Richard de Revelle looked desperately uneasy at this revelation, but Guy Ferrars was exultant. ‘It all fits together, Crowner. I know this man Cruch, my steward has had dealings with him over horses. A sly, crafty devil — there are rumours that he was outlawed himself, years ago.’
‘That’s just gossip,’ blustered Richard. ‘We know nothing of this man.’
‘Are you defending him?’ shouted Ferrars. ‘Do you doubt that de Wolfe’s telling the truth?’ He turned to Reginald de Courcy. ‘Repeat for his benefit what you told de Revelle here.’
The other landowner was less fiery than his companion, but his voice was bitter as he related his most recent complaints.
‘The fees for agistment in four of my manors have been doubled! Right up to the start of the fence month, it was half a penny a beast per year — then my villeins come and tell me the agisters are going to claim a full penny after the glades are open again next month. When they complained, the blasted foresters threatened to give them a beating.’
‘And that mealy-mouth new verderer, Philip de Strete, confirmed it when I challenged him,’ cut in Ferrars, unwilling to be left out of the drama.
‘It’s more than the damned pigs are worth, for the sake of them grubbing at some beech mast and a few acorns!’ went on de Courcy. ‘And to add insult to injury, they’ve set up two new forges on my land, which will take half the business away from the ones I’ve had there for twenty years and more.’
He glared at the sheriff. ‘And you seem quite content to let this go on unabated. I tell you, whatever money I lose over this is going be taken from what you screw from me for the county farm. How are you going to explain to the Chancellor why you’re short, when you next take your loot to Winchester, eh?’
De Revelle, whose face under this barrage of complaints had gone as pale as the others were suffused, turned up his hands in a Gallic gesture of helplessness.
‘You are talking of the Royal Forests, sirs, the domain of the King himself! I have no power there, all this is due to the incompetence of the Warden. I have done my best to help by installing a younger, more active verderer in at least one of the bailiwicks.’
‘Yes, a bloody idiot! The Warden says he has no power to intervene, so where are we?’ rasped de Courcy in his steely voice.
‘There are three other verderers in the Devon forest — are they also to be shot in the back so that new ones can be installed?’ asked Guy Ferrars, with heavy sarcasm.
John followed all this with satisfaction, relishing the evasive cringing of his brother-in-law in the face of these two powerful men. He almost forgot his aches and pains as they continued to hammer de Revelle.
‘Tell them of your problems, Ferrars,’ said Reginald icily.’ Some that should concern him, as a coroner.’
‘Ha, yes! A dead body is involved, if only we could find it.’
Guy Ferrars dropped heavily on to the chair behind him and leaned forward towards de Wolfe, ignoring the sheriff altogether.
‘On one of my manors near Lustleigh I have a chase which abuts on to the edge of the Royal Forest — even though all the bloody land belongs to me on both sides of the boundary. There is a small valley leading from my chase into the King’s ground — and a week ago those damned foresters built a saltatorium just a few yards on their side.’
John, though not a keen huntsman, knew that a saltatorium was a ‘deer leap’, a deep ditch with one vertical wall, the opposite one being sloping. The agile beasts could easily leap down the steep face and run up the other side, but could not return. The device was used to trap wild deer to increase the stock in a private chase or park, but was illegal on private ground within two miles of a Royal Forest, for obvious reasons.
‘Now these cunning swine have reversed the rules!’ fumed Guy Ferrars. ‘They deliberately sited the leap inside their territory, so that beasts from my chase will run into their forest and not be able to return down the valley, which is one of the main deer tracks.’
Richard de Revelle listened in silence, but de Courcy egged his friend on. ‘But that’s not the half of it. Tell the crowner the rest.’
Guy Ferrars banged the desk with his fist.
‘When my bailiff took a pair of my woodwards to break down the illegal leap, a pair of foresters appeared with their ruffianly pages and threatened to thrash them all if they persisted. On my own land, was this! The two woodwards refused to fight, saying they had sworn the forest oath and had to do what the foresters told them, even though I’m the one who pays the bastards!’
From his recent research, John knew that woodwards, though employed by the landowners of chases and parks, were in a difficult position, as they had a divided loyalty to both their employers and the Royal Forest.
‘So what of this dead man you mentioned?’ he queried, puzzled as to where this was leading.
‘You may well ask, de Wolfe!’ trumpeted Guy Ferrars. ‘When my bailiff returned with the news, my temper knew no bounds. I sent my steward and three bailiffs, together with six men-at-arms from my own retinue, back to destroy the saltatorium. They had been there less than an hour when they were ambushed by a rabble hiding in the trees. Almost twice our number, they were undoubtedly part of this band of outlaws you describe, run by the man Winter. But one of my bailiffs said that he clearly saw a forester lurking among them at the rear.’
‘So what happened?’
‘There was a short, sharp fight and several of my men were wounded by arrows. We killed two of their ruffians and eventually drove them back, but one of my guard vanished. Another man said that he saw him fall during the fight, but as they were still being plagued by arrows from behind the trees, my men failed to find him or his body. Next day, I sent a party to search, but they found nothing except the two dead outlaws, which we left there.’
Still the sheriff kept silent, but John pressed Ferrars for more details.
‘So the dead man is still there somewhere? This is another murder — I should have been informed.’
‘We had no body to show you, Crowner,’ snapped the baron. ‘I have no doubt he is dead, but as yet there is no actual proof, though the fellow has certainly disappeared.’
Reginald de Courcy was becoming impatient. ‘What’s to be done about all this? De Revelle here seems remarkably loath to take any action.’
He turned to glare at the sheriff. ‘It is no secret that you have ambitions to become Warden of the Forest, though God knows why. It makes your motives in refusing to act all the more suspicious — and with your history over the past year or two, you can ill afford for that to happen.’
Richard glowered back at the rich landowner. ‘There are those who think otherwise, sir — and many are barons with considerable influence. I am a servant of the King, but no king reigns for ever!’
Guy Ferrars, a staunch supporter of the Lionheart, turned almost purple.
‘Have a care, de Revelle!’ he yelled. ‘Your neck will stretch the same as any other man’s who contemplates disloyalty!’
‘This is getting us nowhere,’ complained de Courcy testily. ‘Crowner, you have had evidence of deaths and crimes aplenty in the forest, against the King’s peace. What do you suggest?’
‘It’s not his place to suggest anything,’ yelped de Revelle. ‘I am the sheriff in this county, and I say that the forest laws look after themselves. De Wolfe has no jurisdiction there.’
‘Nonsense, de Revelle! What do you say, Crowner?’ snapped Ferrars.
John hesitated for a moment while he found the right words.
‘I need to resume several inquests, as no satisfactory evidence was offered. I have to enforce the attendance of two foresters, who refused to come to a King’s Court — and a greater force of arms is needed to rout out these outlaws who seem to be mercenaries for the forest administration.’