The Awful Secret (23 page)

‘I am the King’s appointed coroner, and though I opened an inquest on the body early this morning, that is by no means the end of the matter. I have to record all investigations for the royal justices when they next come to Exeter – and those investigations are by no means complete.’

Roland de Ver shrugged. ‘Good luck to you, Crowner. It’s none of our concern.’

His insolent dismissal of the matter incensed de Wolfe. ‘He was a Templar – or an ex-Templar, at least. You are three senior members of that Order, who just happened to have arrived in this county just before he was foully murdered. I think it reasonable for me to ask some questions of you, if only to eliminate certain possibilities.’

De Ver jumped to his feet, his face reddened with anger. ‘You will ask nothing, Coroner! Or, at least, you’ll get no answers from us. Our presence in Devon is none of your business. We are above the law. You know our Order well enough to realise that the Holy Father in Rome has granted us immunity from the rule of all kings and princes in Christendom – most of whom are beholden to us for both money and military support.’

De Wolfe fumed at this, but he knew that they had the dispensation they claimed. Even his beloved monarch, Richard, was a staunch ally of the Templars and would hear nothing ill said against them. He said, more pacifically, ‘Surely, sirs, you would be concerned to aid in the unmasking of whatever villain killed one who, at least in the past, had an honourable record in your Order. I know, from my own experience of De Ridefort in Palestine, that he fought long and valiantly in the Crusade.’

Flushed with anger, Brian de Falaise slammed a big hand against his bench. ‘Both I and de Ver also fought in Outremer, as did you. Yet we stayed steadfast in our faith afterwards, not having the perverted blood of the de Rideforts in our veins!’

John stood his ground in the face of this trio of furious men. ‘I am a law officer in this county and I have a slain man to deal with. I must ask you, why are you in Exeter? And where were you all two days ago? I know you were absent from these lodgings.’ He expected a storm of abuse at this, but he was met with silence. Two of the Templars looked at their leader, de Ver.

The thin, almost haggard Knight of Christ addressed the coroner coldly. ‘We will not deign to answer your insulting questions, Crowner. You have no authority to question anything we do – nor even enquire as to our mission. I know that your superior law officer, Sheriff Richard, has more respect for the Templars and we will complain forthwith to him about your behaviour, so that he may forbid you to pester us again.’

Hunched like a great black crow, de Wolfe wagged a finger at the three knights. ‘The sheriff is by no means my superior. He has no authority to govern my investigations. I defer only to the king!’

De Ver waved a hand indifferently. ‘I care not, man. If it pleases you better, I will complain to the king about you when I return to France.’ His voice hardened to a sibilant hiss. ‘But you will no doubt allow that the authority of the Pope is paramountover any petty official such as yourself. Now, get yourself gone, Sir Crowner, and don’t bother us again. You are dabbling in great matters that you cannot conceive of.’

De Wolfe, insulted and exasperated, could not resist one last verbal thrust as he moved to the open door. ‘Perhaps one of these great matters concerned the “awful secret” of which Gilbert de Ridefort spoke to me.’

That brought them all to their feet and the pugnacious de Falaise felt impotently for the hilt of his sword, only to find that he had left it in his cell whilst they were taking their ease in the common room.

‘What do you know of that? What did de Ridefort tell you?’ It was de Ver who snapped out the question.

The coroner stepped out into the grey daylight. ‘Like you, gentlemen, I do not answer questions. I am a law officer and I only ask them.’

‘Have a care, John de Wolfe,’ snarled Godfrey Capra. ‘You are an insignificant servant in a godforsaken part of a remote island. But the long arm of Rome can reach anywhere and squash you like a beetle.’

De Wolfe ignored his threat and left one last message with them as he left. ‘If you have any sympathy or respect for the passing of one of your number, he is to buried in the cathedral Close tomorrow morning.’ Then, fuming internally but keeping a stony outward appearance, he walked back to the archway of the priory to join Gwyn and out into the lane beyond.

It was now late afternoon, and on leaving the Priory of St Nicholas, de Wolfe thought it politic to tell the sheriff of the murder of a Norman knight in his territory – and to discover his attitude to these arrogant Templars. At the gatehouse of Rougemont, he sent Gwyn up to their chamber to tell Thomas de Peyne to get himself down to St James’s Priory on the river to see if he could discover anything new about the movements of Abbot Cosimo and his sinister henchmen, especially their whereabouts during the past two days.

Then he went on to the keep and marched in on his brother-in-law, who was deep in discussion with two of his tax-collectors. The sheriff had soon to make his twice-yearly journey to Winchester for his accounting of the taxes raised in Devon during the past six months. This ‘farm’, as it was called, was a sum fixed in advance by the king’s exchequer and if a sheriff could screw more out of the population he could keep the balance for himself. This explained why the office of sheriff was greatly coveted and competed for. In Richard’s reign, a ‘shrievalty’ – the post of sheriff – was sold by the king for a huge sum, most of the purchasers being barons and even bishops. Some even managed to become sheriffs of three counties simultaneously.

De Wolfe waited impatiently while de Revelle harangued the taxmen from Tavistock and Totnes for being late with their collections, threatening them with dire penalties if they did not come up with the loot by the end of the month. Eventually, the chastened men escaped and John left his seat in the window embrasure to hover over his brother-in-law as he sat at his parchment-cluttered table.

‘We have a murdered Norman knight to deal with, Sheriff,’ he began, and was gratified to see that those words ensured the other man’s immediate attention.

As de Revelle presumably knew nothing of Gilbert de Ridefort’s presence in his county, he had to explain the whole story from start to finish, and by the end, the sheriff had become quite agitated. Rising from his chair, he paced up and down before his fireplace. ‘A Templar heretic! What next, by God’s bones? And what was this secret he claimed to possess?’

The coroner shrugged. ‘I don’t know – and I don’t care. It died with him, presumably, so it’s quite safe. But, as the chief law officers in this county, we are keepers of the king’s peace, so our task is to discover the culprit. It was a foul killing, an ambush, a blow on the head and then a ritual stabbing.’

The sheriff was not concerned with the details or the need to make an arrest. He was more worried about his standing with certain parties of great influence. ‘You say there is a papal nuncio in the city, and three senior Templars?’

De Wolfe looked at him with contempt. ‘Come on, Richard, don’t act the innocent with me. You know damned well they are here – you went to a meeting with the bishop a few days ago to meet this Cosimo of Modena. And I don’t believe that the spies you have planted all over the city and county would not have told you of the arrival of three Knights of Christ, even if they had failed to tell you themselves, which now seems unlikely.’

The sheriff stopped his pacing and looked out of the window slit. ‘I had heard something about them, yes,’ he admitted shiftily.

‘So what are they doing here? For I know why Cosimo is here! He has a writ from the Vatican to seek out heretics.’

De Revelle ignored this last, but seized upon the matter of the Templars to upbraid John. ‘Those three important knights are in the county to purchase properties for their Order,’ he snapped. ‘They have the Chancellor’s blessing to treat with any baron – or the bishop – for the purchase of profitable lands from any honour that wishes to sell.’ He marched back to his folding chair and dropped into it. ‘They already have estates at Templeton, near my own manor at Tiverton, but desire something further west, perhaps near Torbay or Plympton. Again, my other manor at Revelstoke lies in that direction and I might be able to help them find land nearby.’

‘That’s what they told you, was it? Strange that they should arrive just as one of their renegade members, pursued by an emissary of the Pope, is found slain in the county!’

De Revelle glared at his sister’s husband, regretting for the thousandth time that she had ever married this persistent meddler who was wrecking his comfortable life. ‘They are here to reconnoitre for new Templar lands, I tell you! You are well aware of the great wealth they possess, and they need to invest it in the land, to the benefit of all of us.’

De Wolfe lowered his head towards de Revelle, as he stooped across the table. ‘Why would their leader, this Roland de Ver – until recently a senior member of the main Templar house in Paris – concern himself with buying a few hides of Devon soil?’

The sheriff waved a hand with assumed airy nonchalance. ‘You had better ask him yourself, John.’

‘I have just asked him – and was told to mind my own business. Why should they be so sensitive and secretive if all they are doing is negotiating for the purchase of some land?’

De Revelle’s face flushed above his trim beard and moustache. ‘You mean you’ve been pestering them already? You have no right, John. The Templars have immense power and influence!’

‘Especially with you, no doubt,’ said de Wolfe tartly. ‘Will you receive commission if you help them buy land in your county?’

‘The business transactions I carry out are no business of yours, Coroner.’

John gave one of his rare, lopsided grins. ‘You’ll get little commission out of a dead heretic, Richard. For that’s what I’m certain these knights are here about.’

‘They are attending to Templar interests, I tell you!’ shouted de Revelle furiously.

‘I can believe that, though their present interest is not land! If they are concerned with their investments, you had better invite them to come with us on Monday. Maybe they can at last succeed in winning their allotted land on Lundy!’ With that parting shot he left, convinced that his devious brother-in-law knew a lot more about the visitors than he was admitting.

It was dusk when he left the castle and walked home. Matilda was out, presumably still praying for the soul of Gilbert de Ridefort, so John took the opportunity to visit the Bush and spend an hour with Nesta in her room upstairs. After a satisfying dalliance with her under the sheepskins, he came down and continued his enjoyment with a boiled fowl, onions and cabbage, washed down with her best ale.

As he sat at his favourite bench near the hearth, the comely tavern-keeper kept him company, sitting opposite with her elbows on the table, looking affectionately at the lean, brooding man she loved. They talked of inconsequential things for a while, as de Wolfe had already told her everything about the strange death of the run-away Templar.

Eventually, he pushed aside the pile of chicken bones and the soaked trencher to concentrate on his quart of ale.

‘You are off to Lundy, then?’ asked Nesta, concern on her pretty face. ‘Be careful, John, both of the sea and the men who live there.’ At the hub of gossip related by travellers and mariners passing through the inn, she was on top of every piece of news in Devon and well knew the bad reputation of that lonely island set a dozen miles off the north coast.

As he was reassuring her of his safety, which would be ensured by the large party of knights and soldiers going on the sheriff’s escapade, the old potman Edwin limped across to the table and addressed him by his old military title. ‘Cap’n, someone was seeking you, when you were … well, upstairs earlier on.’ He leered at the coroner, his collapsed whitened eye slewing horribly in its socket.

Nesta scowled at his innuendo. ‘Who was it, you old fool?’ she snapped.

Edwin twitched his thin shoulders under his frayed woollen tunic. ‘Never saw him before. A gentleman, no doubt, dressed in riding clothes, booted and spurred. He asked for the crowner, but he didn’t say who he was or why he wanted him.’

‘What did you tell him? That he was upstairs with the ale-wife?’ she said, threateningly.

The old soldier grinned, showing the blackened stumps in his gums. ‘No, I said the crowner would almost certainly be in here within the hour. He said nothing and walked out.’

‘What did he look like?’ demanded John.

‘Big, tall fellow, no moustache or beard. Couldn’t see his hair, he had a leather cap tied around under his chin. Looked about thirty or more years.’

‘Not another bailiff come to report a sudden death?’

‘Didn’t look like any bailiff. More likely a soldier.’

De Wolfe looked at Nesta. ‘I wonder if this is our long-expected Bernardus de Blanchefort? If it is, he’s got a nasty shock awaiting him.’

Someone else marched up to the table, no rogue Templar but Gwyn of Polruan. ‘A couple of messages, Crowner. First, that little toad Thomas has seen this Italian priest down at the cathedral Close. He turned up before I could send him down to the priory, saying that this Cosimo has come back to the bishop’s palace with his two strong-arm men. Bishop Marshal is still away, but he has met two of the Archdeacons and the Precentor.’

‘Has Thomas any idea of where they have been these last two days?’

‘None at all – but their horses were tired and mud-spattered so they’ve covered some distance lately.’

De Wolfe gave a loud grunt, his usual means of responding when he had nothing constructive to say. ‘And your other news?’

‘Sergeant Gabriel was sent down to the gatehouse by the sheriff to tell me to command you to attend on him as soon as possible.’

‘What about?’

‘I don’t know – but Gabriel said that two of the Templar’s squires had been up there within the last hour.’

De Wolfe rose wearily to his feet. ‘I’d better be off, I suppose. Maybe the Knights of Christ have thought better of refusing to speak to me.’ And with Gwyn in tow, he began trudging back up to Rougemont.