Now here he was, with Gwyn anxiously pacing the boundary ropes as his squire, hoping fervently that he would not be needed to carry back John's bleeding and broken body. Thomas and Eustace had been left behind in Exeter, once more in a ferment of concern that a two-day journey lay between them and news of the outcome.
The long-awaited final trumpet blast wailed across the scrubby heathland and with a roar of excitement and the yelling of war-cries the massed horsemen lumbered off, picking up speed on the slight slope down into the shallow valley that ran down from the recet.
John lowered his lance to the horizontal and rested the shaft on the pommel of his saddle, so that it stuck out obliquely past Odin's left ear, which was now flattened back as the stallion joined in the surge of excitement that flowed over the Blue squadron.
As the two waves of warriors hurtled towards each other, John kept a sharp lookout for a blue shield emblazoned with white chevrons.
Ralph Peverel knew that he was here, as John had seen him earlier, staring from a distance at his wolfs head emblem. The coroner had ensured, when he arrived to pay his fee, that he was not placed in the same army as Peverel, which would have wrecked his plans. Thankfully, he knew several of the marshals who were organising the event and a quiet word, without explanation, ensured that they were separated.
As the moment of collision approached, John's main concern was not to be diverted from his purpose by some other knight engaging him in a lengthy duel — or even worse, wounding or unhorsing him before he had the chance to confront Ralph. As soon as he spotted the blue-and-white shield, he dropped back and swerved to avoid an enthusiastic youngster who seemed intent on challenging him.
The thunder of hoofs diminished as the long charge degenerated into a swirling mass of horses and men, but de Wolfe managed to weave through them towards Ralph Peverel, who seemed to have the same objective. John fended off one half-hearted thrust from the lance of a knight on a white destrier, but they moved past him and he then found himself twenty paces in front of Peverel.
They were too near for a worthwhile charge, but both spurred their chargers forward and began hostilities with a simultaneous attack on each other's shields, which did nothing mare than add a few additional scratches to the wood as the tips of the lances slid off. As they passed each other, Ralph yelled a taunt above the general hubbub around them. 'No drunken Irish priest to save you today, de Wolfe!'
Then he was gone, and the two riders hauled their huge horses around, like ships manoeuvring at sea. They were now fifty yards apart, and as soon as a pair of knights slashing madly at each other with swords had cleared out of their way, they pounded towards each other again. This time the impact was shattering, but their long experience allowed them to use their shields to divert the impacts without harm, though Ralph was rocked back painfully against the wooden crupper of his saddle.
Three times they circled and returned, each yelling abuse at the other as their determined horses thundered past, each on the other's left side.
At the third pass, a few inches of the tip of John's lance snapped off, but he was not concerned as he was not aiming to stab Ralph to death, only knock him out of his saddle. His leg was aching, but this was from the strain of steering Odin by the pressure of his knees, and he felt none of the crippling disability he had suffered during their combat on foot, In fact, he felt the familiar exhilaration that only potentially fatal combat can generate.
He deliberately ran out farther on this circuit, to increase his speed on the return, dodging several pairs of other fighters, their blue and red arm-flags streaming wildly as they battered each other. John felt that it would be this next run which would make or break their contest — if only he could unhorse Ralph, his honour would be restored and he could look every man in the eye again.
Gwyn, watching with anxious approval from the side-lines, also had the feeling that this next clash would be critical. He saw the two men wheel around a little apart from the main throng and poise themselves for the next charge. As loose turf scudded up from the massive hoofs of their destriers, they began moving towards each other, but suddenly a black horse bearing an erect figure suddenly burst out of the main melee and thundered past John. Already moving fast, the new stallion had double the speed of Odin by the time he reached Ralph Peverel, who just had time to pull his horse's head around and realign his lance to meet this unexpected challenge.
The impact was like a thunderbolt and the lance flattened Ralph's shield against his chest and hurled him clean over his horse's rump. As John cursed and swerved Odin to the side to avoid a collision, he saw Peverel fly through the air and land on his head, The crack as his neck snapped could be heard even over the tumult around them.
Three nights later there was a new face among those clustered around the coroner's table in the Bush, As well as his officer, his clerk and Eustace, Henry de Furnellis was there with Ralph Morin, but the stranger was Reginald de Charterai, his noble figure looking slightly out of place in an Exeter tavern.
'I have already expressed my sincere apologies to Sir John for interfering in his matter of honour,' he intoned gravely, 'But I had no idea that he was deliberately engaging that scoundrel.'
De Wolfe had arrived back in the city with Gwyn that afternoon, and now sat with his arm around Nesta, who had at last stopped weeping with relief that her lover had returned in one piece. Reginald had appeared at the castle while John was regaling the sheriff with the events in Salisbury. He was on his way to Brixham to take ship back to Normandy, but had broken his journey to explain the circumstances of Ralph Peverel's death. John had recommended the Bush as a good place to obtain accommodation for the night before he continued his journey, and now he was telling the story again, after an excellent supper provided by Nesta.
'Some time ago, I had informed the coroner here of certain allegations made by Lady Avelina — who incidentally is soon to follow me to France, as she has consented to become my wife.'
There were murmurs of congratulation from around the table, but they were short, as the audience was impatient to hear his story.
'Lady Avelina was convinced that Hugo Peverel had somehow brought about the death of her husband William,' interjected de Wolfe. 'And Sir Reginald here had the support of his own eyes, as he had seen how the saddle-girth of William's horse had been tampered with.'
The stately Frenchman nodded and took a sip of the Bush's best Wine.
'Later, she told me of further scandalous happenings at Sampford. Coming down the stairs from her solar one day, she heard her name mentioned in the hall, in which only Hugo and Ralph Peverel were present. She stopped behind the arch leading into the hall and heard them discussing the provisions of her husband's will, which gave her a life interest in a third of the manor. They suggested that it would be very beneficial for them if that life interest was very short, and Hugo said he knew a way in which this might be brought about. Someone came into the hall then and she learned no more, but she was so anxious about the threat that she sent me a message and I came to give her support, for by then I had formed a strong affection for her.'