As the man was hustled nearer the fires, Thomas averted his eyes and Eustace ran back to the steps up to the doorway to watch, as if distance might lessen the awful spectacle. The rest of the onlookers, including Brother Rufus, stood impassively, waiting for a result.
A closer sight of the boiling scum and the glowing iron suddenly broke the armourer's will.
'No, stop! I'll tell you all!' he screamed.
As with Crues and the water trough two days earlier, the imminence of intolerable suffering overshadowed the more distant prospect of the gallows. Half an hour later, Thomas had it all inscribed on his roll and the two men from Sampford were back in their squalid cells to await the next visit of the Commissioners of Gaol Delivery and the certainty of a hanging.
Back in the sheriff's chamber, the same officials gathered to consider what they had learned in Stigand's parlour down below.
'It's extraordinary how all this links together,' enthused Brother Rufus, who was a jovial busybody and liked to be in on any intrigues that were going on. 'Three murders for different reasons, all by the same men.'
'Really only one man, in that that poor dolt Crues was just a blind tool of Robert Longus,' said Ralph Morin, 'Though he'll hang for it, just the same.'
'It's such a tortuous tale that I need to get this clear in my mind,' growled Henry de Furnellis. 'I gather that Hugo Peverel paid Longus to interfere with his father's saddle-girth and then kept close behind him at the Wilton melee, so that he could trample him to death when he was unhorsed?'
'That's right, then they made sure that the harness vanished soon afterwards, not knowing that Reginald de Charterai had already noticed the damage to the stitching,' confirmed John.
The sheriff shook his head in sad amazement. 'Killing his father! That's a terrible crime. I'm glad the bastard got his reward at the end of a knife,'
'Which was also wielded by Robert Longus!' snorted John.
'I'm not clear why that had to happen,' said the constable, doubtfully.
'How was it connected with the death of that silversmith, miles away?'
'Not so fast!' complained the sheriff. 'Hugo killed his father to succeed to the manor, right? But what about Odo, the eldest brother - he was already there, as the sitting heir, so to speak?'
'Hugo must have worked all that out beforehand, trusting that he would win any legal contest on the grounds of Odo's falling sickness. It was a gamble, but it paid off.'
'And August Scrope, the silversmith?' asked Gwyn, 'I didn't follow all that Longus said about that - he was gabbling too fast.'
Thomas, scanning his parchment version of the confession, explained what had happened.
'Scrope was staying at the New Inn, as were the Peverels. It so happened that Longus came to the inn to get some instructions from Hugo about preparing his armour for the tournament. Longus stopped for some ale in the taproom and overheard the silversmith, his tongue loosened by ale, unwisely telling some drinking companion, of his trip to Topsham the next morning with his valuable jewellery. The armourer decided to take Alexander Crues and rob the man, as a profitable sideline. It seems that they had occasionally indulged in armed robbery before this and found it easy pickings,'
'And the callous bastards also decided to kill him, to avoid being recognised,' growled Henry. 'It's fortunate that the silversmith's servant survived. They deserve to be hanged twice over.'
'So how did it come about that Hugo later gave him a false alibi when Terrus spotted Longus as one of the robbers?' asked Rufus.
John shrugged. 'Longus was very close to his master and was valuable to Hugo as his armourer, so he wouldn't want to lose him to the gallows.'
'And Longus already had a hold over him, knowing that he had deliberately run down his father,' added de Furnellis.
'He must have gabbled this out to Hugo when he ran ahead of me outside the New Inn that day, when I made him take me to his master,' said John thoughtfully. 'That's almost certainly another reason why Hugo decided to give Longus an alibi - just to spite me.'
'What do you mean by that?' asked Henry. '
'Well, I was on the point of arresting his armourer, so it must have given Hugo great delight to frustrate me! He was paying me back for humiliating him over his behaviour with de Charterai, both on the tourney field and at that banquet.'
'So why then should this Robert later want to slay Hugo?' asked a puzzled Rufus. 'It seems that they were literally as thick as thieves.'
The coroner took up the story again, 'Longus claims that when Hugo discovered not only that his stepmother Avelina had been left a substantial life interest in the manor's income but was likely to go off with it with his arch-enemy Reginald de Charterai, he tried to get him to produce a fatal accident for her as well! But evil as he is, Longus baulked at killing such a high-born woman, partly because of the risk, but also because of her past kindness to him.'
'The business of her paying for an apothecary for him?' asked the sheriff,
'Yes, he says he was taken with a severe bloody flux last year and claims Avelina saved his life by getting a leech out from Tiverton to treat him.'
'So why kill Hugo?' persisted the sheriff,
'Because Hugo threatened to withdraw his alibi for the killing of the silversmith if he refused to arrange some lethal mishap for Avelina. Longus claims he wouldn't go along With that and the only way out, if he wanted to avoid the risk of Hugo betraying him, was to get rid of him. So he and Crues followed Hugo on one of his night-time adventures with a village girl and stabbed him as he lay sleeping in the ox byre.'
'And poor Agnes remembered hearing their voices?' said Rufus.
The coroner shrugged. 'She wasn't sure of that, poor girl. And she didn't know who they were, anyway, But once the rumour got around the village, Longus couldn't risk it and she had to go. Probably unnecessarily, as it happens.'
There was silence as they all reflected on this sad catalogue of violence. It was broken by Henry, who picked at his big nose and flicked the harvest on to the rushes.
'How do the other Peverel men come out of this? Have we got anything against them?'
John scowled ferociously, 'I certainly have! I owe that arrogant bastard Ralph something, but there's nothing that we can arrest him for!'
'Joel is just a selfish young fool and Odo seems in the clear,' observed the sheriff. 'I feel sorry for him, with that affliction that hinders him taking his rightful place as manor-lord,'
'And that swine Ralph will probably defeat his claim again, when it comes to court,' added de Wolfe, with feeling.
'Where does our late unlamented sheriff fit into the picture?' queried the castle constable. 'De Revelle soon made himself scarce when we burst in to arrest those two men.'
The coroner gave a sardonic laugh. 'There's only one thing, apart from whores, that interests Richard, and that's increasing his wealth. He desperately wanted that land which old William Peverel refused him, so he was buttering up the sons to get hold of it, as they seemed more amenable to the idea.'
'I wouldn't put it past him to have planted the idea of getting rid of the old man in Hugo's head,' grunted Henry. 'But we can never prove it.'
John rose from his bench and beckoned to his officer and clerks,
'There will be inquests to arrange, now that we know what happened,' he declared. 'At least the families of August Scrope and Agnes will have the satisfaction of knowing that justice has been done - or will be when the next visit of the judges is due, for those armourers will surely hang.'
'If they survive Stigand's hospitality,' said Ralph Morin. 'Lately, we've had a few dying down below of the yellow ague, I think it's from all those rats that infest those cells.'
Thomas shivered as he made for the door - he had spent a few days in that awful place some months ago when falsely accused of a series of murders and the memory lingered. The rest of the group filed out, with de Wolfe following them. Henry de Furnellis came to the door with him, and put a hand on his shoulder.
'Try
to forget yesterday's episode, John! I know you feel shamed by what happened, but you must put it behind you, That Ralph is not worth your continued anger - I feel there is something evil about him, and no doubt God will repay him sooner or later.'
As de Wolfe departed, he thought to himself that perhaps he was not prepared to wait that long.
The official tournament ground between Salisbury and Wilton was once again busy, to the gratification of the treasury clerk who oversaw the collection of the entry fees, At the rates that the Curia Regis had set for the benefit of King Richard's exchequer, he would be taking many hundreds of marks back to Winchester at the end of the three-day event. As usual, this first day was for the grand melee, before the jousting began on the morrow.
Two hours after dawn, on a blustery day in early November, the Red and Blue teams assembled on their respective hillocks. As it was one of the main meetings of the year before winter set in, there were more hopeful contenders than usual, from all over England ar;td the Continent. The number of spectators was also larger, both high-born and those commoners who came in the hope of enjoying blood and maiming, as well as those whose main interest was gambling on the winners.
A large open-fronted tent with a few rows of benches had been set up alongside the recet for the aristocracy and their ladies, offering shelter from occasional rain showers and the curious stares of the more lowly folk straggling along the boundary ropes, Two of these ladies were Avelina and Beatrice, chaperoned by their maids and by Joel Peverel, looking dandified in a fur-lined surcoat over a red-and-gold tunic. The women also wore heavy pelisses against the wind and ornately embroidered felt coifs tied firmly under their chins.
The heralds and umpires were ready at their stations in front of the recet and soon the trumpet blasts and stentorian cries announced the imminent start of hostilities. In the front row of almost three score mounted knights, in the Red army away to the north, was Ralph Peverel. He had fretted for days because he had been deprived of his usual armourer, Robert Longus, but had managed to hire another man from Dorchester who seemed adequate enough. His chain mail was bright, though this rain would soon tarnish it, his weapons were sharp and his shield had been repaired and repainted after that swine John de Wolfe had chopped a piece out of it.
While waiting for the final trumpet to sound, he looked along the line and saw some familiar faces from the tourney circuit, but there was no one he knew well, He despised his weakling brother Joel for being more interested in getting his leg over a woman than pursuing a man's sport, for he had no partners today, as he had when his father and Hugo were alive.
A quarter of a mile to the south, a similar mass of men and destriers were assembled, all displaying their blue markers, Towards the end of the third rank was a big grey stallion with hairy feet, carrying a tall man with a hooked nose and dark-stubbled cheeks, His right hand supported a twelve-foot lance and his left arm bore a black shield with a white wolf's head.
John gazed at the distant Reds. Though by no means an imaginative man, he wondered whether the instrument of his death was among them today, Would that man kill him this time, as he had almost done two weeks earlier? As the tension built all around him, with horses shuffling, snorting and pawing the ground, he thought back over the days in which the idea of settling once and for all his debt of honour with Ralph Peverel had fermented.
Both Gwyn and Henry de Furnellis had tried to dissuade him from his plan - and as for Nesta, she was beside herself with desperate anxiety at the prospect of him once again putting himself in peril of death. Stubborn and intractable, de Wolfe had shrugged off all their arguments, pointing out that, once on the back of Odin, his leg would be no problem and that he was otherwise as fit as any other man. Eventually Gwyn accepted the inevitable and devoted himself to preparing John's equipment and pestering Andrew the farrier to ensure that Odin was in perfect condition. They trained almost every day on Bull Mead, where the swinging practice tilts had been left in place after the last event, until even the Cornishman was satisfied that his master was as good a fighter as he had ever been.
Now here he was, with Gwyn anxiously pacing the boundary ropes as his squire, hoping fervently that he would not be needed to carry back John's bleeding and broken body. Thomas and Eustace had been left behind in Exeter, once more in a ferment of concern that a two-day journey lay between them and news of the outcome.
The long-awaited final trumpet blast wailed across the scrubby heathland and with a roar of excitement and the yelling of war-cries the massed horsemen lumbered off, picking up speed on the slight slope down into the shallow valley that ran down from the recet.
John lowered his lance to the horizontal and rested the shaft on the pommel of his saddle, so that it stuck out obliquely past Odin's left ear, which was now flattened back as the stallion joined in the surge of excitement that flowed over the Blue squadron.
As the two waves of warriors hurtled towards each other, John kept a sharp lookout for a blue shield emblazoned with white chevrons.
Ralph Peverel knew that he was here, as John had seen him earlier, staring from a distance at his wolfs head emblem. The coroner had ensured, when he arrived to pay his fee, that he was not placed in the same army as Peverel, which would have wrecked his plans. Thankfully, he knew several of the marshals who were organising the event and a quiet word, without explanation, ensured that they were separated.
As the moment of collision approached, John's main concern was not to be diverted from his purpose by some other knight engaging him in a lengthy duel - or even worse, wounding or unhorsing him before he had the chance to confront Ralph. As soon as he spotted the blue-and-white shield, he dropped back and swerved to avoid an enthusiastic youngster who seemed intent on challenging him.
The thunder of hoofs diminished as the long charge degenerated into a swirling mass of horses and men, but de Wolfe managed to weave through them towards Ralph Peverel, who seemed to have the same objective. John fended off one half-hearted thrust from the lance of a knight on a white destrier, but they moved past him and he then found himself twenty paces in front of Peverel.
They were too near for a worthwhile charge, but both spurred their chargers forward and began hostilities with a simultaneous attack on each other's shields, which did nothing mare than add a few additional scratches to the wood as the tips of the lances slid off. As they passed each other, Ralph yelled a taunt above the general hubbub around them. 'No drunken Irish priest to save you today, de Wolfe!'
Then he was gone, and the two riders hauled their huge horses around, like ships manoeuvring at sea. They were now fifty yards apart, and as soon as a pair of knights slashing madly at each other with swords had cleared out of their way, they pounded towards each other again. This time the impact was shattering, but their long experience allowed them to use their shields to divert the impacts without harm, though Ralph was rocked back painfully against the wooden crupper of his saddle.
Three times they circled and returned, each yelling abuse at the other as their determined horses thundered past, each on the other's left side.
At the third pass, a few inches of the tip of John's lance snapped off, but he was not concerned as he was not aiming to stab Ralph to death, only knock him out of his saddle. His leg was aching, but this was from the strain of steering Odin by the pressure of his knees, and he felt none of the crippling disability he had suffered during their combat on foot, In fact, he felt the familiar exhilaration that only potentially fatal combat can generate.
He deliberately ran out farther on this circuit, to increase his speed on the return, dodging several pairs of other fighters, their blue and red arm-flags streaming wildly as they battered each other. John felt that it would be this next run which would make or break their contest - if only he could unhorse Ralph, his honour would be restored and he could look every man in the eye again.
Gwyn, watching with anxious approval from the side-lines, also had the feeling that this next clash would be critical. He saw
the two men wheel around a little apart from the main throng and poise themselves for the next charge. As loose turf scudded up from the massive hoofs of their destriers, they began moving towards each other, but suddenly a black horse bearing an erect figure suddenly burst out of the main melee and thundered past John. Already moving fast, the new stallion had double the speed of Odin by the time he reached Ralph Peverel, who just had time to pull his horse's head around and realign his lance to meet this unexpected challenge.
The impact was like a thunderbolt and the lance flattened Ralph's shield against his chest and hurled him clean over his horse's rump. As John cursed and swerved Odin to the side to avoid a collision, he saw Peverel fly through the air and land on his head, The crack as his neck snapped could be heard even over the tumult around them.
Three nights later there was a new face among those clustered around the coroner's table in the Bush, As well as his officer, his clerk and Eustace, Henry de Furnellis was there with Ralph Morin, but the stranger was Reginald de Charterai, his noble figure looking slightly out of place in an Exeter tavern.
'I have already expressed my sincere apologies to Sir John for interfering in his matter of honour,' he intoned gravely, 'But I had no idea that he was deliberately engaging that scoundrel.'
De Wolfe had arrived back in the city with Gwyn that afternoon, and now sat with his arm around Nesta, who had at last stopped weeping with relief that her lover had returned in one piece. Reginald had appeared at the castle while John was regaling the sheriff with the events in Salisbury. He was on his way to Brixham to take ship back to Normandy, but had broken his journey to explain the circumstances of Ralph Peverel's death. John had recommended the Bush as a good place to obtain accommodation for the night before he continued his journey, and now he was telling the story again, after an excellent supper provided by Nesta.
Figure of Hate Page 34
