The Noble Outlaw (39 page)

'Amen to that,' she said piously. 'I'll add my prayers to yours, twice each day until Walter de Ralegh arrives.'

'We know now that it was definitely this Geoffrey Trove who is the culprit, but where the hell is he?' De Wolfe sounded more aggrieved than angry as he took the stripped bone of a sheep's shank from his platter and dropped it on to the rushes for the expectant Brutus.

'Perhaps he's already in hell, if he was as sick as that ironmaster suggested,' grunted Gwyn from the other side of the table.

'He might have left the city altogether,' said Nesta 'The fact that he's vanished surely means that he knows he's been marked down as the killer. Wouldn't he want to get as far as possible away from Exeter?'
 

It was evening, and John was supplementing his supper at home with some extra sustenance at the Bush, with Gwyn enthusiastically following his example. That afternoon, the big Cornishman had returned to Exe Island with Osric, and between them they had kicked down the door of Geoffrey's hut. Amongst the sparse furnishings was a workbench, on which was an iron frame about the size of a quart pot, containing a powerful spring device. It was obviously the machine that had discharged the bolt that had injured the guild master in Rock Lane. Gwyn had brought the strange weapon down to the tavern, where they studied it with interest.

'Evil as he must be, he is a clever fellow and a very good craftsman,' said John, peering appreciatively at the fine workmanship of the mechanism.

'Is that blood on one corner?' observed Nesta, whose younger eyes were the keenest. She pointed to a sharp edge where the end of the strong laminated spring projected beyond the square casing. Gwyn spat on his forefinger and rubbed it on the brown stain. It came away reddened and he nodded in satisfaction.

'Can't be the victim's blood, he was yards away when this thing was fired. So it must have come from the bastard who made it.'

'But where is he?' repeated de Wolfe once more.

Having tracked down the identity of the killer, he was now mortified not to be able to lay hands on him. If he had seized him, he could have dragged him before Walter de Ralegh when he held his special court in a few days' time. Geoffrey Trove could have been tried and sentenced without further delay, so that the evil fellow could have been hanged straightaway, relieving the minds of all the other guild officers who had been in fear of their own lives these past few weeks.

Nesta signalled to old Edwin to refill their ale pots, then slipped her arm through John's, as they sat side by side on the bench near the hearth.

'What's the connection between this Trove bastard and Hempston Arundell?' asked Gwyn. 'It must have been him who so foully attacked your wife, Crowner. But what did he mean about it being justice for Hempston or whatever he said?'

De Wolfe frowned as he did when in deep thought.

'He must have been one of those men that left the manor when de Arundell was evicted, then left the outlaw band some time ago. They said one was a freeman blacksmith, which is a bit unusual, but I can't recall what they said his name was. He must have combined getting even with the men who ejected his master-piece with wanting to scare de Revelle and Pomeroy.'

Nesta clutched at his arm. 'Do you think he's still plotting to do some harm to your brother-in-law and that pig of a man down in Berry?'

'He's hardly in a position to do much, is he? He's on the run, he must guess by now that we know who he is. I reckon he'll make tracks for some distant part of England, or even try to take ship across the channel.'
 

Gwyn shook his head, his wild locks bouncing. 'He could still slip a blade between Richard's ribs one dark night - with a bit of luck,' he added impishly.

Usually, when the royal justices or the Commissioners of Gaol Delivery arrived in the city, there was a considerable amount of pomp and ceremony. They were invariably met on the high road outside Exeter by the sheriff, coroner and portreeves, who escorted them into the city with a score of mounted men-at-arms led by the castle constable.

However, about noon on the following Monday, a small group of horsemen trotted in without the usual pageant.

These were two noblemen with a couple of clerks and a few armed servants, who made their way to the New Inn, the city's largest hostelry, which lay in High Street towards the East Gate. This was the usual lodging for judges, and as soon as the sheriff and coroner heard that Sir Walter de Ralegh had arrived, they hurried down to greet them.

Walter was a tall, grizzled man in his sixties, still with a strong Devon accent that betrayed his origins, having been born near East Budleigh, a village near the coast less than a dozen miles from Exeter. De Ralegh had risen high in the service of the king, both the old Henry and now the Lionheart. He was a senior justice and a man respected both for his forthright views and for his honesty, a rare quality in the corridors of power. Being a local man, he was often chosen by the Chief Justiciar to deal with problems in the West Country, and he had several times been involved with John de Wolfe in such matters.

The sheriff, coroner and judges now sat in a private parlour of the New Inn, Walter with his riding boots off to ease his feet after the ride from Honiton, where they had stayed the previous night on their journey down from Winchester. He introduced his companion judge, who was a former Commissioner who had recently been elevated to the Eyre circuit. This was Reginald de Bohun, a baron from the Welsh Marches who owned manors between Hereford and Shrewsbury, as well as estates in the north. He was a great-nephew of the great Humphrey de Bohun, Steward of England. Younger than Walter, de Bohun was about de Wolfe's age, of average height, with dark brown hair cut in the typical Norman manner, a dense cap left above a closely shaven neck. He spoke only when he had something useful to say, but John felt he was a man who decided matters on the facts, rather than on emotions or the convenience of the situation.

Walter de Ralegh, a blunter and more outspoken character than de Bohun stretched out his legs with a groan as he reached for a jug of cider on the table. 'I'm getting too old for all this hacking around the countryside,' he complained. 'This is the second time this year Hubert has sent me down here to deal with Richard bloody Revelle. Unless we can hang him out of the way, I might as well come back to Devon to live. It would save my arse from wearing out in the saddle.'
 

Hubert Walter, who had sent the pair of justices down to Exeter, had outlined the problem to them, but now John and the sheriff repeated it and filled in the details of the seizure of Hempston Arundell by the two miscreants.

'And this occurred while Nicholas de Arundell was away at the Crusades?' asked de Bohun.

'It did indeed, which makes it such a despicable trick,' growled de Wolfe. 'De la Pomeroy convinced his poor wife that some mythical man returning from the Holy Land had reported that her husband had perished.'

'And then he and de Revelle claimed that on the death of the freeholder, the manor reverted to the Crown,' added de Furneilis. 'But as Prince John had been granted all of Devon and Cornwall by the king, it actually escheated to him.'

'Who then conveniently passed it over to his favourites,' completed John. 'Pomeroy claimed that he was to get the actual land in fee simple and that de Revelle would share the rents and income with him equally.'

'All based on the basic lie that the manor lord was dead,' grunted de Ralegh.

'Did the wife accept this tale?' asked Reginald de Bohun.

John shrugged. 'It seems so, though her steward told me that she was so distraught by the reports of his death that she was in no fit state to fight back, other than to deny the claim and look to her servants to help her.'

De Bohun looked across at his judicial colleague. 'I think for the sake of fairness, we should not try this case behind closed doors like this,' he said firmly. 'Let us wait and hear what the various parties have to say about it on Wednesday.'

The enquiry into the annexation of Hempston Arundell was not a trial in the same sense as the Eyre of Assize or the Commissioner's hearings, for there was no jury, as the two royal justices would be the sole arbiters of the matter. The proceedings were heard in public in the same Shire Hall that saw so many other legal events, such as the county courts, the burgess courts, inquests and the Eyres and Gaol Delivery themselves. Even though the matter was serious and, given the rank of the disputants, might even have political significance, it attracted little public interest. However, a few spectators assembled on the hard-packed earth of the floor to listen to what was being said on the low platform at the end of the hail.

The sheriff's messengers had previously warned Richard de Revelle and Henry de la Pomeroy of the date of the judge's arrival, and had commanded them in the king's name to present themselves on pain of heavy amercements if they failed to show up. The two defiant defendants duly appeared with a retinue of supporters, including their bailiffs, stewards and reeves.

In deference to their rank, these main players were not obliged to stand in the body of the court with the common witnesses, but were provided with a couple of tables and some benches, set on one side of the dais.

On the other side, a similar trestle was placed for Nicholas de Arundell and his wife Joan, with her cousin Gillian le Bret as a chaperone. There were further tables at the back for the clerks, who were drawn from the sheriff's staff and the pair who had accompanied the judges. For once, there was no need for Thomas de Peyne to be sitting up there with quill and ink, but he stood with Gwyn and the coroner behind the clerks, listening to the proceedings.

In the centre, seats had been brought for the two judges. These were high-backed chairs, borrowed from the sheriffs quarters in the keep, and they were flanked by a more modest pair for the sheriff and a priest, who sat one on each side of the justices. As always, the Church insisted on being present, especially as this case might concern a wrong done to a man on Crusade.

Partly at de Wolfe's instigation, the priest was John de Alençon, Archdeacon of Exeter. Though he would play no role in the judgement, he was a firm supporter of the king and a covert antagonist of the Count of Mortain.

At the eighth hour of the morning, the cast of this impending drama assembled, with all of Nicholas's former outlaws standing uneasily below the dais, a row of men-at-arms behind them to separate them from the onlookers. Sergeant Gabriel patrolled the hall, loping around to make sure there was no disturbance, and he in turn was watched from the wide doorway by the massive figure of the castle constable, Ralph Morin, his forked beard jutting out like the prow of a ship.

On the platform, Richard de Revelle, dandified in a bright blue tunic covered with a fur-lined pelisse of red wool, nervously settled himself behind the table, with a more soberly dressed Henry de la Pomeroy scowling on his right hand. Between them was a stranger, a man of about thirty with a smooth, olive face. He was dressed in a plain black tunic and had a clerk's tonsure and a small silver cross hanging from a chain around his neck, suggesting that he was a priest of some kind. Lying before him was a roll of parchment and a large book.

Behind them stood bailiff Coffin of Berry Pomeroy and the steward from de Revelle's manor, together with two of their reeves. Nicholas was similarly supported by his steward Robert Hereward, and the reeve Martin Wimund.

At a signal from the constable, there was a discordant blast on a trumpet wielded by one of Rougemont's soldiers. Gabriel marched towards the platform ahead of the Archdeacon, who had entered the hall followed by the two royal judges, with the sheriff bringing up the rear. As everyone stood in deference, the royal judge climbed the step to the dais and stood before their chairs while John de Alençon delivered a short prayer, calling down the wisdom of God to help them arrive at a just verdict that day.

As soon as everyone had sat down and shuffled themselves into place, Sir Walter de Ralegh lost no time in getting down to business.

'Let this issue be put before us without delay!' He leaned forward and spoke in a loud, authoritative voice in a tone that indicated that he was in time no mood for prevarication. 'The king's officer in this county of Devon, Sir Henry de Furnellis, will state the nature of the dispute and call witnesses as to the facts.' The grey-haired sheriff climbed to his feet, but before he could open his mouth, the sleek cleric who sat next to Richard de Revelle also rose.

'My lords, I wish to submit that these proceedings cannot proceed, as it would be unlawful so to do.' Walter de Ralegh turned to glare at the interruption.

His eyesight not being what it was, he peered aggressively at the defendants' table.

'Who the hell are you, sir?' he demanded.

'I am Joscelin de Sucote, my lord. A clerk and lawyer, presently chaplain to Prince John, Count of Mortain, at his court in Gloucester.'

Walter squinted again to get the man into sharper focus. 'Oh, it's you again, is it? What the devil do you want here?' He turned to his fellow judge and muttered audibly, 'It's that damned lawyer of John's, who tried to interfere when I kicked de Revelle out of office.' Joscelin was unperturbed by the jibe. 'I have been assigned by the Count to assist his tenants-in-chief, as the prince himself has a considerable interest in the ownership of the disputed lands.'

Walter scowled at the self-assured man whose manner verged on the patronising. 'I'm not sure that I need to hear anything from you. You have no official standing in this court.'