‘Are you hurt, man?’ gasped Edwin, his eyes like saucers as he watched the rapid dispatch of the evil Simon. Gwyn put a hand into his jerkin and looked ruefully at his severed baldric and bloodstained fingers. ‘Nothing a jug of good ale couldn’t put right. What about you and your son?’
Edwin rubbed a hand across the drying blood on his face and the slash on his forearm. ‘We’ll survive — until those bastards come again.’
Gwyn took a couple of steps towards Simon, who had stopped jerking and was lying in a widening pool of blood that was soaking into the dry soil. ‘He’ll give you no more trouble — what about that one?’
He moved to stand over the younger outlaw and rested the tip of his sword gently on his belly. ‘You can let him go now, son. Pity to choke him to death with a stick, when hanging’s so much easier!’
As the two cottars released the lad and stood up, there was a scuffling noise behind them as the third ruffian managed to get to his feet and tottered rapidly towards the ring of trees around the homestead.
‘He’s getting away! After him, Garth,’ shouted Edwin. Gwyn put out a hand to restrain the son from pursuing the terrified fugitive, who had just seen the summary dispatch of his leader.
‘Don’t bother with him. Let’s see what this one has to tell us.’ He grinned down at the youth under his sword-point, who stared back fearfully.
‘Who are you?’ he croaked. ‘Why have you turned against us?’
‘I’m the officer of the King’s coroner for this county, that’s who I am. And you are in big trouble, my lad. A fatal kind of trouble!’
Edwin looked at Gwyn, then at his son. ‘The crowner? That’s the Sir John de Wolfe that we heard looked into that death of the tanner in Manaton last week.’
Gwyn nodded. ‘The very same — and foresters were mixed up in that affair, too.’
The cottar’s face darkened. ‘Those swine — they’re the cause of all this.’ His arm swept around to encompass his ruined vegetable plot and the corpse still oozing blood into his soil. He gave the prostrate outlaw a hefty kick in the ribs to relieve his feelings.
‘What are you going to do with this piece of filth?’ he demanded.
Gwyn looked down and grinned again. ‘I could cut off his head and give it to you. With the other one there, you could claim four shillings bounty, if you took them to the sheriff.’
The young outlaw, having seen what this hairy giant had done to Simon, was in no doubt that Gwyn was quite capable of carrying out his promise. He began squirming under the sword and babbling pleas for his life.
‘Let’s see if you can change my mind, lad,’ offered the coroner’s henchman. ‘Tell me what you know about this campaign to terrorise law-abiding dwellers in the forest — and what the foresters have to do with it.’
The boy protested that he knew next to nothing and in spite of a few small pricks with Gwyn’s sword-tip all he could say was that he had once seen William Lupus talking amicably with Robert Winter on the roadside near Ashburton — and that occasionally a man who was said to be a horse-trader came to meet Winter and money was handed over.
In spite of futher threats, which reduced the youth to a state of abject terror, it became obvious that he was such a minor part of the outlaw gang that he had no significant knowledge to disclose. Against the inclinations of the cottar and his son, Gwyn decided to send him on his way, rather than be saddled with a pathetic and useless prisoner who would inevitably end up on the gallows. He dragged him to his feet and gave him a push to help him on his way. As he tottered across the garden in the wake of his fellow villain, both Edwin and his son gave him a series of buffets across the head as parting gifts. The last they saw of him was a ragged figure stumbling into the shelter of the trees.
The freeholder stooped to pick up the torn door-leather and stood looking sadly at the ruin of his vegetable plot.
‘There goes much of our food for the winter. And what’s to become of us now? Those bastards will be back as soon as they hear what happened here.’
Gwyn slid his sword back into the scabbard, after wiping it on the grass.
‘I’ve a feeling that all this trouble will be settled before long. The coroner will have to get help from outside if the sheriff won’t act. Have you nowhere you can go for a few weeks?’
‘There is my brother near Moretonhampstead. We can round up most of our pigs and drive them over there. My wife died last year and there is little else of value here now, only the land itself.’
Garth went off with a dog that had been locked in one of the sheds, to see if he could gather the hogs together, while Gwyn helped Edwin to load some of his meagre household goods on to a small handcart.
As they worked, the coroner’s officer learned more details of the brush with the foresters.
‘These past months it has become much worse,’ said the old man, repeating the same litany that had been told elswhere in the forest. ‘They always had the right to demand a night’s lodging and food from any forest dwelling, together with feeding their horse and hound. But lately they have been grossly abusing the right, coming every week, bringing their pages as well — and claiming extra fodder for their mounts, which they take away across their pages’ saddles. They have been deliberately provoking us — for other cottars in the area have been treated likewise.’
He threw a couple of coarse blankets on to the cart as he spoke.
‘The last straw was William Lupus claiming three of my best sows last week. That’s well outside the law, but he threatened us when I told him to clear off. My other son was here that day, the one who works with my brother, so we were enough to turn him away. No doubt he’s behind what’s happened here today.’
‘Is it always this Lupus fellow who causes such trouble?’
‘Most of the time, though Michael Crespin, the other forester in this bailiwick, sometimes gets up to the same tricks.’
‘Why do you think all this has blown up only in the past months?’ asked Gwyn, as he helped Edwin throw a securing rope over the pile of belongings on the cart.
‘It seems that they are doing this as part of some plan to create chaos and dissatisfaction in the forest. The death of the verderer, who was a decent man, all seems part of something — though God knows what!’
There was little more to be learned, and while the father went off to help his son find their missing pigs, Gwyn dragged Simon’s body into the woods and buried him in a shallow depression, covering the corpse with armfuls of last autumn’s leaves, though no doubt foxes and badgers would soon unearth him. Coming back, he covered the bloodstains with soil, using a wooden shovel he found in a shed.
By now, Garth and his father had returned with all but two of their pigs, and soon set out with the little cart and their dog, driving the grunting flock ahead of them the few miles up the road to Moretonhamstead and relative safety.
With a sigh at the sad sight of a dispossessed family, Gwyn left them at the junction of their lane with the high road and set off briskly for Ashburton to reclaim his horse.
John de Wolfe’s holiday passed quickly and pleasantly in the company of his family. Though he had the worry about Nesta niggling at the back of his mind the whole time, he still managed to enjoy the copious food and drink and the obvious delight of his mother and sister at the chance to coddle him for three whole days. His brother’s welcome showed a more masculine restraint, but was none the less warm and genuine, so the days passed very pleasantly indeed.
He went out hunting again for one morning and spent a considerable time walking or riding with William around the manor. His brother showed him all the agricultural activites with obvious pride — and as part of John’s income came from the products of William’s enterprise, his interest was unfeigned. On the Friday evening, as he relaxed in the solar after a good meal, his mind strayed again to his two trusted servants, Gwyn of Polruan and Thomas de Peyne. He wondered how they had fared and looked forward to seeing them safely returned to Exeter when he got back on Sunday.