For another hour and more, accusations and counterclaims were bandied back and forth, with Walter de Ralegh forcefully keeping the parties to the relevant issues and Reginald de Bohun more quietly interjecting questions and comments which went to the heart of the matter.
Finally they came to the day of the attack on Challacombe and the fiasco at Grimspound. Here the suave voice of de Sucote laid great emphasis on the killing of the two men from Berry Pomeroy by Nicholas's archers, calling it 'yet more murders which should be punished by hanging'.
Walter de Ralegh dryly observed that when a much greater force turns up fully armed, those attacked must surely be entitled to defend themselves to the best of their ability. Pomeroy and de Revelle, together with their advocate, made great play of the claim that they were doing a public service by marching against outlaws in order to slay them and legitimately rid the Devon countryside of evil thieves and robbers.
'Again, very convenient timing,' observed de Bohun with scarcely veiled sarcasm. Having just heard that Sir John de Wolfe, the king's coroner, was riding to London to seek the intervention of the Justiciar, you suddenly decided to rid the high moor of men who had already been there for well over two years.'
The deaths of the soldiers at Grimspound was balanced by statements not only from Nicholas and his men, but also from de Wolfe, to the effect that an old woman, Gunilda Hemforde, had died in the attack and was found hastily buried in the yard at Challacombe. Strident denials of her murder were made by the defendants, but eventually some admissions were made by Pomeroy's men of some rough handling of the lady in an effort to get her to reveal the whereabouts of the outlaws.
Noon was approaching by the time all the evidence and disputation was completed. More citizens had drifted in by now, as news had percolated through the streets that a right royal row was brewing in the castle - a couple of score spectators were now packing in behind the half-circle of soldiers.
Finally, the two justices turned to each other and spent ten minutes in a head-to-head discussion, speaking in low voices that even the sheriff and the archdeacon could not discern. The murmur of conversation in the Shire Hall was muted as the two judges eventually broke apart and Walter de Ralegh stood up in front of his chair, a tall and forbidding figure. His head moved slowly from side to side as he spoke first towards the defendants' table, then at Nicholas de Arundell, the plaintiff.
'This issue perplexes my brother lord and myself, but it must be resolved,' he began in his deep, uncompromising voice. 'The fault is undoubtedly mainly on the side of those two manor lords Henry de la Pomeroy and Richard de Revelle, who have acted shamefully in this matter.'
There was a gush of protest from Joscelin de Sucote at this defamation of his clients, but Walter waved him back into his seat with a peremptory wave of his hand.
'To take advantage of a lady whose courageous husband was absent both on the king's business in Sicily and Cyprus and especially on the Holy Crusade, was despicable. We consider that using the patently fictitious excuse that her husband had died was a cruel falsehood based on an alleged rumour, probably circulated by the defendants themselves.'
He turned to John de Alençon, who sat next to him.
'Archdeacon, I understand that the Church has particular strictures against those who take advantage of absent Crusaders?'
De Ralegh knew this perfectly well, but wanted it voiced from an ecclesiastical throat. De Alençon was happy to oblige.
'Indeed it does. Rome is firm upon the issue, even up to withdrawal of communion from those who offend.'
'Then that may be a matter for your own consistory courts to pursue - but as far as we are concerned today, we have to make judgement on earthly grounds. There is another who bears responsibility for some of the wrongdoing, and that is John, Count of Mortain. The fact that his chaplain is here today shows that he is well aware of what has transpired. Whether he knew of it at the time, I cannot tell, but this allegation that the manor of Hempston was forfeit to him on the alleged death of its lord is a total fabrication. If it escheated to anyone, it would have been to the king.' He ignored another babble of protest from the table on his right.
'However, on the other side of the coin, there is no doubt that an affray took place when Sir Nicholas discovered that he and his family had been evicted. Whatever the truth of the matter, a man died from a blow on the head during the mélée - though one might say that such a violent reaction was justified in the circumstances.' He paused and looked grimly around the court, reminding Gwyn of his own master at inquests.
'There is also the matter of the deaths at Grimspound. Again, de Arundell and his men were chased from their refuge, which was then burned to the ground - and a defenceless old woman ended up dead, in somewhat doubtful circumstances. They were then pursued by a much larger force under Pomeroy and de Revelle - and who can blame them for resisting to the best of their ability in order to save their lives, though this also ended in further killing?'
John de Wolfe, who had been inwardly rejoicing at the judges' partiality for de Arundell up to this point, suddenly had an inkling that it was not going to be a resounding verdict in his favour. What was the crafty old devil working up to, he wondered? The coroner stared at the judge's back, waiting anxiously for his next words.
'Our first Norman monarch, William of Falaise, encouraged the employment of various ordeals as a means of settling legal disputes. These ancient rites are meant to call upon the aid of the Almighty in determining who is right and who is wrong.' Walter laid a hand on the shoulder of the archdeacon and looked down at him. 'I am well aware that recently, Rome has become less than enthusiastic about the employment of such tests, and indeed I hear that there are calls for the Holy Father to ban them.'
He stared around again. 'But I believe that there is still merit in the ordeal - and what is more important, so do the people of England, who are firmly attached to them as a means of seeking justice.'
'Is the old bugger going to get Richard and Pomeroy to dip their arms into molten lead?' asked Gwyn in a hoarse whisper. 'Or run barefoot across nine red-hot ploughshares?'
De Wolfe shook his head, still intent on listening to Walter de Ralegh, for he now thought he could see where the man's mind was leading him.
'My brother justice and I have decided that this dispute must be settled once and for all, so that no one can then complain that favouritism or political interference tilted the verdict - for the aid of God himself is to be sought, which no man can question.'
The silence in the hall was almost palpable, as every ear strained to know what was going to happen.
'We decree that this dispute is narrowed down to the ownership of the manor of Hempston Arundell, the other issues of improper outlawry and the deaths of persons during armed combat being dismissed inasmuch as they are not contentious between the parties.' The heavy features of de Ralegh were turned first towards the table where de Arundell sat, hardly daring to draw breath - then across to de Revelle and Henry Pomeroy, who sat uneasily awaiting whatever was in store for them.
'We further declare that this single issue be resolved by the Ordeal of Battle, where Nicholas de Arundell will engage in combat with Henry de la Pomeroy and Richard de Revelle in succession. If he is vanquished by either, then the manor of Hempston is lost to him.' There was a shocked silence, then a hubbub broke out, both on the dais and down in the body of the court. Joan de Arundell screamed and threw her arms around her husband, howling that this was just a stratagem to have him killed. Nicholas, however, gently disengaged himself, as Gillian hastened to comfort her cousin.
He stood up, and in a loud voice accepted the challenge with all his heart, confident that right would be on his side.
On the defendants' table, Joscelin de Sucote rose to his feet and began making protests, but de Wolfe suspected that his heart was not in it - the judgement did not affect him personally, and if these Devon barbarians wanted to hack each other to pieces, then let them get on with it, he had done his bes
t for them.
Alongside him, the barbarians in question showed very different reactions to Walter's decision. The burly, pugnacious Henry de la Pomeroy, who had fought in several campaigns and was fond of jousting and hunting, was confident that he could more than hold his own against the slighter Nicholas de Arundell, as long as there were no bowmen in the offing. Richard de Revelle, on the other hand, looked pale and shocked, his hand nervously caressing his pointed beard. De Wolfe saw him tugging at Joscelin's sleeve and gabbling urgently at him, which merely provoked the lawyer into repeated shakings of the head, as he presumably told Richard that there was nothing he could do at that point to reverse the decision of the judges.
As the chatter and catcalls from the floor grew louder, Ralph Morin signalled to Sergeant Gabriel to restore order. With stentorian shouts, buffets across the head and a few blows from their cudgels, the garrison soldiers soon calmed the audience down, allowing Walter de Ralegh to finish announcing the details of the trial by battle.
'As the disputants are all of noble birth, they shall fight with the short sword, rather than with the half-staff of the commoner,' he declared. 'Sir Nicholas, as one man against two, will have the choice as to who shall face him first. If he triumphs at the first bout, there will be an hour's respite for recovery before the second contest.' John, though worried at the outcome of this affair, grinned to himself as he saw his brother-in-law's face blanch at the prospect of facing de Arundell, whether it be at the first or second bout. But Henry de la Pomeroy was a different matter, thought de Wolfe uneasily.
'I must go up to Raden Lane and offer some comfort to Lady Joan,' fretted Matilda over the dinner table a short while later. John felt like telling her to stop fussing and to mind her own business, but he wisely held his tongue. He knew that she was well-meaning and also that she was worried herself, as her own brother, who until recently she had idolised, was going to be on the receiving end of a sword wielded by a hardened campaigner who had had his physical skills honed by a couple of years' hard living on Dartmoor.
He did his best to reassure her about the outcome.
'This need not be a fight to the death, Matilda. This has been boiled down to a dispute over land and they are not going to hang the losing survivor. A disabling strike with the sword - or a submission if one man is being soundly defeated, will suffice to satisfy honour.'
He did not add that there was nothing to stop one combatant killing the other if he could - and by the angry look in de la Pomeroy's eye, it seemed he would be happy to spill Nicholas's life blood all over the ground.
'When is this barbaric ritual to take place?' demanded his wife.
'The first contest will be at the eighth hour tomorrow morning, in the inner ward of Rougemont,' explained John. 'The second will be an hour later, the actual time depending on how long the first one lasts. Usually, few continue for more than a couple of hours, unless the pair are evenly matched in skill.'
His wife clucked her tongue and bemoaned the bloodthirsty tastes of bestial men, compared to the gentler sensibilities of her own sex. 'If Sir Nicholas perishes, that poor wife of his will be devastated,' she said with genuine concern.
'If he is defeated, he loses his home and his land and everything that goes with it,' pointed out de Wolfe. 'He would be destitute, yet another landless, penurious knight let loose upon the country. He might as well go back to being an outlaw on the moor, thanks to your brother and his grasping friend from Berry Castle.' For once, his wife had no caustic answer to throw back in his face.
That afternoon, John and his officer and clerk went back to the coroner's chamber in the gatehouse to refresh themselves with bread, cheese and ale - though Thomas drank cider, for which he now grudgingly admitted he was getting a taste. The little priest pulled his quills and parchment towards him, ready to start writing duplicate copies of inquests, but the other two seemed in a talkative mood, wanting to pick over the significance of the proceedings that morning.
'I had hoped old Walter and this new judge would have just hanged those two sods - or at least banished them from the realm or imposed a massive fine that would cripple them,' growled Gwyn, from his usual seat on the window ledge.
De Wolfe, sitting behind his trestle table, shook his head. 'They have too many powerful friends for that, Gwyn. John de Alençon told me afterwards that, on reflection, he felt it was unwise of him to suggest that the bastards could be excommunicated for cheating a man on Crusade, as the bishop is well known as a strong supporter of Prince John and will probably have strong words to say to the archdeacon when he hears about it. And you saw how the prince sent his clever lawyer down to aid them.'
'But what does this strange verdict of Ordeal by Battle mean, Crowner?' asked Thomas, his sharp nose almost twitching with interest. 'What on earth can that achieve?'
The coroner rasped a hand across his stubble thoughtfully. 'It was a clever move, assuming Nicholas wins. It would show that God as well as the king's justices agree that de Arundell was the wronged party, though that seems bloody obvious to everyone. But at least, by invoking the Almighty, it would prevent those who support the prince from claiming that the result was rigged by the Justiciar and his justices.'
'And if he loses?' grunted the Cornishman.
De Wolfe shrugged. 'Political expediency, it's called. Hubert Walter certainly wants Nicholas to triumph and to see de Revelle's nose rubbed in the dirt once again - but if it fails, then he can say that it shows that he was impartial.'
'Will he win, master?' asked Thomas. 'It doesn't seem fair, asking one man to fight two opponents.'
'Some of these ruffians who turn approver have to fight up to five of their accomplices to save their necks,' replied Gwyn. 'As long as there's a decent interval between bouts to allow them to recover, I don't see it makes much difference.'
De Wolfe went back to answer Thomas's first question. 'Who will win? I hope to God that Nicholas can vanquish Henry de la Pomeroy, who is a hard bastard and well used to fighting. De Revelle is a chicken-hearted coward and should be no problem, though I hope Nicholas doesn't kill him, as Matilda will blame me for the rest of my life.'
Gwyn swallowed the rest of his quart with a gurgling noise like a barrel being emptied. Wiping his moustache with an upward sweep of his hand, he became inquisitive.
'I've seen many of these trials by combat, but I still don't understand why bashing your opponent's head with a staff or skewering him on a sword should be a means of solving a legal dispute.'
Their clerk, a fount of knowledge on so many matters, was eager to show off his erudition. 'As the judge said, it's an ancient ritual, though new minds at the Vatican are becoming impatient with what they see as pagan magic, even though Almighty God is invoked.'
'How ancient?' asked de Wolfe, also curious about this odd practice, even though everyone was familiar with it as a part of English legal procedure.
'Ordeals of fire and water go back to ancient times, even in far-off places in the East, but as for the Ordeal of Battle, as the justice said, William of Normandy brought it to England at the time of the Conquest,' explained Thomas. 'But it was originally a German invention or even possibly developed by the pagans in the Northlands.'
Gwyn scratched his crotch vigorously. 'Wherever it came from, let's hope our man Nicholas has the stronger arm tomorrow, after all the effort we've made to help him.'
'Amen to that,' said Thomas, crossing himself devoutly.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In which Crowner John sees justice done
Though the crowd in the Shire Hall might have been small the previous day, Exeter's gossip grapevine ensured that far more people climbed Castle Hill the next morning to see three knights and manor lords fight it out, possibly to the death.
The constable of Rougemont had been up at dawn to organise the arrangements. The weather was cold, with a leaden sky, but there had been no new snow, and only dirty remnants of the last fall lurked at the foot of the high curtain walls. Sergeant Gabriel and hi
s soldiers from the garrison had cleared the centre of the inner ward of the usual obstructions, such as empty ox-carts, archery targets and heaps of refuse. The pigs and goats that normally snuffled about the bailey were chased down to the outer ward, and a man was stationed at the gate to make sure that they did not return.
Gabriel paced out the requisite square of sixty feet on each side and his men hammered in stakes at intervals, ropes being strung between them to keep the combat area clear of spectators. A dozen men-at-arms spaced out outside this barrier made doubly sure that there would be no interference to the ritual.
By the time the cathedral bell tolled to announce the office of Prime, just before the eighth hour, about a hundred people were gathered in the inner ward. At the end farthest from the gatehouse, towards the squat keep, the supporters of de la Pomeroy and de Revelle gathered along the rope, mainly the bailiffs, reeves and other manor officials. The opposite side of the marked-off square was reserved for de Arundell's men from the moor, together with his wife Joan. Nicholas and her cousin had tried to persuade her to stay away, but the resolute lady adamantly refused, saying that if her husband was to be wounded or killed, it was only right that she should be with him.
Resigned to the stubborn woman's resolve, Gillian le Bret stayed closely by her, and to de Wolfe's surprise, his own wife Matilda insisted on accompanying them. He tried to dissuade her also, saying that it was not proper for a woman to witness bloodshed, injury and possibly death, but taking her cue from Joan de Arundell, Matilda shrugged off his protests. John wondered to what extent she was there in case her brother Richard suffered the same misfortune, so with a sigh he abandoned his attempts to keep her away. He could not stay at her side, as he had his own duties as coroner whenever an ordeal was in progress, and Thomas had to keep a record for eventual presentation to the royal justices of the General Eyre when it arrived, sometime in the future.
The Noble Outlaw Page 30
