The Noble Outlaw (9 page)

De Wolfe groaned. 'It's no surprise to hear those treacherous bastards would be involved in some underhand scheme like that. But how came this Nicholas to be outlawed?'

Here the potman had run out of gossip. 'I'm not sure of that, Crowner, I only overheard part of the talking and that was a year or two past. I seem to recall that this Nicholas is a hothead and he assaulted and killed somebody in his rage over the loss of his estate. He was arrested but escaped and ended up on the moor with a band of other men, most of them his own retainers.'

De Wolfe prodded Edwin a little more, but the old man had nothing further to offer. 'Now that I know the bones of it, I must discover the whole story,' John said ruminatively. 'De Revelle must have been up to his tricks before I got back from Austria.' That return was a sore memory for de Wolfe, for he had been one of the king's bodyguard when the Lionheart had been seized in Vienna and held to ransom in Austria and Germany for eighteen months. John still felt guilty of letting his monarch down, even though in fact he had been away foraging for fresh horses when the mayor of Vienna burst into the tavern and arrested Richard.

Pushing the recollection away, he decided to probe further into this affair of Nicholas de Arundell, though he thought it was preposterous to suggest it had anything at all to do with the death of the man in the forge. Slipping an arm around Nesta's shoulders, he looked meaningfully at the ceiling planks, which were also the floorboards of her little chamber up in the loft.

'Tomorrow, I'll get the full story from our sheriff,' he said, standing up as a signal to Gwyn and Edwin that he had other, more immediate plans in mind. 'Henry de Furnellis is of old Devon stock, he'll know all the scandal about the gentry. This might be another useful stick with which to beat my brother-in-law.'

CHAPTER FOUR

In which Crowner John gossips with the sheriff

Soon after first light the next morning, the coroner's trio was back at the school in Smythen Street, where they found Waiter Pole already waiting for them outside the yard of the old forge. When Gwyn banged on the weathered boards of the gate that stood at the side of the plot, they were eventually pulled aside by Henry Wotri, the servant they had met when the body was found. As they trooped into the yard, the sounds of chanting could be heard from the main building, which used to be not only the residence of the forge master and his family, but also a shop on the ground floor where he sold his wrought-iron products. Now Magister Anglicus lived on the upper floor along with two other teachers, the lectures being given in the big chamber down below, which had been formed by knocking the old shop and the metal store into one large space.

'What are they doing?' demanded de Wolfe, as they walked across the empty yard. 'Singing their lessons or what?'

Henry gave a lopsided grin. 'No, sir, that's their morning prayers. The master starts the day with a service, them being all clerics of one sort or another.' Henry led them towards the old forge, where work had ceased on pulling the floor down until such time as the cadaver would be removed. 'Magister James has been in a proper state, having the builders sent away because of this body,' the servant said with ill-concealed delight 'He's got eight more students arriving next week and nowhere to put them until this place is finished.' It looked as if de Revelle's venture into education might pay off after all, thought John. More scholars meant more fees, which would be music to his mercenary brother-in-law's soul.

'The deceased is just where you said he was to be left, Crowner,' said Henry. 'I'll not come in with you, if you don't mind. He's not a pretty sight.'

This was hardly encouraging to Walter Pole, who already looked anxious, but at that early hour de Wolfe was in no mood to pander to sensibilities.

'Come on, this will take but a moment. Just one look at him - and especially at his clothing.'

He stamped on ahead into the forge and Gwyn urged the harness maker to follow him. A moment later, Gwyn pulled off the old canvas that had been thrown over the body.

Walter peered at it, nervously at first, then curiosity got the better of his revulsion and he bent to get a closer look. 'Looks more like the cheapest leather I have to deal with, rather than a man,' he observed.

'But do you recognise him?' growled the coroner.

Walter scratched his head and thought for a moment.

'He's about the right height for Matthew and a thin fellow with it, which tallies. But that face - more like a dried monkey, I can't swear to it being him.'

'What about the clothing?' prompted Gwyn.

The leatherworker stared again, then bent down and tugged at the edge of the tunic. 'It's very much like what he used to wear. But so many other folk favour the same sort of garments. I couldn't be sure.' John ground his teeth in frustration. 'Is there nothing else you might recognise?'

Walter looked abashed at being unable to please this intimidating man. He rubbed his forehead in a desperate attempt to think of something useful. 'What about his arm?' he ventured.

De Wolfe glared at him. 'Well, what about his damned arm? He's got two of them, hasn't he?'

'He broke one a few years ago, falling off his pony. It never healed properly, there was always a lump under the skin.'

Gwyn seized upon this at once, as he had used a similar ploy once before. 'Which arm was it, left or right?' he demanded, already bending down to the corpse.

Walter Pole thought for a moment, muttering under his breath and looking at his own arms as he twisted them at the wrists to help him remember.

'The left.., yes, it was the left, as he said it wouldn't stop him having full use of his right when he was pushing his needle through the leather.'

John stooped to look as Gwyn pushed up the left sleeve of the tunic almost to the shoulder. 'Where was the damage, Walter?' he boomed.

'Just below the elbow. He would rub it sometimes, as he said it. ached.'

Gwyn lifted up the hand, the brown, wrinkled skin of the arm looking like old parchment against the almost black claws of the fingernails. He felt all along the forearm from wrist to elbow and then gave a loud exclamation.

'Ha! There's a hard lump here. Would this be it?' Hesitantly, the harness maker stretched out his own hand and tentatively felt the area that Gwyn indicated.

He nodded vigorously. 'That's it. This must be poor Matthew. No one else would have a lump like that in that very spot.' He looked sadly at the withered corpse.

'His staggering sickness must have got the better of him in the end.'

John de Wolfe shook his head. 'Not so, Walter. He was murdered!'

* * *

An hour later, the coroner strode across Rougemont's inner ward to the keep and shared a pot of ale with the sheriff. Henry de Furnellis was fond of men's company and, unlike his haughty predecessor, the old soldier was happy to forsake the sheriff's chamber for the noisy, bustling halt outside.

They sat at a table near the firepit and ignoring the attempts of clerks, merchants and others to seek an audience with him, Henry listened to the latest news about the mummified corpse.

'God's teeth, how did a master craftsman like that get himself slain in such a bizarre fashion?' he asked, his grizzled old face displaying his surprise.

'There's some meaning to it, I'm sure,' replied John grimly. 'But what it signifies is beyond me at present.

As far as we can make out, the fellow had been an ordinary tradesman with nothing to mark him out as a victim.'

The sheriff nodded over his mug. 'A saddler seems an unlikely target for an assassination. Too old to have ravished the wife of some ill-tempered husband. And if he owed money, this was no way to set about repayment.' De Wolfe stared for a moment into the fire, watching the flames flicker around the pile of oak logs. 'This body was found on de Revelle's property and he has some fanciful tale about it being dumped there to discredit him.'

Henry groaned and rolled up his eyes. 'Bloody de Revelle! I might have guessed that he would turn up again before long. I thought his experiences last month might have encouraged him to lay low for a while.'

'He claims that this corpse was planted in his school by some outlaw bent on revenge,' said de Wolfe. 'What do you know of this Nicholas de Arundell, the one they call 'Nick o' the Moor'? All I've learned about him was from the one-eyed potman at the Bush.'
 

De Furnellis cradled his chin in a hand as he dug intohis memory. 'Nicholas de Arundell? There was a scandal concerning him about three years back, before I was made sheriff for the first time. The county was in the hands of that bastard John Lackland then, so although theoretically he was sheriff, the prince left all the work to the serjeants and bailiffs of the hundreds.' This obscure complaint told de Wolfe nothing and he waited for further explanation.

'De Arundell went off to the Crusade as soon as our king called for recruits, and I seem to recall that on the way he stayed to fight for the Lionheart in the Sicilian war. Anyway, when more than two years had gone by without word from him, it was claimed that he was dead and the Count of Mortain, who had been given Devon and Cornwall by the king at his coronation, declared his estates to be escheated.'

'And who put that claim about?' growled de Wolfe, 'The de la Pomeroys of Berry Castle, which stands next to Hempston, said that a monk returning from Palestine had told them this, as he was passing through.

Of course, no one could ever produce this monk to confirm it, but as you know only too well, Henry de la Pomeroy was one of Prince bloody John's most ardent supporters in these parts.'

'And then this Nicholas causes a big problem when he turns up very much alive?' suggested the coroner.

'Indeed he did! It seems he arrived with a couple of his men and finds his wife gone back to Cornwall and a strange bailiff running his manor. Unfortunately, in his anger, he went about fighting the situation in the wrong way.'

'So what happened to get him outlawed?' asked John.

'This Nicholas is a man of very short temper and he and his retainers, together with some villagers who were loyal to him, tried to throw out the bailiff and Pomeroy's men. 'There was a fight and in the mélée, one of the local men got a crack on the head which killed him.

Someone got a warning to Berry Castle and a large force rushed over to arrest Nicholas, but he and his men escaped.'

By now, a few people had gathered behind the sheriff and were listening to his tale with interest. Any tales of conflict and violence were a welcome diversion in these peaceful times in Devon. One of the older men was Gabriel, the sergeant of the garrison's men-at-arms and a close friend of Gwyn. He broke in with his own memories of the affair.

'I don't know the details, but I heard that somehow he and some of his men vanished into the moor, where they've been ever since. He knew it was no use seeking justice from the sheriff, for there wasn't one worth speaking of, as it was the Count of Mortain who nominally held the shrievalty.'

'But why could he not get justice from someone?' demanded John. There were some derisory noises from the men gathered around. It was clear where their sympathies lay, and one man, a clerk to Ralph Morin, the castle constable, put them into words.

'Who could he appeal to, Crowner? He was declared outlaw in the county court a few weeks later, so he ceased to exist as far as the law was concerned. He couldn't bring any legal action for restitution of his estate - he couldn't even show his face anywhere for fear of being beheaded or hanged on sight.'

De Wolfe nodded his understanding at the fearful significance of being declared an outlaw, and the sheriff's next words confirmed de Arundell's plight.

'He was a relatively insignificant knight with no powerful friends, even though he had been on Crusade. Then he made matters worse by starting a vendetta against de Revelle and the Pomeroys, father and son. He and his men hid themselves on Dartmoor and struck at various farms belonging to their adversaries.' Henry grinned at the memory of de Revelle's anger at the time. 'They burned a few barns, stole sheep and cattle and poached deer from their lands. They even kidnapped a few of de Revelle's servants and tried to hold them to ransom, but he wouldn't pay so much as a bent penny, so they had to let them free.'
 

Eventually, the sheriff had to succumb to the pleas of his chief clerk and reluctantly go back to his chamber to give audience to the many people who were waiting impatiently to see him. John strode back to the gatehouse and sat behind his table, watching Thomas carefully scribing away at his manuscripts. The little clerk's tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth as he hunched over his quill pen, concentrating on forming the excellent script that would be put before, the royal justices when they next came to hold the Eyre of Assize.

One of the main functions of the coroner system was to record all legal events in each county for presentation either to the judges on their infrequent visits or to the Commissioners of Gaol Delivery, lesser officials who came more often to clear the endless backlog of cases, whose alleged perpetrators languished in the prisons.

Though juries of men from every hundred had to present their local cases to the courts, anything in which the coroner was involved had to be documented on his rolls for examination by the justices. It was Thomas's pride that ensured that his yards of parchment were the neatest and most legible of all the documents presented.