In such a case, de Wolfe usually felt inclined to commit the injured man to the care of the assailant, as the latter had a vested interest in keeping the victim alive to avoid a murder charge.
Nesta came back and punched Gwyn’s shoulder affectionately as she sat down. Gwyn beamed at them like some benevolent uncle, delighted that his master and the Welsh woman had made up their differences.
‘Has he told you all the news, cariad?’ he asked, using the language that the three always spoke when together.
‘Yes, we’re all on the look-out for a malignant priest now — though whether he has two heads and horns, John hasn’t yet confirmed.’
For once, her light-hearted manner failed to strike a similar response from the Cornishman. ‘Talking of strange priests, I’m getting increasingly worried about our Thomas,’ he said soberly. ‘I fear he may do something rash, like trying to jump off the cathedral roof again.’
Nesta, who pitied the scrawny clerk as she would a stray dog, was instantly concerned. ‘He looked sadder than ever when I last saw him. Is there something new about his low spirits?’
‘The fellow mutters to himself all the time and he’s even stopped insulting me, so there must be something radically wrong with him,’ said Gwyn. He sucked down almost a pint of Nesta’s best ale before continuing. ‘And I heard a couple of comments among those damned vicars when I was waiting for you outside St Mary Arches today — they were saying that the crowner should look nearest to home for a wayward priest. And that’s not the first time I’ve heard the name Thomas de Peyne mentioned in that direction, God blast them!’
Nesta protested vehemently at the idea that the clerk could be involved. ‘The poor man is too frail to be the killer, anyway,’ she concluded, nudging de Wolfe to prompt him into joining their denials.
‘Of course the little turd has nothing to do with it,’ he agreed, ‘but that won’t stop tongues wagging, especially those of certain persons who would delight in using any means to discredit or discomfort me.’ He crumbled some bread absently between his long fingers. ‘The awkward fact remains that Thomas was out of sight during each of the three occasions when the deaths occurred — and it takes little strength to crack an unsuspecting victim on the head with a rock.’
‘And he, above all people, knows the Gospel inside out,’ added Gwyn, reluctantly acting as devil’s advocate.
However, Nesta was robust in Thomas’s defence. ‘What nonsense you talk, both of you!’ she snapped. ‘He’s a sad, disillusioned young man who deserves our help and sympathy, not stupid remarks like that, which could do him even more harm if they were overheard.’
Chastened, the coroner and his officer mumbled some excuses, but privately both felt a niggle of concern deep in their minds.
Later that afternoon a line of priests and their juniors straggled out of the cathedral after Compline and went their various ways, free of any more services until the midnight Matins. As arranged, de Wolfe met the Archdeacon and his colleagues outside the Chapter House, where the sheriff was already deep in conversation with his crony the Precentor. The latter was responsible for the order of services, the music and much of the other ecclesiastical rigmarole that de Wolfe found so tedious. The other canons were John of Exeter, the Treasurer and Jordan de Brent, the library archivist.
John de Alençon led the way through an arched gate into the grounds of the Bishop’s Palace, set on the south side of the cathedral. This time, Thomas de Peyne was unable to infiltrate the meeting, much to his chagrin.
The palace was a two-storeyed building of a stone that matched the massive cathedral that overshadowed it. Apart from the several chambers that housed the prelate, there were guest rooms for visiting dignitaries, which might range from other senior churchmen to the monarch. The place was underused, as Henry Marshal was rarely in residence, preferring to live in one of his many manors dotted around England when he was not dabbling in state affairs in Winchester or London. His brother was William, the Marshal of England, who, after Hubert Walter, was probably the most powerful statesman and soldier in the land. He had already served two kings faithfully and perhaps would serve another, if Prince John’s fortunes improved.
As the deputation filed into the audience chamber on the ground floor, the Bishop of Devon and Cornwall was already seated in a large high-backed chair on a podium at one end of the room. The other churchmen filed past him, bending their knee to kiss his ring. Richard de Revelle followed suit with an obsequious flourish and an even deeper bow, with de Wolfe bringing up a reluctant rear. Grudgingly, he bobbed his head and knee and brought his face near to Henry Marshal’s hand without actually touching the ring with his lips. He disliked these sycophantic gestures, but was obliged to go through the motions, albeit with an ill grace.
Servants had placed a row of stools in front of the Bishop’s dais and after paying homage to their prelate, the six men sat awkwardly before him, like pupils in a classroom. Henry Marshal, who was clothed in a sombre cassock of dark red, had a sallow young priest at his shoulder, presumably his personal chaplain. The Bishop had an unusually long face, his clean-shaven jaw adding to the smooth sweep of his features. A fringe of grey hair peeped from under his skull-cap and a large silver cross hung from a chain around his neck. He opened the meeting without any preamble, his mellow voice directed at the Archdeacon.
‘Brother John, you appear to have the most profound involvement with this sorry affair, so please begin.’
De Alençon stood to outline the circumstances of the death of the priest at St Mary Arches. Then he related the details of the earlier killings, emphasising the common factors. ‘So the intimate knowledge of appropriate texts from the Bible — and the ability to write — can only mean that the culprit is an educated man, inevitably one in Holy Orders,’ he concluded.
Bishop Henry digested the facts for a moment, his chin cupped in a hand gloved in soft leather. His grey eyes scanned the row of men before him and stopped at the sheriff. ‘Sir Richard, how do you think we can assist you?’
De Wolfe suppressed a snort of derision: de Revelle had taken not the slightest interest until a priest was killed, giving him the chance to parade his importance before the Bishop, a potentially powerful political force if and when the Lionheart’s brother took the throne.
‘I fear more killings of the same pattern, my lord, unless we find the miscreant very soon,’ he brayed sententiously, as if the matter occupied all his waking hours. ‘If indeed it is a clerk in Orders, then we urgently need to know whom we should interrogate.’
De Wolfe wondered who the ‘we’ might be and charitably hoped that the sheriff included the coroner in the description.
Henry Marshal’s brow furrowed. ‘I must admit that my duties, both in such a large diocese and especially elsewhere in England and Normandy, have given me little time to know all my labourers in the vineyard of this city. My canons and their assistants will have a far more intimate knowledge of them.’
De Revelle’s foxy face slid into an obsequious smile. ‘Your Grace’s heavy burden is well known to us all, but your assent to my using the wide knowledge of your senior priests would be of inestimable value.’
The coroner, who sat next to his slimy brother-in-law, felt like ramming his elbow violently into Richard’s ribs, but managed to control himself as the Bishop spoke again. ‘We most certainly will do all we can to bring this killer to book. If it is a priest, then only his speedy apprehension can help reduce the shame it brings upon the ministry of Christ in this diocese.’ He ran his piercing gaze along the row of canons, sitting like magpies on a branch. ‘Let us see what suggestions each of you can offer. I think you have all had time to seek other opinions among your fellow prebendaries and your vicars?’ His eye stopped at Thomas de Boterellis, a podgy man with a pale waxy-complexioned face and small piggy eyes. ‘Precentor, have you any suggestions?’