When he had talked privately to Robert Fitzhamon after the inquest, the boy seemed hardly surprised that his father had been killed deliberately. He explained to de Wolfe the intentions that the elder William had expressed to Henry de la Pomeroy to seek out the Chief Justiciar if the encroachment on his lands was not halted. ‘I don’t know exactly what had been going on, but in the past few months I gathered that some of the barons and landholding knights had invited my father to join them in some dubious enterprise. He had refused, and as he spoke of this in the same breath as of his loyalty to King Richard, I suspect that some new rebellion was being mooted, which he declined to support.’
As he pushed open his street door, de Wolfe thought this a possible explanation for the murder, though it seemed somewhat extreme. Brutus heard him arrive and came up the passage from the yard, wagging his tail, followed by Mary with an equally welcoming smile. She helped the coroner pull off his riding boots, then hung his baldric and sword on the hook in the vestibule. Jerking a thumb towards the hall, she made a wry face. ‘You’ll have little joy there tonight, Master Crowner,’ she whispered, ‘so I’ll get you something substantial to eat. At least it will help you to pass the time this evening.’ With that she vanished back to her kitchen and, with a sigh of resignation, John pushed open the inner door to the hall.
Matilda was in front of the fire as usual, sewing by the light of two tallow lamps on a bracket alongside her chair. She was as uncommunicative as usual, offering nothing but a curt word or two in response to his efforts at conversation.
Soon Mary brought in a large earthenware pot of mutton stew with root vegetables, and a loaf of hot bread. Silently, Matilda came to the table, and as they ate and drank, de Wolfe made another effort at conversation, telling her again of the murderous death of William Fitzhamon. Finally this struck a spark of interest in her as, almost reluctantly, she gave him a recitation of Fitzhamon’s family connections, who his wife was, how many children he had and more from her compendious store of knowledge of the noble members of Devon society, to which she had an envious yearning to belong.
De Wolfe briefly had hopes of her coming out of her black mood, but he made a fatal mistake when she asked him whether anyone had been arrested for the crime. ‘No, and your brother won’t accept that it was a murder. He claims it was a simple hunting accident.’
From there it was all downhilclass="underline" Matilda worshipped her brother and felt he could do no wrong. She still would not accept that he had been a sympathiser of Prince John in his rebellion, which had ended so ignominiously the year before – even though he had been prevented from taking up the sheriffdom for months after being first appointed, which spoke for itself. ‘If Richard says it was an accident, why should you deny it?’ she snapped, her power of speech returning in full.
‘Because I was there, and examined the body, and he was not,’ de Wolfe retorted, stung into more unwise comments by the unfairness of her reasoning. ‘And he has released that Fulford man I arrested yesterday, without any explanation.’
‘The sheriff knows more about what goes on in this county than you,’ Matilda declared crossly. She got up and walked back to her chair by the hearth, pointedly turning her back on him and refusing to answer him when he tried to placate her again.
De Wolfe endured a few minutes more of her sulks, standing by the fire to warm his back, but as she refused even to look up at him when he spoke, he marched to the door, put on his walking shoes and cloak and slammed out of the house. He had intended going out in any event and made his way not to the Bush but to the Archdeacon’s house in the close.
These were the slack hours before the night-time round of services and John de Alencon was reading a small leatherbound book in his bare room. Dressed in a grey cassock, his thin face looked grave in the light of three candles burning on his table. ‘The Bishop is back and takes a very serious view of the behaviour of both Roger de Limesi and his vicar. He has committed Eric Langton to appear before a Consistory Court next week and is deciding whether to take any action against my brother canon.’
De Wolfe put in a word for the junior priest, as best he could. ‘He did all that was asked of him in this matter of entrapping Giles Fulford – which also flushed out Jocelin de Braose. But that fool of a sheriff has let Fulford go free and he is at large somewhere in the city, no doubt sheltered by his friends.’
He then related to de Alencon the events of the past day and the death of Fitzhamon. ‘There is treason abroad, John, I smell it. Have you heard any rumours that might confirm this?’
The Archdeacon pondered a moment. ‘Rumour is the right word, old friend. Nothing tangible, just whispers and hints now and then – but they have been rife ever since the last attempt failed.’
The coroner shifted uneasily on the stool he had drawn up to the table. ‘Is there anything we should do about this – or anything we can do, with no proof at all?’
The Archdeacon shook his head slowly. ‘Watch and listen, that is the best course at the moment. You need to be careful, John, your allegiance to the King is well known and may not be to everyone’s taste.’
‘You are just as loyal, so what about you?’ objected de Wolfe.
‘I have the protection of the Church, but you are out in the harder world.’
‘The Church was of little help to Thomas Becket against the secular power,’ said John wryly.
De Alencon smiled sadly. ‘That was a long time ago and things have changed. But we should reckon up who is likely to be for us and who against.’
‘Your own bishop was sympathetic to the rebels last time. How is he placed now, I wonder?’
The Archdeacon shrugged. ‘I think he will wait to see which way the wind blows strongest. In the last treason, Hugh of Nonant, Bishop of Coventry, was the moving force behind Prince John, but I doubt if our Bishop Henry will wish to follow his example.’ He sighed and closed his book carefully. ‘I find it strange that he leaned that way before, being brother to William the Marshal, who is nothing if not the King’s man.’
‘What about the barons and knights hereabouts? Which way will they lean? I know my dear brother-in-law would join them if he dared, even though his fingers were burned last time.’
‘Certainly Ferrars and de Courcy would be loyal. Henry de la Pomeroy is very suspect, especially as his father came to his death from following the Prince. Gerald de Claville and Bernard Cheevers are also doubtful characters in that respect. Fitzhamon was a king’s man – and look what’s happened to him.’
They sat in silence for a moment, each deep in thought.
‘Do you really think that Prince John would try again so soon?’ asked the priest. ‘It was a special opportunity for him last year, when no one expected that Coeur de Lion would ever get out of Germany alive.’
‘The King doesn’t help his own cause by staying out of England like this,’ admitted de Wolfe. ‘He’s left Hubert Walter in a difficult position. Though he is well liked, he’s forced to employ extortionate measures to fund Richard’s campaigns against Philip of France, especially as the country has not yet recovered from paying off the ransom.’
John de Alencon agreed. ‘And he insisted on reinstating that damned Walter Longchamp as Chancellor, a man everyone hates – though, thank God, he stays out of England with the King. All these things foster discontent. Our good Richard is too soft-hearted, except on the battlefield. Look how he forgave his brother for all the harm he did. Other kings would have had his head or his eyes for much lesser treason.’