When they had eaten and drunk the plain fare, de Wolfe decided that there was nothing more to be gained by staying. A final demand to the men to search their minds for anyone who might have a particular reason to want Pomeroy and de Revelle dead was met by shrugs and surly looks, without any helpful suggestions. Gwyn would have liked to take Alfred Gooch aside and have some quiet words with him, but the bailiff and the others gave him no chance to steer Alfred away from their company, and a few minutes later they turned their horses' heads towards Exeter, which they hoped to reach before dark.
As her husband was trotting his stallion homewards that afternoon, Matilda had another visitor, after several of her St Olave's friends had come and gone. Joan de Whiteford arrived bearing a gift of 'wardonys in syrup', a sweet concoction of preserved pears flavoured with cinnamon, ginger and saffron, prepared by her cousin's cook-maid.
'It is said to be very nutritious, Lady Matilda. It will help build you up after your awful ordeal,' she said virtuously. Matilda, whose solid body seemed in little need of rebuilding, thanked her effusively and glowed in the warmth of the friendship of this comely, cultured and altogether delightful young woman. John's wife, who seemed already restored to her normal health and spirits after the attack, sent Lucille scurrying out to the cookshed for some of Mary's sweet pastries and invited Joan to be seated in the other cowled chair before the good fire that was crackling in the wide hearth.
They spent a few minutes in polite conversation about Matilda's rapid recovery, the icy weather and the Holy Innocents' festivities in the cathedral the previous day.
The pastries arrived, but Joan declined the offer of wine, as befitted a sober, abstemious widow. Matilda had tried on several occasions to winkle out more detail about Joan's previous life, such as where exactly in Somerset she had lived and how her late husband had died, but she had seemed somewhat evasive, which increased Matilda's curiosity all the more. She tried again now, with little more success, and eventually decided that grief was causing the younger woman to suppress her memories of her former life.
Though the rest of the hall was as cold as a church crypt, the blazing fire overheated their fronts, and the wooden wraparound seats with the arched cowls above kept off much of the pervasive chill. The radiance of the logs, which had driven Brutus back a few feet, encouraged the two ladies to open their pelisses, the lined overgarments they wore on top of their kirtles. Joan had arrived with a heavy hooded mantle as an outer garment, which Mary had draped across the table, and Matilda noticed that it and Joan's pelisse, though of excellent quality, were worn from much laundering and had some patching and darning here and there. It was clear that she was in straightened circumstances compared to her previous life as the lady of a manor, and the older woman's heart went out to her new friend. She even toyed with the idea of subterfuges to improve Joan's wardrobe without appearing to be offering charity.
The warmth of their companionship was evident, the talk moving on to their mutual acquaintances in the congregations of St Olave's and the cathedral: Joan's cousin, Gillian le Bret, seemed to have already introduced her to a considerable number of people in the city.
Their amiable talk went on for almost an hour until disaster struck. On her previous visits, Matilda had not told Joan all the details of her frightening experience, but now that the event was fading a little, she felt able to relate what had actually happened.
'The devil who assaulted me so cruelly said that he had killed three times already and that my brother Richard and another would also pay the price for Hempston!' Matilda said this in a tone of high drama, not noticing the sudden effect the single word had on her friend.
Joan went white and she almost gaped at Matilda.
'Hempston? Did you say Hempston? Surely that cannot be true,' she uttered in an intense whisper.
'It was indeed - some manor down near Totnes, so my husband says,' continued Matilda, blithely unaware of the fuse she was lighting. 'It seems that a rogue knight was expelled from there several years ago and now heads a band of moorland outlaws. Now he is embarking on a murderous crusade against those he claims wronged him. He attacked me so that I might convey his threats to his intended victims!'
Joan stood up so suddenly that the chair grated against the flagstones with a squeal that startled Brutus from his dozing. She stood and stared down at Matilda as if the lady of the house had suddenly grown horns and forked tail.
'That is impossible, mistress! Why are you making such a monstrous accusation?'
Matilda gaped up at her for a moment, then her mouth snapped shut like a steel trap. This was her house, and she was not going to be spoken to in that fashion.
'Watch your tongue, young lady. That is hardly a courteous thing to say!' She was torn between astonishment and annoyance.
'What you allege cannot be true!' blurted out Joan, shaking with emotion. Then she seemed to crumple and flopped back into the chair to bury her face in her hands. 'I have not been entirely frank with you, Lady Matilda,' she sobbed through her fingers. 'I am not who I say I am!'
By now the lady of the house was bewildered. She stared at the woman weeping in her hall, wondering for a moment who was going mad, the visitor or herself.
'Explain yourself, for heaven's sake!' she demanded.
Joan raised her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
'You have been so kind to me, and I repay you thus, Matilda,' she gulped. 'My name really is Joan and I am the wife of a Crusader and a knight - but his name is not de Whiteford, it is Sir Nicholas de Arundell, of Hempston Arundell.'
Matilda rose slowly from her chair, her face suffused with anger. 'You are the wife of the devil who attacked me? How dare you come to this house, woman?'
'He did not attack you, madam,' screamed Joan. 'He would never do such a thing, he is an honourable man and was many miles away that night.'
'Get out of my house, damn you!' thundered the coroner's wife. 'If it was not your man in person, then it was some villain sent by him to carry out his vile deeds.'
She advanced on the hapless woman, who left her chair and backed away towards the door, her hands held out in supplication.
'I swear Nicholas is innocent, we were deprived of our manor and our life together by unscrupulous men, your brother being one of them.'
This was hardly the right thing to say in the circumstances and caused Matilda, her rage clouding her common sense, to become even more incensed. She bore down on the near-hysterical Joan, who turned tail and scurried to the door, sobbing as she fumbled with the latch. A moment later, there was a thud as the heavy street door swung shut behind her.
Matilda was left standing in the middle of the flagged floor, her anger subsiding as quickly as it had arisen.
She looked around and saw that Joan's cloak was still thrown across the table, the younger woman having run out into the icy weather with only her pelisse to shelter her. Matilda picked up the cloak and sadly put her cheek to it, already deeply regretting the irremediable loss of such a special friend. She was still not able to get her mind around the extraordinary claim that Joan had made, but instinctively she knew it to be true. Unusually for her, she vehemently wished that John was here now, so that he could explain what all this meant and reassure her that her friend had merely had a temporary fit of aberration, though she knew that this was wishful thinking.
Her dazed mind was suddenly interrupted by Mary appearing at the inner door.
'Is everything all right, mistress?' she asked concernedly, looking around the empty hall. 'I thought I heard shouting. Has your guest gone?' Matilda, who was usually brusque with the cook-maid, slowly shook her head and replied quietly, 'There's nothing amiss, girl. And, yes, the lady has gone.' When Mary had left, Matilda sank back into her chair, still clutching the mantle, and stared into the fire. 'Oh God, what's happening?' she murmured to the Almighty.
* * *
De Wolfe and his officer reached Exeter just as the gates were closing at dusk, and Gwyn went straight up
to Rougemont to eat, drink and play dice with the men-at-arms for the rest of the evening. John made his way back to Martin's Lane and, after seeing Odin settled in the stables opposite his house, went home in mellow anticipation of at last getting warm before a good fire, with a jug of mulled wine and the pleasure of Mary's cooking.
What met him in his hall dashed his hopes, as he found his wife slumped in her chair, a linen kerchief pressed to her face. Her wimple was hanging awry and strands of her mousy hair were poking from beneath it.
'Matilda? Are you unwell? Shall I call Richard Lustcote for you?'
When she looked mournfully up at him, he saw that her eyes were reddened and tears welled from the lids.
'I am not ill, John. Just sick at heart.'
He crouched at the side of her chair as she haltingly told him everything that had happened. 'Her name was false, John, she deceived me!'
Privately, he thought it was only natural that the woman would not advertise the fact that she was the wife of a hunted outlaw, but he patted Matilda awkwardly on the shoulder. 'Never mind that, she no doubt wanted to spare you embarrassment,' he said instead. 'But this is a most extraordinary revelation. So she's not a de Whiteford from Somerset, but wife to Nick o' the Moor.'
Matilda sniffed back her tears and wiped her face with the linen cloth. 'She loudly denied that he had anything to do with my ordeal, John. She claimed that they had both been wronged by my brother. How can such a wicked, deceitful woman say such things, when she seemed at first to be such a nice, devout woman?'
De Wolfe groped for a stool and pulled it up to squat near his wife's chair. 'I have spoken to a number of people, including the sheriff - and today I have been down myself to Hempston and Berry Pomeroy. There may well be some truth in what she says, Matilda,' he added gently.
She glared at him with a return of her old antagonism. 'You too, John? You never miss a chance to defame Richard, do you?'
He held his temper in check with an effort. 'Come, Matilda, you cannot deceive yourself that your brother is a pillar of righteousness, after all the dangerous escapades that he has become embroiled in. What I say comes not from my mouth or my imagination - it is a fact that the Arundell manor was, shall we say, acquired by Richard and Henry de la Pomeroy in dubious circumstances. I am still not clear about the details; there are conflicting accounts, depending on who one speaks to.'
Matilda was not mollified by this. 'So who half killed me and spat the poison in my ear that it was revenge for Hempston, answer me that? Who could it have been but this Arundell knave or some hired assassin of his?'
Her husband had no answer for this and shook his head in frustration. 'I must get to the bottom of this, and quickly, before anyone else is killed. Where does this lady live? I must speak to her urgently.'
'Speak to her? Surely you mean seize her, arrest her, throw her into the cells at the castle. She is the wife of a condemned outlaw.'
John hauled himself from the stool and backed away to the other monk's seat, where Joan had sat that fateful afternoon.
'I cannot arrest her, Matilda, even if I saw some merit in doing so. It is not against the law to be married to a criminal, unless she gives him aid and succour. And as he is far away on Dartmoor, that hardly seems possible.'
'She lodges in Raden Lane with her cousin, Gillian le Bret - though after her vile deception, even that is open to question!'
John sensed that Matilda was torn between hating Joan de Arundell and trying to save her affection for her.
Her words seemed aimed at bolstering her outrage, but there was an undercurrent pleading for her to be proved wrong. John tried to placate her as much as possible.
'I truly cannot see a knight and a fellow Crusader stooping to attack a defenceless woman in the cathedral precincts at Christ Mass,' he said confidently. 'It would be against all the instincts of honour and chivalry.
Though I don't for a moment deny your recollection of that foul assault, it could have been another man, as when he was ejected from his manor, many other men went with him and have suffered ever since.'
The logic of this struck home, and Matilda began to grasp at the faint hope that her rift with Lady Joan was not irrevocable.
'Then you had better set about finding out, husband,' she said with a hint of her habitual grimness. 'Now being unmasked, she may leave the city and hide herself away somewhere.'
The same thought had occurred to John. 'She can go nowhere until the gates open at dawn. I'll confront her tonight - though after a day in the saddle, I'll first need some of Mary's victuals to fill my empty belly, even if it's only umble pie.'
An hour later, the coroner and his wife were standing outside the gate to the burgage plot in Raden Lane.
Matilda had insisted on accompanying him, saying that she was the one most concerned in this matter and that she was determined to see it resolved. Though often a surly, selfish person, she was lacking in neither intelligence nor fortitude, and nothing John could say would deter her from coming with him.
It was dark and cold, but the wind had dropped, reducing the chill considerably. Both wrapped in their mantles, they waited for someone to answer the loud rapping that John had made on the gate with the handle of his dagger. Eventually, footsteps were heard on the other side and the quavering voice of the elderly servant, Maurice, called out to ask who was there. No one readily opened their doors to unexpected callers in the dark of a winter's evening, but the authoritarian voice of the king's coroner persuaded Maurice to pull the bolts and lift the bar to allow them inside.
He led them into the main room where, lit by the fire and a number of tallow dips, they found Gillian le Bret standing protectively in front of Joan de Arundell, who like Matilda earlier had obviously been weeping.
'With what intent have you come, Sir John?' demanded Gillian stiffly. 'My Cousin has done no wrong. The mild deception about her name was to protect her from the gossips who abound in this city.'
'The lady need have no fear of me, Mistress le Bret. But those same gossips will no doubt have informed you that my wife here was grievously assaulted a few nights ago, and I have certain information that links that with the manor of Hempston. That is why I am here, to urgently seek information.'
Matilda stood stock still behind him, her eyes on Joan at the far side of the room. She said nothing, and John was unsure whether her attitude was hostile or forgiving.
For her part, the younger woman displayed only apprehension, as if she expected to be clapped into irons at any moment. Gillian seemed to have taken on the role of interlocutor in this matter.
'My cousin knows nothing of this, but we can swear, by any means you desire, that her husband had no part in any attack upon the good lady.'
'How would you know that, lady, if her husband is many miles away and has no contact with his wife?' asked John in a reasonable tone.
Joan spoke up, more firmly and resolutely than the coroner had expected.
'I know my husband, Sir John. He is a fine man, honourable and fair. He was a Crusader like yourself, but his absence in the service of our king has brought us nothing but ruin and despair.'
She broke down in tears, and Matilda, undergoing a rapid reversal of mood, lumbered forward to put a consoling arm around Joan's shoulders and to press her head against her own bosom.
Gillian and John looked at the pair and then at each other.
'There seems to have been a miraculous reconciliation,' murmured the elder cousin. 'We had better be seated and talk this through.'
They arranged themselves on a padded settle near the firepit and on a wooden chair and a stool, Joan now linking her arm through Matilda's. Alternately smiling and blinking back tears, Joan told how she had been callously told of the death of her husband and then been evicted from Hempston by de la Pomeroy and de Revelle, on the claim that the manor had escheated to Prince John.
John looked covertly at his wife when her brother's name was given, but apart from a tightening of her lips, she made no c
omment.
'I know little of what happened when Nicholas Came back to Hempston, as I was far away down at the tip of Cornwall. In fact, I knew nothing of his return from the dead for some months, until he got word to my kinsmen down there, through some carters.'
'So have you seen him since then, mistress?' asked John.
Joan looked warily at Gillian, who sighed and nodded.
'Yes, she has, just a couple of times. They met briefly at covert assignations, when he came secretly off the moor.' Her voice became more defiant. 'I doubt that is a crime, Crowner, as she gave him no aid whatsoever, for she has none to give.'
The two women said nothing about Nicholas's visit into Exeter, but John spotted an important void in their story.
'So you must be able to contact your husband, lady? Otherwise you would not have been able to set up these meetings?'
Joan flushed, as the conversation was leading into dangerous paths. 'It is difficult and complicated, sir. But he is my husband, we are still young, yet deprived of each other's rightful company, due to the greed of evil men.' Again Matilda did not react to this innuendo which included her brother. John nodded, accepting the truth of her words.
'I am concerned that as you claim that your husband cannot be personally involved in these murders and in the assault on my wife, then someone in his band of men might be. What have you to say to that?'
On safer ground, Joan considered the proposition.
'Truly, I cannot help you much, as I have no knowledge of how he lives on the moor, except that he says the hardships are barely tolerable. But certainly, men from the manor went into exile with him of their own account, not wishing to suffer serfdom to those who pillage other men's property. Some of those men may well be very aggrieved and desire to strike back at those who ruined their lives. But why would they wait almost three years?'
De Wolfe had no answer to this, but persisted with his questions. 'Is there any one man you might recall who was particularly angry at what happened at Hempston?'
The Noble Outlaw Page 16
