Rosamunde sobbed dramatically before the court as she went on to describe how he had abused her bosom and then lifted her kirtle to ravish her forcibly against her will. She had kept up her screaming as best she could and was saved from further rapine and possibly death by her friends hearing her cries for help and bursting into the house.
Then Giles Fulford, who described himself as Rosamunde’s ‘protector’, and his master Jocelin de Braose, gave a melodramatic account of how they had arranged to meet the woman at the corner of High Street and Martin’s Lane, but she had failed to appear at the appointed hour marked by the bells. Then they heard violent screams from a nearby dwelling and entered to find de Wolfe in the act of ravishing the girl. Finally, the weedy, shifty-eyed apothecary falteringly described how the other witnesses had brought Rosamunde to his apothecary’s shop in Curre Street[3] for her bruises and scratches to be bathed and anointed. He catalogued these and said also that, as they demanded, he examined her nether regions and confirmed rough usage and bleeding. He even produced a crumpled piece of cloth with small bloodstains, which he said he had used to clean her thighs, as the law on rape required physical evidence of venereal injury. There was a murmuring in the Shire Hall when the evidence was finished, some impressed with this lucid tale of lust, the majority regarding it as a transparent fabrication.
The sheriff, who had been chewing the inside of his lip to shreds during this recital, dared to drop his eyes to meet the brooding gaze of John de Wolfe. ‘You have the right of reply to this charge,’ he croaked.
The coroner drew a deep breath, ready to blast his brother-in-law from the platform with an overwhelming denunciation of his witnesses and his loyalty. Even though it might not be believed at first, it would sow the seeds of doubt about the sheriff’s integrity and help to delay matters until Gwyn could mobilise support for the Lionheart from the county. He refused even to countenance the possibility of being summarily convicted and hanged. But he was about to receive one of the greatest surprises of his life, as the nervous de Revelle repeated his question. ‘What do you say to this serious charge?’
‘He need say nothing – I will say it for him!’ The grating voice of Matilda rose high-pitched above the murmuring as she thrust aside a man-at-arms with her burly shoulder and, dragging Lucille behind her, stood alongside her husband. ‘This harlot and these so-called witnesses are audacious liars and must be punished for flagrant perjury!’
Richard de Revelle felt as if an iron band was squeezing his head. What was he going to say to his own sister, who only yesterday had left her husband because of his adultery and was now trying to excuse his rapine?
He struggled to get his mouth working. ‘I realise that it is only natural that a faithful wife should attempt to–’
‘Shut up, brother, or you will hear more than you desire! I say now that this is a foul conspiracy and that all these people are lying. There never was any ravishment of this strumpet. She insinuated herself into our house by deception while her accomplices lurked outside to bear false witness.’
There was a general clamour in the court, which the castle constable quelled by the powerful use of his lungs, aided by some of his men who laid about them with staves. When relative quiet had been restored, a furious Jocelin de Braose shouted at the bench, ‘She should be thrown outside! What value is the braying of a wife about her husband’s innocence? What does she know about it? She was not there.’
Matilda de Wolfe turned majestically upon the angry speaker, her square face jutting like the prow of a ship. ‘Indeed I was there, you evil man! You chose the wrong night to perform your tricks – and the wrong house. Had you but known it, there is a window-slit high up on the wall between hall and solar. And I was in that solar and heard all that passed – and saw much of it, too.’
A buzz of consternation rippled through the crowded hall.
‘The woman insinuated herself into my house on some pretext about this de Braose swine assaulting her,’ continued Matilda, in a voice like a rusty nail being drawn across slate. ‘She wanted my husband to obtain justice for her, and began to show him her fabricated injuries. He was too gullible to see what she was about until it was too late. The harlot pulled down her clothing, which she had already torn, and fell to the floor shouting, ‘Rape!’ Her accomplices must have been waiting at the door for her signal, as they entered within the space of a few heartbeats!’
Again a wave of gasps and murmuring passed across the hall like a squall at sea, but soon subsided so that they could hear the next act in this drama.
De Braose was sneeringly dismissive. ‘A likely tale! The desperate gamble of a woman who tries to save her husband from a hanging. Why do you waste our time listening to this, Sheriff?’
That was too much even for de Revelle, though he was a creature of those who employed de Braose. ‘Be silent, sir! That is my sister of whom you speak in such a rude manner! Though I agree that the testimony of a wife in these circumstances, though laudable, cannot be accepted without good proof.’
‘I will give you proof, brother Sheriff,’ snapped Matilda, with quivering passion. ‘First, let the Archdeacon or Precentor, as senior men of God here, make me and these villains all swear an oath on the Testament that what we say is true. It may well be that hell-fire holds no terrors for them, unredeemable sinners as they are – but have you ever known me break a vow to Christ?’
There were more mutterings and contemptuous noises from Fulford and his master, but Matilda had more up her wide sleeve. ‘Take also the testimony of my handmaiden Lucille. She was at my side in the solar and can vouch for every word I say. And, lastly, I challenge you to test me by seeking my description of the clothing these three wore last night – none of which they now display.’ She glared up at her brother triumphantly. ‘Neither my maid nor I have ever seen these scum before – nor have we seen them since last night. Yet if you seize the clothing they wore then – especially the green silk that that harlot was wearing – you will find that it tallies in every particular with a description I can now give, for Lucille and I anticipated that we would not be believed.’
There was turmoil both along the front of the court and on the platform, where everyone seemed to want to shout at everyone else. From the body of the hall, there were yells of ‘Let him free!’, ‘Lock the bastards up!’ and ‘Adjourn, adjourn!’
The soldiers struggled to prevent Jocelin and Rosamunde from bearing down on Matilda and her maid, a scuffle that John de Wolfe tried to enter, but Gabriel and his men managed to keep everyone apart.
The sheriff was left on the edge of the dais, helpless until order was restored, again mainly through the bull-like bellowing of Ralph Morin and the efforts of his men. The Archdeacon and both Portreeves came to speak in de Revelle’s ear and even the constable came across to whisper vehemently at him. Uncertainly, the sheriff shook his head, but Matilda, who had been watching him intently, stepped close to the edge of the platform and spoke up to him in a low voice that could be heard only by those very near them.