'There is no point in enquiring into presentment of Englishry,' began the coroner. 'Of course, Sir Hugo Peverel was of Norman lineage and, especially given that he was stabbed in the back, then the murdrum fine will undoubtedly be levied.'
There was a groan from the assembly, as it would be the villagers, both free and unfree, who would have to find the money, not the ruling family.
'However, I will not fix any penalty now, but in these unusual circumstances of a murdered manor-lord, leave it to the justices in Eyre to decide on the amount of such a fine.' An almost audible exhalation of relief went round the barn at what was at least a postponement of their collective punishment.
The inquest then took its usual course, with the first finder being called to relate how the body was discovered. This was the good-wife who came to steal hay for her rabbits, and from then on the chain of events was followed through the bailiff and the reeve up to the point where the coroner was summoned from Exeter.
After this, the nervous Agnes was called, prodded to the front of the barn by her mother. With frightened sideways glances at the covered corpse, she snivelled her way through her account of the evening, drawing black looks from the brothers and de Revelle as she haltingly admitted to being ravished by the lord of the manor, even if it was willingly and for profit.
'He were fit and well when I left him, sirs,' she finished. 'Looked sleepy and contented as he lay back in the hay, so I left 'un there and went 'ome.' John then heard from the bailiff and the steward, who could add nothing except what they had done after the body was discovered. Warin Fishacre, the reeve, gave his evidence in a surly, monosyllabic way, mainly about his being dispatched to Exeter by the bailiff to fetch the coroner.
Finally, de Wolfe called the male members of the ruling family. Though he felt inclined to make them stand before him in the body of the court, like the other witnesses, he had sufficient Norman blood in his veins to defer to their status enough to take their evidence from where they sat. Even so, Richard de Revelle mischievously objected to their being questioned at all.
In his high, braying voice, he claimed that it was unseemly, possibly unlawful, for manor-lords to be interrogated in their own manor.
'They have a position to maintain, Coroner. There is a gulf between them and their tenants and bondsmen which needs to be kept- or all deference and discipline will be put in jeopardy!'
John glared at the former sheriff, knowing that Richard was doing everything he could to make life difficult for him.
'This is a king's court, de Revelle, not a manor leet! We are all subjects of the Crown and must abide by the laws laid down by the Curia Regis, which is the instrument of the King's will. Those who disregard it, flaunt their loyalty to the sovereign.'
Once again, he prodded the issue-of fidelity which was de Revelle's weak spot. Turning to Odo, he spoke more gently. 'I trust you are feeling well enough to answer my questions, sir?'
Another muted whisper spread around the barn at this hint of a fresh attack of the malady that was known to afflict the eldest brother.
Odo inclined his head and said that he was now in perfect health once again. John led him through,the impoverished tale that he had heard before, about the period after supper when Hugo had last been seen.
The same story, almost in the same words, was wrung from the more reluctant Ralph and Joel. John had the impression that only the brevity and uselessness of their account allowed them to deign to offer it without more strenuous objections.
De Wolfe then turned to the many faces ranged before him around the court, faces of all shapes and ages, from twelve-year-old lads to a few bowed and crippled greybeards.
'Is there any among you who has other information for me that might throw light on this tragedy?' There was a general shuffling of feet on the packed earth of the floor and many scanned the faces of their neighbours to see whether anyone was likely to step forward. But the moment passed without any volunteers, though John felt a tension in the air that suggested that more than one would have voiced some opinion, if their masters had not been sitting before them, glowering around to see whether anyone dared step out of line.
With a sigh, de Wolfe raised a finger to Gwyn, who went into action and marshalled the large jury to shuffle past the bier. The coroner rose and went to the corpse, pulling down the winding-sheet to expose the puffy face. A ripple of concern went around the men, and the women at the door jostled and craned their necks, trying to see what was on show. Though all were country folk, used to perished and wounded animals and the frequent deaths of their generally short-lived population, the sight of their own lord in a state of early mortification was certainly out of the ordinary.
Gwyn then turned the body over and pulled up the tunic to reveal the stab wounds, which were still oozing blood and lay in skin that was purplish owing to the corpse lying for a couple of days on its back.
'See these wounds? They are from a blade with one sharp edge,' snapped John. 'Not a large knife, nor yet a dagger.'
Gwyn herded the jury past the corpse like a sheepdog with a nervous flock, until all had had the chance of a close look at the fatal injuries. Then he placed the body in its proper position and covered it with the shroud.
John went back to his chair and closed the inquest, confirming his earlier fears that no further evidence would be forthcoming.
'You will consider what you have heard and decide on a verdict. You need to be assured of the identity of the deceased and where, when and by what means he came to his death. All those matters will be easy for you to determine — what we do not know is who brought him to that death.'
The foreman of the jury, the village miller, rapidly announced their verdict. John stood for a final word, looking to the side to make sure that Thomas was scribing everything as he sat at the end of one of the benches.
'Sir Hugo Peverel, a Norman and lord of the manor of Sampford Peverel in the county of Devon, died on or about the tenth day of October in the year of our Lord eleven hundred and ninety-five, in the said Sampford Peverel, from grievous knife wounds to the back of his chest. And the manner of death was murder by a person as yet unknown.'
He turned to the brothers sitting brooding behind him. 'That completes the legal formalities. Your kinsman's body may now be returned to the church.' There was a general exodus behind the bier, which was already being carried out through the tall doors.
As he passed de Wolfe, Ralph gave him a look sufficiently sour to curdle milk, which was entirely lost on the coroner.
'I trust you are satisfied, Sir John,' he snarled. 'You have humiliated us, upset our ladies beyond measure and added further indignity to the body of our brother.'
'But I have upheld the laws of England, without which there would be disorder and anarchy,' retorted John, blandly.
Ralph and Joel marched away, noses in the air, but Richard de Revelle also stopped for a harsh word with his sister's husband.
'Your time is coming, John!' he sneered. 'I will be sheriff again, you mark my words. Perhaps not under this king, but under another, more worthy man. Paid when I am in power again, I will not rest until I have seen you humiliated, as you have done to these fine people here today.'
Before de Wolfe could think of an appropriate retort, de Revelle had stalked off, trailing the Peverels as they made their way to the churchyard.
John saw the steward and bailiff rounding up the villagers and soon most of the inhabitants were moving down past the green to the little church of St John the Baptist. A voice at his elbow told him that there was to be another short burial service, before the body was put back into its box in the ground. The voice belonged to the reeve, who had a strange expression on his face, part anxiety, part determination.