Around noon, he was waiting for the dinner that Gwyn had promised to bring him, spending the time in anguished thought about how he could possibly track down his wife’s killer. If no other means offered itself, he decided he would somehow break out of the castle and go into hiding in the city, though with his distinctive appearance that would be very difficult. Even his height alone, apart from his black hair and great hooked nose, made him stand out in a city where virtually everyone knew him by sight. He was morosely contemplating these problems when a voice hailed him from the doorway.
‘John, I’ve brought you your dinner!’
His head jerked up and delight filled his face when he saw Hilda coming across the nave, with his mother close behind. Lurking near the door were Gwyn and Thomas, holding back from this family meeting.
Hilda, grasping a basket in her hands, stood aside while Enyd de Wolfe rushed forward and hugged her son to her breast. Though a tough, resolute woman, there were tears in her eyes, as there were in Hilda’s, when she in turn fell into John’s arms.
When the emotion of the moment had passed, they sat on the stone ledge, with John between the two women.
‘Gwyn and Thomas have told us all the details of this ridiculous arrest,’ began Enyd, but her son cut her short.
‘First, I must know about William. I am almost afraid to ask!’
His mother’s face broke into a smile, though tears appeared again in her eyes. ‘Dear Thomas’s fervent prayers, added to ours, have been answered, John!’ she said. ‘You brother is recovering, though slowly. His wits returned yesterday and his bladder functions again for the first time in weeks.’
Overjoyed, John grasped Enyd around the waist and kissed her fervently, then turned to give several more kisses to Hilda.
‘That news puts all my troubles in the shade,’ he boomed. ‘Hear that, Gwyn and Thomas? William is on the road to recovery!’
‘It will take some time,’ warned his mother. ‘On Saturday a White Canon came from the new Torre Abbey, learned in physic. He confirmed what Thomas had said, that with the yellow plague, many die, some recover quickly and others take weeks or months to get back to health.’
Immensely relieved by the news, John allowed them to pass on to Matilda’s death and all the drama that had followed, which again reduced the two women to tears of concern over his present precarious position.
‘What can you do to destroy this vile accusation?’ sobbed his mother. ‘That evil man de Revelle — I would like to tear his heart out!’
‘Maybe I will, if you can’t get out of here to do it yourself, John,’ said Hilda, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. De Wolfe recalled that this was the stalwart woman who the previous year had gone looking for her husband’s assassins and had actually killed one of them with her own hand.1
His mother soon insisted that he begin eating the game pie and grilled trout that the good Martha had sent for him.
‘She is a wonderful woman. You are lucky to have her for a wife, Gwyn!’ she said. ‘We are staying at the Bush until this nonsense is settled.’
John soon learned that the two women had ridden all the way on horseback, shunning any form of cart or litter. With a bailiff and a reeve as escort, his mother had travelled from Stoke across the Teign on the Shaldon ferry and stayed with Hilda the previous night, coming on to Exeter that morning.
When the food had been eaten and every detail of the story recounted, John made them tell him again of the way in which William had showed signs of recovery and the degree to which he was improving.
‘He is now quite rational in his speech, thank God, though very weak,’ said his mother, crossing herself in unison with Thomas, who stood behind, smiling benignly. ‘He recalls almost nothing of the many days that he was delirious and without speech, but already he is planning the crops he wants planted in the spring! Evelyn has stayed behind to care for him; otherwise she would have been with us.’
After an hour Enyd pleaded fatigue, though she looked as energetic as ever, but she made Gwyn and Thomas escort her back to the Bush for food and rest — an obvious ploy to leave Hilda alone with her son.
The two sat side by side on the cold stone, holding hands, the most they felt able to do in this consecrated place.
‘What will become of us, John?’ she asked quietly. ‘I know you can hang for this unless the real killer can be unmasked.’
‘That will never happen, Hilda my love,’ he said with a confidence that he did not fully believe. ‘I have forty days’ grace, but I shall not stay in here for long. Henry de Furnellis is in a difficult position and I would not wish to get him into deep trouble by allowing him to connive at my escape. But I will manage it, never fear. I have given no promise not to try.’
Neither of them wished to mention the obvious consequence of Matilda’s death, that he was now a free man. With her body as yet unburied and John committed to trial for murder, it was a forbidden subject, yet both of them knew that the possible outcome hovered unbidden over them.
Eventually, he reluctantly sent her away to join his mother at the Bush, with her promise that she and Enyd would come again that evening. All his friends came one by one during the rest of the day, including Mary, who brought Brutus up to see him at the door of the chapel. His first news for every visitor was the recovery of his brother, not a discussion of his own predicament. He even joined Brother Rufus on his knees at the altar in solemn and genuine thanksgiving for William’s escape from death.
Henry de Furnellis came to see him late in the afternoon and again pleaded for John’s understanding of the difficult position in which he had been placed by Aubrey de Courtenay.
‘He is strongly under the influence of Richard de Revelle, who detests me for replacing him as sheriff,’ he said bitterly. ‘Though God knows I did not seek the bloody job! All I want is a quiet life down at my manor, but if I put a foot wrong over this affair he will see that I am dishonoured and ruined.’
Once again, John tried to assure his friend that he knew the problem and he forbade Henry to take any risks with his honour and reputation. ‘But that doesn’t mean that I will miss any opportunity to find a way out of this damned place!’ he added vehemently.
They went over the same old ground again, trying to think of possible suspects and ways to flush them out, but made no progress.
‘I suppose I could re-arrest those two swine we had here in the undercroft, if they poke their noses outside the cathedral Close,’ suggested the sheriff. ‘Then I could set Stigand on to them and see what he can wring out of them with his persuasive instruments!’
‘That will get you into trouble with the bishop, Henry,’ warned John. ‘Best let things lie for the moment. I’ll think of something. I still have Gwyn and clever little Thomas to work for me on the outside.’
When Henry had gone, John sat slumped on his flinty ledge as yet another dusk began to creep over the city. He rubbed his chin, where a black stubble was forming, as he had missed his weekly wash and shave on Saturday. His black hair, worn long at the back, was greasy and tangled, and he felt generally grubby and unkempt. ‘Forty days of this and I’ll be looking like some wild hermit from a cave on Dartmoor!’ he muttered to himself.
In desperation he began plotting how to escape from Rougemont, the fortress on the hill. John had noticed an old Benedictine habit belonging to Rufus hanging in an alcove at the back of the chapel. He thought he might pass himself off as the chaplain, if he padded his belly with a blanket to imitate the fat monk’s figure and pulled the hood well over his face. Getting past the sentry at the gate was the problem, but maybe Gwyn could cause some sort of diversion to distract him, such as a fire at the other end of the inner ward. He decided to broach the subject when the Cornishman brought up his supper that evening. But once again Fate had other plans.