearing in public, her head was swathed in a linen wimple, secured around the forehead by a narrow band that matched her gown.

  She clutched John's arm possessively as they entered the large door from the High Street and was gratified to have the guild treasurer meet them inside and conduct them to their places on the top table, enabling her to gesture condescendingly to several of her friends who were seated lower down the hall.

  The large chamber, which had recently been rebuilt in stone, had two chimneyed hearths on each side, but there was still a chill in the air which would persist until the sweat and body heat of over a hundred guests warmed the atmosphere. The table for the important personages was set across the full width of the top of the hall, with two more stretching at right angles down the length of the room, leaving a wide space between for the entertainers. Three musicians were already hard at work, trying to make themselves heard above the buzz of talk
ing, laughing and shouting that was already rising in volume. Merry music on sackbut, fiddle and drum helped create a festive atmosphere, but fell a long way behind the effects of the large quantities of ale, cider and wine that were being liberally dispensed.

  Sir John de Wolfe and his lady were led down the side of the hall to their seats near one end of the top table.

  Matilda had insisted on arriving late so that her entrance could be seen by those already there, and all the other places on the warden's table were filled. Apart from Benedict de Buttelscumbe himself, who occupied a large carved chair in the centre, everyone sat on benches.

  They obligingly stood and moved a bench back so that Matilda, beaming at the attention she was receiving, could more decorously slide her skirts around the end.

  When they were settled, John found himself between his friend and partner Hugh de Relaga and a man he recognised as a former warden of the Bakers' Guild.

  Matilda was on the other side of de Relaga, with the Mercers' treasurer next to her, so John knew that she would be happy in their company. Hugh was one of his few friends that she tolerated, as he was rich, overdressed, jolly and unfailing flattered her, albeit with tongue in cheek. Matilda also found it most congenial to be seated next to a senior official of the most prominent guild in the city.

  Serving men arrived with wine and ale, and soon the feasting began. Thick wheaten bread trenchers were loaded with many kinds of meat, whole fowls arrived on platters, and in front of the warden, a roast swan appeared alongside a suckling pig, which was carved for them by one of the cooks. There was goose and woodcock, as well as venison with frumenty, a type of pudding made from wheat boiled in sugared milk, then flavoured with cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg.

  The eating went on for almost two hours, with a wide range of delicacies presented that were rarely seen by the lesser mortals of Devon, many of whom had only umble pie as their Yuletide luxury.

  As the wine flowed the noise increased, but John was able to engage both his fellow diners in useful conversation. Hugh de Relaga brought him up to date on the latest activities - and profits - of their wool trading. John tried to limit this particular topic to times when Matilda was engrossed in conversation with the treasurer, as any mention of their new maritime venture was apt to revive her jealous disapproval of Hilda's role in the partnership.

  Above the hubbub in the hall, his conversation with the guildsman from the bakers and pastry-cooks was of some use. He raised the matter of the death of Matthew Morcok and asked the former warden, a man of some sixty years, if he had any opinions about the murder.

  'I knew Matthew quite well,' the man replied, shaking his head sadly. 'He was a queer old fellow, though with an illness like that, who could blame him?'

  'Can you think of any reason why he should have met such a violent end?' asked John.

  The guildsman shrugged and reached for his wine cup. 'We have all puzzled over this for the last few days,' he said. 'Matthew was such an inoffensive old man there seems no reason at all why he should have been slain.'

  'When he was active in his own guild, did anything happen that might have made him enemies?' queried John.

  Again the older man shook his head. 'He did nothing out of the ordinary, he went about his business making saddles and kept to himself. He took part in the business of his guild and there was never a breath of scandal, even though he was treasurer, which can sometimes put temptation in men's way.' He took a deep draught of his wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'The only other activity he seemed to be involved in was being one of the examiners when journeymen presented their master-pieces. Unless he had some secret that we all knew nothing about, it remains a mystery. I can't see old Matthew being attacked by a jealous husband for making him a cuckold.'

  John could get no more from the man that was of any use, and when the eating had finally come to an end he wandered down into the hall with a cup of wine, leaving Matilda deep in conversation with Hugh de Relaga and the Mercers' guild master. There were a number of men he knew, and with his usual gruff manner softened by the substantial amount he had had to drink, he chatted amiably with acquaintances, who included several more members of various guilds, from butchers to wood-turners and from sawyers to fishmongers.

  With all of them he raised the matter of Morcok's death, but everywhere he was answered with the same incomprehension that such a mild old fellow should meet such a violent end. Several were outright in their disbelief of the manner of his death, until de Wolfe assured them that he had indeed been killed in a particularly bizarre manner. They all gave him a picture of a rather reserved, solitary man, bereft of wife and daughter, who had worked faithfully for his guild for many years until his illness had overtaken him.

  Frustrated with facing such a blank wall, John wandered back to his wife and sat for a time talking with his partner in the wool business. As those who had drunk too much became raucous and argumentative, with several scuffles breaking out on the floor below, Matilda decided it was time for decent ladies to absent themselves. Demanding that John drape her best cloak over her shoulders, she bade goodnight to her neighbours on the top table and sailed out, determined to show off her finery one last time before her other lady friends also decided that it was time to leave. Sated with food and wine, John made no protest and escorted her out into the night, past the beggars waiting at the door for the used trenchers and other scraps, then made for Martin's Lane and a welcome bed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  In which Crowner John views another bizarre death

  The next few days up to the Sabbath passed fully, with no more deaths reported to the cold weather intensified and even the foul central gutters of the streets froze solid, though snow held off despite the leaden skies.

  De Wolfe had some routine matters to deal with, such as taking a confession from an approver in the foetid cells that served as a prison under the castle keep. The thief had been caught red-handed when a gang robbed a house near the East Gate, mainly because he had broken his ankle when he jumped from a window, his Confederates having escaped. Now he was trying to save his neck by incriminating them as well, and the coroner's clerk had to take down his pleas to present to the justices when they eventually arrived. Matilda was still in a moderately amiable mood, anticipating the social and religious celebrations that would accompany the feast of Christ's Mass. This would begin in a few days' time and continue until Twelfth Night at Epiphany.

  John woke early on Monday to another bitterly cold morning. After breaking his fast on honeyed gruel, bread and boiled eggs in Mary's cook-shed, he made his way up to Rougemont on foot, treading carefully where runnels of ice coated the steep lane up to the castle gatehouse. His stark room at the top of the spiral stairs was too cold to endure and he found Thomas and Gwyn down in the guardroom, where Sergeant Gabriel and a man-at-arms had a log fire going inside a ring of stones in the centre of the bleak stone chamber.

  'Don't get yourself too comfortable, Crowner,' warned Gwyn, brushing the crumbs of a large fish pasty from his moustache. 'We've had warning of a new corpse discovered out on the high road towards Ashburton.'

  'Who is it, do we know?' John asked as he accepted a pint pot of ale from Gabriel, who had just warmed it up by mulling it with a hot poker taken from the fire.

  Gwyn shook his tousled head. 'Some carter reported it late last night. The local bailiff told him to take the news to the city, as he was going that way from Totnes.'

  De Wolfe groaned at the casual way that people ignored the king's regulations. 'God's guts, Gwyn, does no one ever learn? It's been well over a year since the law was laid down about dead men, yet few take the slightest bloody notice!'

  An hour later, the three members of the coroner's team were riding out of the West Gate, Thomas bemoaning the fact that he had to get on his pony so early in the day. Though after months of taunting by Gwyn, he had at last abandoned riding side-saddle like a woman, he was still a reluctant horseman and jogged miserably along in the wa
ke of the two bigger men, who were perched comfortably on their larger mounts.

  The carter, who could not be found that morning, had left vague instructions as to the location of the body, which allegedly would be guarded by some local villagers - though de Wolfe doubted that they would have stayed overnight, in the hard frost, just to keep a corpse company. They splashed through the ford across the Exe, trying to ignore the icy water which was thrown up on to their legs, and took the high road which eventually led to Plymouth. After well over an hour's riding, delayed by the poor performance of their clerk, they reached a point about seven miles from the city, where they were approached by a rider wearing a heavy green cloak. As he cantered towards them on a brown mare, Gwyn automatically felt for the hilt of his sword, though a lone horseman was hardly a threat.

  'Are you the crowner, sir?' asked the man diffidently as he came up to them. He was a lean, tanned individual, wearing a woollen hat under the hood of his cloak. John did not need to see the insignia of a hunting horn embroidered on his tunic to guess correctly that he was one of the forest officers, the Royal Forest beginning several miles nearer Exeter.

  'I am Robert Lacey, sir,' he announced, 'The body lies about three miles further on from here.' He turned his horse and as he rode alongside them as they continued westward, de Wolfe questioned him about the corpse.

  'There is little I can tell you, sir,' said Lacey. 'I knew nothing of it until late last night when a cottar came to my dwelling. I went to view it this morning, but though they had told a carter to notify you, I thought I had better ride towards the city in case he had not found you.'

  'What manner of death is this?' demanded De Wolfe.

  The forester shook his head as if bemused. 'I've seen nothing like it before, sir,' he said as they jogged along. 'It's strange indeed, as you will see.'