Figure of Hate

by Bernard Knight

  'This manor has deliberately flouted an instruction by the King's coroner and will be amerced in the sum of five marks, to be confirmed by the justices at the next eyre in Exeter. If you claim to be the current lord, Sir Ralph, then I hold you personally responsible, and am attaching you in a recognisance of another five marks to appear at that court to answer to the judges for your actions.'

  Ralph stared at the coroner as if the latter had just descended from the moon. 'This is outrageous, sir! You cannot fine me and drag me to court like any common villein. I am a knight of the realm!'

  'And so am I - but I abide by the law, which you do not' snapped de Wolfe. 'Furthermore, I will be holding an inquest in two hours' time, to inquire where, when and by what means your brother came to his death against the King's peace. For that, I require his body to be produced and I now command you, in the name of the King, to open that fresh grave and have the body brought to the building you use for your manor court. I trust that my previous instruction has been carried out - to get the men of the village there to act as a jury.'

  Gwyn was standing just inside the door of the hall, with Thomas peering rather fearfully from under his arm. The big man grinned as he saw the mixture of astonishment and outrage on the faces of the Peverel brothers and their steward. The bailiff managed a deadpan expression and the reeve suddenly found that he need to rub a hand over his mouth to conceal his feelings.

  Joel, the fresh-faced young man who had yet to learn that authority was not something to be trifled with, struck a pose and spoke with an attempted hauteur that Gwyn felt made him sound ridiculous.

  'And what if we ignore your totally unreasonable demands, Coroner? May I remind you that we have friends in high places.'

  John looked at the speaker as if he were some errant schoolboy before his pedagogue.

  'Then your friends must include the Pope and the Almighty, for they are the only ones who are more powerful than King Richard and his justiciar!' he said sarcastically. 'If you obstruct me further, then I will have to go back to Exeter and return with men-at-arms in a posse comitatus dispatched by the sheriff ... the real sheriff!' he added, with a scathing look at his brother-in-law, who had so far remained silent.

  The eldest brother decided that conciliation was the only possible course.

  'Sir John, much as this situation distresses all of us, I see that you are determined and therefore we cannot hold out against you,' said Odo. 'All I ask is that we now get this painful matter over as quickly as possible and with the least ill feeling.' He looked agitated, and his big face was flushed with emotion as he turned to the bailiff to give his orders. 'Walter, send that man who acts as sexton to find others and retrieve the coffin at once. Reeve, get yourself about the village and tell every man to be at the courthouse by mid-morning.' And then he collapsed to the floor unconscious, all his limbs twitching slightly for a moment until he lay deathly still.

  No one seemed too concerned by Odo's spasms, though the smirk on Ralph's face suggested that this was another confirmation of his right to assume the lordship. The steward and two of the house servants picked up the eldest brother and laid him on one of the tables, the same two servants remaining alongside to ensure that he did not roll off when he recovered.

  John, feeling slightly discomfited by the thought that he may have been the instrument of Odo's fit, was concerned for his well-being.

  'How long will he be like this?' he asked Walter Hog.

  'Usually only a few minutes,' replied the bailiff in a low voice. 'He'll wake up and then he always rubs his face with both hands. Then he'll stride up and down the chamber like a sleepwalker, before sitting down.

  Then he'll slumber for an hour and wake up in his normal frame of mind. It's always the same, his behaviour is identical every time.'

  Ralph came across from where he had been looking at his elder brother and told the bailiff to get about his business.

  'Do what Sir Odo told you, Walter. We have to please the coroner, don't we!' he sneered.

  Turning to de Wolfe, he jerked his head towards the still figure on the trestle. 'You want me to come to your court, Crowner? Then I'll probably get you to mine as a witness, if I need to contest my poor brother's claim to the manor. You've seen how he reacts to a crisis.

  Can such a man be allowed to direct the lives of more than seven score people? I think not!' With that, he turned on his heel with a flourish and made for the staircase to the upper floor.

  'You certainly know how to make enemies, John,' said a voice behind him. Turning, he found Richard de Revelle smiling sardonically at him. In token acknowledgement of the bereavement in the manor, he had left off his usual bright garments and wore a long tunic of black linen, but with ornate silver threadwork around the neck, hem and sleeves. Over this was a full cloak of dark grey serge, not unlike John's usual attire, giving him a funereal appearance.

  'You had a hand in advising them to bury this body, against my express orders,' de Wolfe snapped.

  'When the orders are foolish, unreasonable and unkind, then that is the right counsel to offer,' retorted the former sheriff.

  'Always the glib answer, Richard. Why are you interfering in the affairs of this manor? There must be something in it for you, you never do anything for nothing.'

  'I am a good neighbour, John! My land runs along the Peverel boundary to the north and west. It is only right that I try to help friends in their hour of need.'

  'Huh! Who needs enemies when they can have friends like you, eh?'

  Turning his back on his brother-in-law, de Wolfe marched to the door and, with a jerk of the head at his clerk and officer, made his way back to the church.

  Determined that there would be no evasion or duplicity this time, John stood near the grave to make sure that his Orders were carried out. With Gwyn and Thomas at his side, he watched while Walter Hog supervised his men as they reopened the pit. Again a group of onlookers was gathered along the dry-stone wall around the churchyard, mostly wives and old men too infirm to work in the fields.

  Two villeins were waist deep in the hole, throwing the rich red soil out with flat wooden shovels tipped with iron strips. As the earth had only been put in place the previous day, it was soft and light, so the work went ahead quickly and a large pile was soon heaped along each side.

  'The box is not lap down, Crowner,' the bailiff reassured them. 'It's on top of his father's remains, put there not six months ago.'

  'Not a very fancy memorial for two lords of the manorl' grunted Gwyn. Td have thought they'd have done better than this.'

  'Most gentry are buried within the church itself, near the altar,' commented Thomas, automatically making the sign of the cross.

  'That's the very point,' answered Walter. 'The old man, William, was planning to rebuild the church in stone to ensure that his immortal soul got a clear passage into heaven. This old wooden place has been here since Saxon times. But the Lord beat him to it, I'm afraid - and he's done the same to Hugo, who also claimed he was going to carry out his father's plan.'

  'Then presumably the family will now build a new church and put William and Hugo under its floor?' asked Thomas hopefully.

  The bailiff looked around and lowered his voice.

  'Maybe, but I hear that money is short. Both Hugo and his father lost heavily in the tournaments these past couple of years - that's why Hugo was so incensed when that Frenchie beat him last week. According to what the steward tells me, there'll not be much money left for church-building, unless Sir Ralph can do better with lance and sword than his brother.'

  'But this is a large, fertile manor,' said de Wolfel 'It should be rich with all that land under the plough and those many carucates of pasture for cattle and sheep.' The bailiff shrugged. 'I do my best, Crowner. Sir Odo is keen on making the best of the land, but he never gets support from the others. They never restock enough, neither beast nor seed - and they've sold off too much to repay their debts. Bad management, that's what's ruining this manor.'

&nbs
p; Walter Hog's recriminations were cut short by a call from one of the villeins who acted as sexton. He was tapping something solid with the end of his spade, as his companion began scraping earth sideways.

  'We're down to the box, Bailiff. Do you want 'er taken out or shall we open 'er where she lies?' he called, in the thick local dialect.

  Walter looked enquiringly at the coroner, who shook his head.

  'The corpse will be needed only for an hour or two.

  If you can get the lid off easily, just take the body out and carry it on that bier up to the courthouse.' The coffin was a plain box made in haste from elm planks, and the top gave way without trouble when strips of iron provided by the smith were levered into the joints. John and Gwyn leaned over the grave as it was removed and watched with interest as the diggers peeled back the linen wrappings that shrouded the cadaver. Hugo Peverel appeared much the same as when they had seen him on Monday, still dressed in the tunic in which he had died. When a kerchief was lifted from his face, it was seen to be somewhat swollen and reddened, but otherwise in fair condition.

  'Damned liars, saying that he had to be buried because he was going off!' muttered Gwyn. 'There's days of use left in him yet!'

  They left the bailiff to see that the corpse was removed and carried up to the barn for the inquest, while they sought some sustenance after their ride from Exeter. John could have returned to the hall, where no doubt his rank would have ensured that he would have been fed, albeit grudgingly, by the hostile family.

  But he chose to avoid them and, with his two assistants, made for the alehouse on the green. As they passed the open space, Gwyn jerked his head towards the manorial gallows, two"high posts supporting a crossbar, which, together with a pillory, stood threateningly alongside the area where the village lads played at football and the men practised their archery. It was empty today, but a rope noose swayed ominously in the breeze.

  'That's where the thatcher's son came to his end,' he said. 'I wonder if his father or brothers had enough guts to stick Hugo the other night?'

  De Wolfe grunted and shrugged his shoulders. 'God knows! It could equally have been that reeve or his son-in-law, inflamed at Peverel bedding the daughter on her wedding night.'

  The tavern was empty, as all the men were either in the fields or being rounded up for jury service, and the three officials had the room to themselves. The alewife had a blackened pot hanging from a tripod over the fire-pit and from it she ladled a thin broth into wooden bowls. Silently, she set these on the window ledge for them, together with a fresh loaf torn into pieces. From a leather bucket of dirty water set by the ale casks, she produced some horn spoons and rubbed them dry with the hem of her grubby apron. The stew tasted better than it looked, and even the ale she offered seemed less sour than on Monday.

  'If I come here too often, I might even get to like the bloody stufft' grumbled Gwyn, as he tucked in.

  The more fastidious Thomas ignored the drink, but found that the long ride had given him an appetite, so that he ate his broth with something approaching relish.

  They discussed the relative merits of each candidate for the killing, but came to no conclusions. It seemed that virtually anyone in the village could have stabbed Hugo in the back, as the opportunity to creep up on him asleep on a dark night was universal - and motives were thick on the ground. When they had exhausted the possibilities, none of which John felt was likely to be confirmed at the inquest, Gwyn brought up the matter of the silversmith, murdered the previous week.

  'What are you going to do about this Robert Longus, the armourer who refused to come to your inquest in the city?'

  'Rest assured, I've not forgotten him! Before we leave, I'll attach him by sureties to attend a resumed inquest next week. If he doesn't show up, then I'll get him summoned to the Shire Court. Four failures to appear there and he'll be outlawed.'

  'What about the other man that was said to have been with him when they robbed and killed the silversmith?' asked Thomas. 'If the armourer is from this manor, then so perhaps is the other?'

  De Wolfe stared through the window opening as he finished his ale, thinking about this other problem.

  'Unfortunately, that man Terrus who survived the assault says he has no recollection of the face of the other attacker, so there would be no point in getting him all the way up here from Totnes to try to pick him out. '

  'I'll keep a close eye on the bastard today, to see if he has any particular crony in the manor,' offered Gwyn.

  'With the lately deceased Hugo giving him such a firm alibi, we've only got the word of Terrus against theirs,' said John regretfully. 'I wonder if Ralph Peverel will back up the story too?'

  'He will, Crowner,' said Thomas gloomily. 'If only to spite you. These people stick together like glue.'

  'Especially an armourer,' added Gwyn. 'There's a special bond between a tourney fighter and the fellow who tends to his weapons and accoutrements, for the knight's life may depend upon him.'

  The Cornishman Said this with genuine feeling, as he had long been in that position himself. As de Wolfe's virtual squire, as well as friend and companion for twenty years, he was more like John's brother than servant - though he never took advantage by overfamiliarity.

  Through the window opening, the coroner noticed an increasing drift of people from the lower end of the village, all making their way towards the manor-house stockade. As well as the men and boys needed for the jury, women and children trudged past, the latter intent on congregating outside the barn to eavesdrop on the proceedings. Eventually, John decided it was time to move and, giving the ale-wife a penny for their food and drink, led his team out into the rutted road and walked up to the manor.

  The barn was large and bare, with one chair and some benches at one end for the lord, his steward and other manor officers. The freemen and villeins spread themselves around the walls in their accustomed places, as they were well used to attending the compulsory manor leets.

  When the coroner walked in, he found the Peverel brothers, including Odo, already seated. Their steward and bailiff, together with the priest, stood behind them.

  Though strictly speaking they should all have been in the body of the court with the jurors, John decided not to make an issue of it, though he took exception to Ralph lounging in the one and only chair. He strode across and stood in front of the putative manor-lord.

  'I rather think it is the coroner who presides at an inquest, sir,' he said, trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

  Recognising that he was pushing his luck a little too far, Ralph eased himself from the chair and sardonically waved de Wolfe into it, then sat down on a nearby bench next to Roger Viel, the steward. At this point, de Wolfe was irritated to see the dapper figure of Richard de Revelle enter and sit next to Odo, who seemed quite recovered from his falling fit.

  John motioned to Gwyn to boom out the opening call for the proceedings, just as the sexton and another man carried in the bier with the shrouded form of the deceased lord. They set it down before the coroner, between him and the three score men who formed the jury.

  'There is no point in enquiring into presentment of Englishry,' began the coroner. 'Of course, Sir Hugo Peverel was of Norman lineage and, especially given that he was stabbed in the back, then the murdrum fine will undoubtedly be levied.'

  There was a groan from the assembly, as it would be the villagers, both free and unfree, who would have to find the money, not the ruling family.

  'However, I will not fix any penalty now, but in these unusual circumstances of a murdered manor-lord, leave it to the justices in Eyre to decide on the amount of such a fine.' An almost audible exhalation of relief went round the barn at what was at least a postponement of their collective punishment.

  The inquest then took its usual course, with the first finder being called to relate how the body was discovered. This was the good-wife who came to steal hay for her rabbits, and from then on the chain of events was followed through the bailiff and the reeve up
to the point where the coroner was summoned from Exeter.

  After this, the nervous Agnes was called, prodded to the front of the barn by her mother. With frightened sideways glances at the covered corpse, she snivelled her way through her account of the evening, drawing black looks from the brothers and de Revelle as she haltingly admitted to being ravished by the lord of the manor, even if it was willingly and for profit.

  'He were fit and well when I left him, sirs,' she finished. 'Looked sleepy and contented as he lay back in the hay, so I left 'un there and went 'ome.' John then heard from the bailiff and the steward, who could add nothing except what they had done after the body was discovered. Warin Fishacre, the reeve, gave his evidence in a surly, monosyllabic way, mainly about his being dispatched to Exeter by the bailiff to fetch the coroner.

  Finally, de Wolfe called the male members of the ruling family. Though he felt inclined to make them stand before him in the body of the court, like the other witnesses, he had sufficient Norman blood in his veins to defer to their status enough to take their evidence from where they sat. Even so, Richard de Revelle mischievously objected to their being questioned at all.

  In his high, braying voice, he claimed that it was unseemly, possibly unlawful, for manor-lords to be interrogated in their own manor.

  'They have a position to maintain, Coroner. There is a gulf between them and their tenants and bondsmen which needs to be kept- or all deference and discipline will be put in jeopardy!'

  John glared at the former sheriff, knowing that Richard was doing everything he could to make life difficult for him.

  'This is a king's court, de Revelle, not a manor leet! We are all subjects of the Crown and must abide by the laws laid down by the Curia Regis, which is the instrument of the King's will. Those who disregard it, flaunt their loyalty to the sovereign.'

  Once again, he prodded the issue-of fidelity which was de Revelle's weak spot. Turning to Odo, he spoke more gently. 'I trust you are feeling well enough to answer my questions, sir?'