‘These are our brothers and sisters, but I won’t give you all their names,’ he said cautiously. ‘But as four of us will be hauled before the bishop’s tribunal on Thursday, our names will no doubt be bandied about the city within hours.’
He pointed at Oliver and Peter and Jordan Cosse of Ide, telling the coroner who they were. John remained standing, taller than any of them and looking like a predatory eagle in his black and grey clothing.
‘I am not concerned with your religion, your beliefs, your faith,’ he began in his sonorous voice. ‘That is for other authorities to deal with. I am a king’s law officer, and my only concern is investigating the death of two, probably three, persons who are of a similar religious persuasion.’
Jordan Cosse looked startled. ‘You said three, Crowner? We know about Nicholas and Vincente, but who is the other one?’
All faces were turned towards him, waiting intently.
‘A man called Hengist has been missing from Wonford for some days. I have just been told that he has been found stabbed to death.’
There was a shocked silence, then a buzz of whispering.
‘We know of no one of our community by that name, sir,’ said Adam.
‘I understand that there are others who dispute the authority of the Roman Church, apart from your community?’ De Wolfe made this into a question rather than a statement.
Adam nodded and explained. ‘We have no name, like Cathars or Bogomils, but I suppose we follow the precepts of Pelagius, of whom I have read.’
‘My learned clerk tells me that the cult of that man faded centuries ago,’ objected John.
Adam, the philosophical fishmonger, smiled. ‘Maybe his following under that name dwindled and was crushed, but the basic truths that he preached and wrote about remain in men’s minds. We have revived them, and I know many others have similar beliefs.’
‘I asked about other branches of heresy. I was told that this man Hengist was attracted to the Cathar beliefs.’
There was another murmur among the others and some nodding of heads.
‘True, there are many pathways that a man can follow, without being chained by the Church to one narrow track,’ said Adam. ‘The Cathars are very numerous in France and pose the greatest threat to Rome. Not like us!’ he added rather wistfully, looking around at his small group.
At the back of the barn, unseen by those inside, an eye appeared in a crack between the rough boards and a hand cupped to a ear listened intently.
‘So this man in Wonford was not one of you?’ repeated John.
Heads shook in reply and Peter of Ide expressed his sorrow. ‘We revere all life, perhaps not like the Cathars, who consider the material world to be evil. I am saddened that any man or woman should be harmed, especially if it be for their faith.’
‘I agree with you. I regret that I once killed many men in the name of my religion,’ said de Wolfe — and the listening ear picked up his sentiments with satisfaction. He had heard enough and slipped away soundlessly back to the shelter of the trees, to find his horse tethered a safe distance away.
The coroner now got to the purpose of his visit. ‘I came here today to meet you, to learn if any of you suspect who might be so incensed at your different view of Christianity that they would wish to slay you?’
There was some more murmuring and one of the women, a gaunt dame of late middle age with sparse hair straggled over a pink scalp, spoke up. ‘Those canons — may they pay for their hatred when they meet their Maker — they are the ones who wish to persecute us!’
There was a general mutter of agreement, which again Adam put into words. ‘One is a cathedral proctor, that Robert de Baggetor, so he can use his heavy-handed bailiffs to hound us.’
Oliver, the pale-faced younger man with the narrow face, spoke for the first time. ‘That is so, but I find it hard to believe that priests, corrupt though so many might be, would stoop to foul murder, when they have the power of the Church to crush us, as they are plainly intent upon doing.’
‘But has anyone attacked any of you, either by mouth or fist?’
Adam laughed sardonically. ‘Plenty of abuse, when we speak publicly of our faith. I’ve had a punch or two aimed at me, but it was in the heat of the moment; it was nothing serious.’
‘Even those proctors’ beadles, Gale and Blundus, have never yet gone beyond a push and a shove,’ added Jordan Cosse.
De Wolfe spoke to them for another few minutes, asking each individually whether they had any cause to suspect who might wish them dead. His suggestion that perhaps one of the other sects might be jealous or inflamed by their different beliefs was met with derision. ‘We are all Christians and we respect each other’s right to worship in our own way. We have no desire to convert the great mass of Romish folk; they are as entitled as we are to freedom of expression. I only wish they felt the same about us!’
There was no more to be learned and John wished them well, though, like them, he was apprehensive about what their interrogation on Thursday might lead to. He went back to find Odin, who was peacefully grazing in the wood, and rode slowly back to the city, pondering the multiple problems that were churning in his mind.
CHAPTER EIGHT
De Wolfe took his big stallion back to Andrew’s stables and, as he came out into the lane, saw his next-door neighbours leaving their front door. Immediately, Cecilia stepped forward and put a hand on his arm.
‘Sir John, how is your brother? Please tell me he is much improved!’
The sincerity in her voice was unmistakable; it was not just a polite remark. John explained that he had ridden down there again and would be going again next day, hoping to hear better news.
‘I am most appreciative of your accompanying me, doctor,’ he said to Clement. ‘My mother and sister also were gratified to have a physician examine William, especially as it took much of your valuable time.’
‘You are welcome. It was the least I could do at such a difficult time,’ replied the doctor. ‘Now Cecilia and I are off to make our devotions at St Olave’s,’ he added. ‘We are most grateful to your wife for introducing us to that excellent place of worship. In fact, we are having a meeting of the congregation there with the good priest Father Fulk, to discuss how we can best encourage the cathedral authorities to pursue this scandal of the heretics with the utmost vigour!’
He spoke with vibrant enthusiasm, his eyes glinting as he anticipated his vigilante role in ‘cleansing the stables of the temple’, as he had described it to his wife earlier that day.
Cecilia, wrapped against a rising east wind in a hooded mantle of blue velvet lined with white fur, was looking worried, but smiled at John and said she hoped that he would find a great improvement in William’s condition next day. Her husband seized her arm and urged her towards the High Street, but as they went she looked over her shoulder and again gave him an enigmatic smile.
John felt confused about his new neighbours, as his initial dislike of Clement had subsided, particularly after he had so readily agreed to make the overnight visit to see brother William. Though full of his own importance — and too keen on religion for John’s taste — he seemed a good enough man at heart. As for Cecilia, he could not make her out. She played the devoted wife, but his long experience of courting women told him that there was more to her than met the eye — though that was indeed pleasant enough!
He turned towards his own house and there, watching him with a scowl, was Matilda, also muffled up, with skinny Lucille trailing behind her.
‘Ogling our neighbour again, I see!’ she grated as she advanced upon him. ‘Why can’t you leave the sweet lady alone? You must see how it embarrasses her husband.’