After a few yards the trail almost petered out, as the grass finished under the shade of the tree canopy. Some broken wild garlic and scuffed leaves could be seen for a short distance, then there was nothing that could be distinguished from the tracks of deer, badgers and foxes.
‘Where’s this warren they spoke of?’ demanded John.
Matthew led them away to the left for a while, swishing through the dead leaves in the silence of the deep woods, broken only by birdsong high above and the sough of the wind in the tree tops. They came out in a clearing around a huge fallen beech, which was rotting and half covered in moss. Around the exposed root was a patch of soft earth covered in grass and riddled with rabbit holes.
‘Here’s one of his snares,’ said Gwyn, picking something from a bramble bush, where it had snagged on a brier. A sliding noose of thin wire was attached to the top end of a stout wooden peg. The snare would have been hammered into the ground alongside a run leading from a burrow, the loop arranged so that the head of a running beast would be trapped, strangling the animal.
‘They’ve been pulled out — there’s another one over there,’ said the bailiff.
‘Not much doubt who did that — and to be fair, it’s their job,’ grunted de Wolfe. ‘But putting an arrow into a poor coney-trapper’s back is hardly justified.’
‘But what about this?’ called Gwyn, who had wandered across to the fallen tree. He bent and held something up. The others hurried across to him as he straightened up and held out a short, curved bow.
De Wolfe took it from him and studied it closely. ‘Home made — you couldn’t do much damage with this. Not even strung — and where are the arrows?’
‘Was he hoping to drop a buck or a doe with this?’ asked Gwyn.
‘He had been poaching for years, so he knew what he was up to,’ observed Matthew Juvenis.
‘Much more likely he used it for partridge or pheasant,’ said John.
Gwyn suddenly crashed away, vaulting over the old tree trunk.
‘Here are some arrows! Short ones, all snapped in half.’
He came back with some rather crude arrows in his hand, all three broken in mid-shaft. There was nothing else to be found, and they made their way back to the road, where Father Amicus was waiting with the horses. They walked towards the village, leading their mounts by the bridles. When they reached the village green, John gave his orders for the inquest.
‘Two hours after noon, Gwyn. Get as many men as you can from the village. We have no chance of collecting them from farther afield in time. But everything points to those bloody foresters being involved, so do your best to get them here.’
Gwyn looked dubious. ‘Where shall I look for them?’
‘You’ve four hours yet. Send a few men to the next villages to seek them.’ He turned to the bailiff. ‘Have Lupus and Crespin been seen here recently?’
Matthew turned questioningly to the villagers who had gravitated around them since they got back to the green.
‘They rode through yesterday,’ offered one man. ‘Didn’t stop here, just carried on towards Bovey.’
De Wolfe grunted. ‘So they were in the vicinity when he died. We need to get their side of the story.’
‘If they deign to come, the bastards!’ complained Gwyn.
Gwyn’s pessimism was justified, for when the hour came for the open-air inquest on Manaton’s village green there was no sign of any of the forest officers. Two villagers, who had joined the bailiff and reeve in riding to nearby villages, returned to say there was no sign of them, but the reeve reported that he had come across both William Lupus and Michael Crespin in an alehouse in Lustleigh. Not only had they refused in the strongest possible language to attend the inquest, but they had threatened the reeve with immediate violence if he didn’t clear off that instant. The aggressive page Henry Smok had grabbed the reeve by the neck of his tunic and dragged him out of the tavern, throwing him to the ground outside.
‘Tell that damned crowner that he has no right to interfere in the affairs of the forest!’ Lupus had yelled as a parting shot from inside the taproom. The reeve was still seething with anger when he reported this to de Wolfe, and the coroner added a few more black marks to the reckoning that he intended to have with the foresters.
Without the most obvious witnesses, the inquest was a waste of time.
John went through the usual formalities quickly, mindful of the distress of the family. The wife, a sickly-looking woman, bare footed and wearing a patched kirtle, stood with her arms around two small, thin girls, a boy of about fourteen standing protectively at her side. They were Saxons, and the Presentment of Englishry, which at least avoided any question of a murdrum fine, was made by two villagers who said they were cousins of the dead man.
The jury consisted of almost all the male inhabitants of Manaton, who filed past the handcart and were shown the wound and the broken arrow. Father Amicus was the First Finder, and John accepted that his calling the bailiff, reeve and shepherd was enough to constitute raising the hue and cry. Though technically the coroner could have amerced the village for not sticking rigidly to the legal requirements of knocking up the four nearest dwellings, his anger at the forest officers outweighed any thought of adding to the burden of the villagers.
He called the villagers, bailiff and reeve to state for the record, which Thomas was busily writing on his roll, that William Lupus and Michael Crespin had been summoned but had not appeared.
‘I therefore attach them in the sum of five marks each to appear before the next County Court to answer for their failure.’
He was not sure whether he had the power to do this, especially as the sheriff, who ran the County Court, would do all he could to frustrate him. Theoretically, if they failed four times to answer a summons to the County Court, they could be declared outlaw, but with de Revelle’s present attitude, this seemed impossible. The coroner could attach them to appear before the King’s Justices at the next General Eyre, but as the last one had been held in Exeter only recently, it was unlikely to return for several years. The Commissioners of Gaol Delivery were due in a few months to try those languishing in prison awaiting trial, but he was not sure whether non-appearance at an inquest was enough to imprison the foresters, unless he brought in a verdict of murder against them. And even if he did, who was going to arrest them? Given the strange situation in the forest, the usual officers of law enforcement, such as the manor bailiffs and the Hundred sergeants, would be likely to be either unwilling or incapable of arresting officials who seemed to have the backing of the sheriff, the new verderer and even a gang of outlaws.
Still, John was damned if he was going to let them get away with either murder or flouting the King’s coroner, so he rounded off the short inquest with his directions to the circle of jurors.
‘My inquest is to determine who, where, when and by what means this body came to his death. His identity is well known to you all and his Englishry confirmed. You have seen the wound, a cowardly shot in the back, so the means of death is clear and the day it was inflicted, namely yesterday, equally certain. The foresters William Lupus and Michael Crespin were known to have passed through here then. The arrow is of a type used by them and the deceased was admittedly a well-known poacher.’
He paused to glare around the assembly from beneath his beetling black brows.
‘Take all together and it is obvious that we needed to hear from these forest officers. But they have not deigned to attend and have ill used your reeve, who was sent to summon them. In their absence, I cannot hear any explanation from them and the evidence is so scanty that no verdict can be reached today. I therefore must adjourn this inquest to another time determined by circumstances.’
He nodded dismissal at the throng and then walked across to offer his awkward, but none the less sincere, sympathy to the widow. The parish priest was now at her side and John turned to him.