‘So now you’ve driven my poor sister to seek refuge in Polsloe!’ he brayed, waving a rolled parchment at him. ‘You’ve betrayed her many times before, but fathering a bastard on a tavern-keeper is the last straw.’
De Wolfe glared at him, but kept himself under control for his riposte.
‘I hope your family is well, Richard,’ he said sarcastically. ‘And I mean all of them, including your son in Okehampton and the other one in Crediton.’
The sheriff’s face flushed above his neatly trimmed beard, as his clerks gaped at the confrontation. They all knew that de Revelle’s legitimate children lived in Tiverton and Revelstoke.
‘That’s none of your business, John.’
‘Neither is it your business to go creeping behind my back with gossip,’ retorted de Wolfe, resting his large fists upon the table to glare straight into Richard’s face.
‘It most certainly is my business!’ retorted the sheriff. ‘Matilda is my only sister. You have wronged her often enough with your fornicating and adultery, which the whole county knows about. It was my brotherly duty to let her know about your begetting a bastard upon a Welsh alehouse whore!’
Enraged, John drew back his arm to knock his brother-in-law clean off his chair, but he managed to restrain himself and stepped back to be out of temptation.
‘Then perhaps I should fulfil my duty by telling your Lady Eleanor about the harlots you entertain in there,’ he snapped, pointing to the adjoining chamber, which was the sheriff’s bedroom. ‘And report to her the fact that not many weeks ago I rescued you from a burning brothel in Waterbeer Street.’
The two clerks were now standing slack jawed at these revelations, until, with a squeal of dismay, their red-faced master sent them hurrying out of the room. John came back to lean on the table and the sheriff flinched back, but relaxed a little when he found that his brother-in-law’s attack was to be verbal rather than physical.
‘So just keep your long nose out of my personal affairs, Richard! Matilda has gone off in a fit of pique, but no doubt she’ll soon be back, when she gets tired of a hard bed and miserable food in Polsloe.’
He slammed a hand on the edge of the table.
‘But enough of this! There are other matters between us — this scandal in the Royal Forest.’
Relieved at any change of subject, but uneasy at the current topic, de Revelle pulled at his beard.
‘Are you still interfering in that?’
‘It’s long past the time when someone should — and you show mighty little interest in keeping the King’s peace in your own county!’ retorted John.
The sheriff sighed, rapidly reverting to his favourite pose as a long-suffering adult humouring a naughty child. ‘How often must I tell you that the forest has its own laws — the King’s laws — which are outwith the common law, John,’ he said patronisingly. ‘They go back to Saxon times, though they’ve been improved by us Normans. Let well alone, man.’
‘You’re not only a knave, you’re a fool, Richard!’ bellowed de Wolfe. ‘How can I get it through your thick head that the forest laws have jurisdiction only over the venison and the vert, not other crimes. The Manor Courts, the Hundred Courts, your own Shire Court and the Commissioners and Justices of the King’s Courts must deal with everything else. You just don’t want to listen, do you? It suits some hidden purpose of your own to keep up this charade.’
The sheriff rolled his eyes to the ceiling and pretended to be a martyr.
‘What’s brought all this on again?’ he asked testily.
‘You know damn well what’s happening,’ retorted the coroner. ‘If your spies are able to report my family affairs to you, they can also tell you that matters are going from bad to worse in the forest, especially in the eastern bailiwick.’
‘Such as what?’ asked Richard, with feigned boredom.
‘There is a group of outlaws under this damned Robert Winter who are being paid by some outside party to help the foresters foment trouble. I know now where one of their camps is situated — and I know through whom and by what route their payment and instructions enter the forest.’
This was something of an exaggeration, but de Wolfe wanted to provoke the sheriff. This he did, for De Revelle sat up and took more notice.
‘How do you know that? Who pays them and by what means?’
Given the possibility of de Revelle’s own involvement, John was not prepared to divulge this and possibly ruin his chances of entrapping the couriers, so he hedged the question.
‘Never mind that now. What are you going to do about it? You’re the King’s representative in Devon, yet you’re allowing anarchy to reign in his own forests. There’s a small army of rogues out there, wolf’s heads every one, doing the dirty work for corrupt forest officials — yet here you sit on your backside in Exeter, not raising a finger to exterminate them.’
The wily sheriff seized on one of John’s words as an excuse.
‘What would you have me do, John? You say there is an army of these ruffians, spread out over a hundred square miles of forest. I have no similar army to do battle with them, even if they could be found in that wilderness. All I have is a small garrison, intended to defend Rougemont and the city — though God knows if they could do even that, as most are young yokels who have never seen a fight. All they can do is march up and down the bailey, waving pikes about.’
Although this last was partly true, to the exasperation of Ralph Morin and Sergeant Gabriel, John was well aware that it was an excuse to do nothing. As he moved towards the door, he threw a last shaft at de Revelle.
‘I tell you, the barons are becoming increasingly angry about their estates losing revenue and their tenants being harassed. Unless you want men like Guy Ferrars and de Courcy chasing you again, you should take some action. They have powerful voices in the Curia, so your shrievalty might be in jeopardy if you fall foul of them.’
As he went out, he called over his shoulder.
‘And keep your nose out of my personal business in future!’
Slamming the door, he glared at the two smirking clerks who had been exiled from the chamber, and stalked off.
The next morning, John went back to Martin’s Lane, where Mary insisted on him having his overdue weekly wash and shave in a bucket of warm water in the back yard. He hacked at his black stubble with a knife kept specially honed for the purpose, rasping it over his skin, through a weak lather of soap made from sheep tallow boiled with powdered beech ash. She took his shirt, hose and tunic for the wash and made him delve in his chest in the deserted solar for clean clothes. Mary was busy at being indispensable, in case the mistress did decide to stay away for ever.
‘Any news from Polsloe, Sir Coroner?’ she asked, trying to conceal her anxiety.
He shook his head. ‘She won’t talk to me, though I’ll try again later today. Perhaps she’d speak to someone else?’
Mary shrugged. ‘It’s no good me going up there. She can’t stand the sight of me.’ She glared in mock anger at her employer. ‘And that’s your fault! She suspected us from the start. You’re a devil, John de Wolfe, you need to keep your breeches laced up more firmly!’
De Wolfe grinned and planted an affectionate kiss on the woman’s cheek.
‘What about Lucille?’ suggested Mary. ‘Would she talk to her? I wonder.’
‘There’s no hurry, good girl. It would be nice to have some peace for a few days or weeks. Matilda will be home soon enough, without forcing the pace, though I’d better go to Polsloe later on, to show willing.’
This was what he did, a few hours later. After five pathetic felons had been turned off the carts below the long beam of the gallows tree, all for thefts to the value of more than twelve pence, John turned Odin’s great head towards Polsloe. When he arrived at the priory, he was received politely by Dame Margaret, but once again told firmly that his wife did not wish to speak to him — either then or evermore. He remonstrated, albeit rather mildly, but the prioress was adamant. There was nothing more to be said, and after wishing her a good day and receiving God’s blessing in return, he left and made for his horse, tethered inside the outer gate.