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The two groups met and remained mounted, but when introductions had been made, they rearranged themselves in an almost hierarchical fashion. John stopped alongside Reginald, Gwyn gravitated to the escorting grooms and Thomas and Eustace went to pay their respects to the ladies. Eustace seemed to make a hit with Bertrice, with his smart clothes, charming manners and cultured speech, and even Thomas became quite articulate with Avelina, who was of a religious disposition and soon learned about the clerk's imminent readmission to the Church. This left de Wolfe free to talk to the French knight about his wife's journey to Normandy.

'Everything went well, I'm happy to report,' said Reginald in his correct, formal way. 'Your charming wife survived the voyage with only a touch of mal de mer, though her poor maid seemed to wish herself dead before we reached Barfleur.'

John wondered how Reginald had come to regard Matilda as charming, but he decided that there was no accounting for taste.

'And she reached her family without incident?' he asked.

'I delivered her to their threshold myself. They seemed surprised to see her arrive.'

That must be the understatement of the year, thought John, but he thanked de Charterai solemnly for his kindness and chivalry, before the Frenchman edged his horse away from the rest of the group a little and leant forward in his saddle to speak more confidentially.

'Have you made any more progress over the death of either of the Peverels?' he asked in a low voice. 'Avelina is more convinced than ever that her husband was murdered.'

John explained that he had had no opportunity to communicate with the Wiltshire sheriff or coroner, as he had been away — but he felt that after this lapse of time and with the absence of any physical evidence there was little that could be done. As for Hugo's death, there seemed to be a conspiracy of silence in Sampford, as far as the family was concerned.

'Tell me,' he added. 'Does Lady Avelina know of any reason why the former sheriff, Richard de Revelle, seems to so earnestly cultivate the friendship of the remaining brothers? You will be aware that his reputation is not without flaws.'

This was another understatement, but de Charterai nodded understandingly.

'Your wife regaled me with some of the facts on the journey. I feel sorry for her, especially as your legitimate role in the matter could not have helped. But as to his presence in Sampford, Avelina can think of no reason but de Revelle's desire to get hold of that parcel of land that he so covets.'

He looked over his shoulder at his mature lady love, then continued. 'But do not think that he is wooing all three Peverels! Ralph seems his main target, as Odo, like his father before him, wishes to keep the manor intact. And like most of us, de Revelle appears to think that Joel is an empty-headed wastrel. It is Ralph that he wants to succeed to the lordship, as then he will have the power to grant him these disputed acres.'

After some more polite conversation and John's promise to keep Reginald informed of any developments, the two parties disentangled their mounts and continued on their way. After a few hundred yards, Gwyn looked over his shoulder at the retreating figure of the stately Frenchman, then raised his bushy eyebrows at his master.

'He's a deep one, that! I still wouldn't put it past him to pay back the insults that Hugo Peverel laid on him, both in the tourney field and in that banquet. So don't cross him off your list yet, Crowner!'

Just as the coroner was wrong about finding Reginald in Tiverton, so he was-wrong about next seeing Robert Longus in Exeter for the inquest.

On the second morning after his visit to Sampford, the bells had barely finished ringing for terce, sext and nones at about the ninth hour, when there was a repetition of the familiar pattern of a lone horseman clattering up to the gatehouse with an urgent message for the coroner.

This time it was not the reeve but an ostler sent by the bailiff, to distance the latter a little from the displeasure of the Peverels for meddling in their manorial independence.

'The girl Agnes, sir, she was found dead in the millstream this morning. Walter Hog thinks you should be told about it straight away,' the man announced in his strong rural accent.

John de Wolfe rarely felt much emotion about his deceased customers, but this unexpected news saddened and angered him. He assumed straight away that this would be no accident, and he thought of the placid but intelligent girl who, after nothing but fifteen years of unremitting toil, poverty and abuse, had ended up dead in a brook. Within the hour, they were on their way back to Sampford, with Thomas and Eustace trying to keep up with Gwyn and the coroner as they went at a brisk trot along the shortest route to the troubled manor. By dinner time, they had reached the village and saw the bailiff and a few of his men waiting for them at the edge of the green, opposite the church. There was no sign of the Peverels and de Wolfe was in no hurry to have them ranting their protests at him.

'Is the poor maid still where she was found?' he demanded, as he slid from Odirr's back.

'We had to pull her from the water to make sure of who she was, but the body is lying on the bank,' explained Walter Hog, motioning two of the men to take the horses away for hay and water. Leading the way, he took the coroner's party across the track and down a steep lane at the side of the churchyard, which led down into the little valley below.

'So she didn't go in at the mill?' snapped John, knowing from his previous visits that this was farther upstream.

'No, this is the run-off from the wheel, quite a way down. Shallow it is here, except when there's heavy rain.'

Below a small wooden bridge at the bottom, the brook was only a few feet wide and could easily be waded, but the bailiff took them under some trees and walked along the muddy bank for fifty paces to where a wide, deeper pool was formed where some rocks and a fallen tree had partly dammed the stream. On the edge, under a willow turning brown, was a still body, lying face up on the weeds. Standing near by was Agnes's mother, red eyed and being comforted by a shabbily dressed man who he assumed was her father. John muttered some platitudes of sympathy, which were none the less sincere for their gruffness, then crouched over the pathetic remains of the young woman. She wore a better kirtle than the ragged one he had seen her in before, so her mother must have made use of the two pence that he had given her for the purpose. It was mud-stained on the front and the upper half was soaking wet.

'She was found by a woman picking watercress, soon after dawn,' explained WaIter. 'The poor girl was face down in the trout pool, her hair all streaming out in the current. Most of her body was on the bank — I can't understand how she could drown like that.'

John looked up at Gwyn, who nodded back.

'This was no drowning, Bailiff! Look at her neck!' The victims face-was tinted violet and seemed slightly swollen, even allowing for her normal chubbiness. Around her neck, just above her Adam's apple, was a band of pinkish skin about half an inch wide. Below it, her neck was pale by contrast with the livid colour above.

'She's not been drowned, man — she's been strangled! By a ligature pulled tight around her throat.' The mother burst into tears and her husband awkwardly pulled her to his chest and patted her back. Thomas, full of compassion as usual, knelt by the corpse, crossed himself a few times, then went to the woman and began murmuring consoling words to her and her husband;