‘I can speak of other matters I heard from the solar window, brother, some concerning you and your recent activities. Do you want to hear those in public? For though yesterday you told me matters about my husband that made me hate him, my respect for you has now also turned to contempt.’
At those words, Richard felt as if a pitcher of icy water had been thrown over him. He knew suddenly that he was beaten, and what mattered now was how much he could salvage from the wreck, such as his own career and possibly his neck. The instinct for survival was strong in de Revelle and he threw up his hands and shouted for order, supported again by Morin and others.
‘In view of the controversy that appears to surround this evidence, I have no choice but to adjourn the court.’ He looked down at the accusers. ‘In fact, I strongly recommend to the Appealer and her witnesses to reconsider their plea, which seems to have substantial evidence to the contrary.’ He hesitated, but a glare from Ralph Morin convinced him that he had no alternative. ‘Similarly, the accused is released, though of course the Appeal might be revived in the future.’ At that, there were a few sardonic laughs from the hall, but the sheriff, now desperate to cut short any chance of open exposure of his part in the plot, plunged on, ‘The court will disperse and all parties may take their ease.’
He turned to leave the dais, but de Wolfe’s voice rang out like the crack of a whip ‘No, Sheriff, that’s not good enough!’
Everyone froze and watched, with bated breath, as the two main actors confronted each other again.
‘These two men cannot be allowed to walk free once again. They are accused of the murder of Canon Robert de Hane, of the murder of Sir William Fitzhamon – and the attempted theft of treasure belonging to the King. All these are Pleas of the Crown, and I demand that they be committed to prison to await the King’s Justices.’ He paused and looked to his left, pointing at the accusers. ‘I care nothing for the whore and the leech, they are of no importance, but those two men must be brought to justice!’
De Revelle hesitated again, for he was supposed to be part of this conspiracy, set up by Bernard Cheever. Now he was being asked to arrest his co-conspirators, but a few seconds’ quick thinking told him that they would be better off incarcerated in Stigand’s cells, than allowed to ride off to tell Pomeroy and Cheever of his own duplicity. As he hesitated, Ralph Morin bent near him and snarled in his ear, ‘I’ll not let those men out of the city, say what you will, Sheriff!’
With mutiny threatening on all sides, de Revelle nodded.
There was an immediate struggle in front of the platform, as a delighted Sergeant Gabriel waved his guards on to de Braose and Fulford and submerged them in a welter of arms and legs, from which they emerged bruised and pinioned.
‘Get them out of here!’ screamed the sheriff, terrified of what they might shout about him, now that he had abandoned their cause.
As the guards bundled them out into the inner ward, de Revelle hurried from the platform and vanished, leaving John de Wolfe at the centre of a milling crowd pressing in to congratulate him and to assure him that they never believed the foul slander – though some of the same folk would have happily turned up to watch him dangle from the scaffold if matters had turned out differently.
As soon as he could escape their attentions, he looked for the remarkable Matilda, to thank her for her intervention and to take her home to Martin’s Lane. But she had vanished as rapidly as her brother, along with Lucille, without saying a word to him.
As the crowd jostled their way out of the hall, he saw Thomas and the trio from the Bush hanging back and hurried over to them. Although Nesta was always diplomatic enough not to flaunt their affair away from the tavern, she clutched his hand and, with tears in her eyes, told him of the waking nightmare she had suffered since the news broke at dawn.
‘I’ll come down later and tell you all about it,’ he promised. ‘Now I must find Matilda – I suppose she’s gone home.’
Nesta shook her head at him. ‘I doubt it, John. It’s not as simple as that.’
She was right. When de Wolfe got back to Martin’s Lane, Mary, who almost alone in the city had known nothing about the drama, told him that there had been no sign of the mistress. Mystified, he wondered whether to go back up to Rougemont to see if she was still with her brother, when John de Alencon and Hugh de Relaga tapped at the door and came in. They discussed the fiasco in the Shire Hall, then settled to work out the significance and what should be done next.
‘You wife certainly turned the tables, John. Whatever the present problems are between you, she proved that the marriage bond is unbreakable,’ said the priest, with a touching faith in the sanctity of an institution that he could never experience.
De Wolfe had a niggling feeling that this explanation was too simple, but let it pass. ‘At least we have the killers of your canon in custody again, though whether the sheriff will do anything about them remains to be seen.’
The Archdeacon had been near de Revelle when his sister had warned him. ‘I think our sheriff is having second thoughts about his attachment to this nascent rebellion. He was always a survivor and I suspect he’s searching for some way to escape his affiliation to Pomeroy and his crew.’
Hugh de Relaga, resplendent as always in a red tunic with a mustard-coloured cape and puffed cap to match, had a shrewd mind, which he turned now to the problem. ‘We may be able to use that to our advantage,’ he offered. ‘It depends on how much you want to see your brother-in-law hanged, John.’
‘What d’you mean?’ asked the coroner suspiciously.
‘If de Revelle is keen to save his skin and perhaps even his post as sheriff, he may be willing to co-operate in bringing about the downfall of the traitors in our county. There’s nothing we can do further afield, but surely we can spoke the wheel of Pomeroy and de Nonant.’
De Wolfe saw the way his mind was working. ‘Yes, we should have Ferrars, de Courcy and perhaps Ralegh here today or tomorrow, if Gwyn has done his job. They can muster a large number of men between them – and the rebels have now lost their mercenary leader, this bloody man de Braose.’
De Alencon, a man of peace, looked puzzled. ‘How can the sheriff play a part in this?’
The deceptively amiable de Relaga, though a successful merchant, had always longed to be a man of war and now aired his martial yearnings. ‘If he wants to grovel for a pardon, then he might be used to lure Pomeroy and de Nonant away from their strongholds where they might be seized. We don’t need more castle sieges, like Tickhill and Nottingham last year.’
De Wolfe was dubious and resentful about this proposal. ‘Wait! Why should the swine get away with it? He’s a traitor, he’s been a traitor before and he’s not to be trusted.’
‘He’s your wife’s brother, John,’ said the ever-forgiving Archdeacon.
‘To hell with that! He was all for hanging me an hour ago, now you suggest that I hand him the olive branch.’
‘Turning the other cheek, John,’ de Alencon reminded him mildly.
‘What about the Bishop, Archdeacon?’ asked Hugh. ‘There’s more than a rumour that he has sympathy for Mortaigne.’
‘Like Richard de Revelle, he wants to be with the winners, not the losers. So far, I suspect he’s only put his toe in the water. If he finds it too hot, he’ll back away. But there are more fervent supporters in the cathedral precinct. One was in the Shire Hall today, one who has aspirations to be a bishop himself if Prince John succeeds.’