Though de Wolfe had attended an Eyre before, this was the first since he had become coroner. Somewhat bemused by the frenetic activity, he had little time to speak to either Gwyn or Thomas. The latter was almost panting with exertion as he ran around with plea rolls and Gwyn was doing sterling service in delivering and collecting parchments from various benches, at the direction of John or his clerk.
After a couple of hours, the Justices, well used to their routine, called a halt for refreshment and the strangely subdued sheriff escorted them across to his chambers in the keep for wine and pastries. As he left, he gestured for John to accompany them, but the coroner wanted to use the lull to speak to his assistants.
‘Gwyn, did you learn anything from the crowd in the street last night?’
‘Nothing worthwhile — no one seemed to know who was lurking inside.’
‘Did anyone see anything suspicious?’
Gwyn scratched his crotch vigorously as an aid to memory. ‘One young lad said he thought he saw someone in a black mantle coming out of the side passage a few minutes before the fire was spotted, but he might have been romancing — though another old fellow also claims he saw a tall figure with a hood standing in the entrance to the passage alongside the house, but he spoilt it by saying that men are always slipping in and out of there, the place being partly used as a bawdy house.’
De Wolfe turned to the silent clerk. ‘What about you, Thomas? Did you get the mattress in the Bush?’
‘I did indeed, master. God bless you for your kindness — and that of Mistress Nesta, who fed me too.’
‘We needed you last night, but Brother Rufus took over your task of deciphering that text.’
An expression of mortification crept over the little man’s face. ‘Forgive me, Crowner. I was trying to find a secondary who had borrowed my precious book of the sayings of St Augustine. He was not in the Close and I had to search Priest Street to find him.’
Uneasily, de Wolfe thought that although this was an excuse that might be true, it was impossible to prove or deny.
‘I found Thomas at the Bush and dragged him back to Waterbeer Street to check those scratches,’ declared Gwyn.
The clerk bobbed his head in solemn agreement. ‘That castle chaplain was quite right — the text was from Paul to the Romans, though the words were used out of context. I suppose the writer needed to twist them to suit the circumstances.’
‘Do you read anything into them?’ demanded John.
‘The coals-of-fire part is obvious, naming the means he used to try to kill the-’
Afraid that Thomas might blurt out the sheriff’s name in public, John jabbed a finger to his lips. ‘What about the vengeance part?’
Thomas shrugged. ‘It can only mean that this was revenge for some evil act. But God alone knows what that might have been.’ He jerkily made the Sign of the Cross as he uttered the words.
At that moment the justices returned and carried on trying cases until late morning, when they broke for their midday dinner.
All manner of events were looked into by the keeneared Justices, mainly with a view to squeezing money out of the population for the royal treasury. Many of these events involved deaths, both homicidal, accidental and suicidal, though the mortal sin of felo de se was relatively uncommon. It was in these cases that de Wolfe was constantly involved, reporting on his investigations, with the invaluable help of Thomas’s precious parchment rolls.
They rushed through the hearings at breakneck speed, though de Wolfe was impressed by the fairness of most judgements, even though the penalties on conviction were harsh. Many cases were dismissed from lack of evidence, and quite a number of prisoners and men under attachment fines were released, to the noisy delight of their families.
A few lawyers attended the more affluent defendants, though their efforts were mainly concerned with the civil arguments, where the fees and pickings were greater than with those accused of crimes, who were usually poor or destitute. John was glad when the halfday break was called and this time had no hesitation in joining the judges for food and drink in the hall of the castle, provided somewhat reluctantly by the sheriff out of his own purse. He sat on the main table, reserved for the Justices and law officers, finding himself next to Serlo de Vallibus, the Chancery clerk. Many low-born but able men, such as de Vallibus, rose to positions of power in the government of England and being appointed as a Justice of Eyre was a significant stepping-stone to such prominence. Opposite was the gruff Walter de Ralegh, with Richard de Revelle alongside him, and further down the table the two other judges sat with the Portreeves and senior churchmen, who had come to listen to the morning’s proceedings.
After they had attacked their bowls of stew and trenchers loaded with meat, they began to gossip. The notorious Exeter grapevine had been busy already, as de Ralegh’s first words confirmed: ‘Now, de Revelle, tell us more about these remarkable murders you have had in the city. We had heard of them in Somerset, but I gather you have had more since then.’
This was the last topic that the sheriff wanted to discuss, but he had little choice. He tried to make light of the killings and dismiss them as just another facet of urban life, but de Ralegh would have none of it. ‘Come, Sheriff, it’s a poor state of affairs to have a string of unsolved slaughters within your walls at the very time that the Eyre of Assize is visiting. Puts a rather poor complexion on your stewardship here, eh?’
This was just what de Revelle had feared so he tried to shift the onus on to the coroner: ‘De Wolfe here can tell you about them. He’s the investigator — not that he’s had much success, poor fellow.’
De Wolfe scowled at his brother-in-law and flashed him a warning glance, given the fragile state of his credit.
‘Crowner, bring us up to date. I heard that even last night there was trouble that was likely to have been the work of this Grim Reaper.’
This was Serlo, whose sibilant voice seemed always to carry a veiled threat. John wondered how he had got to hear of the arson attack so quickly and concluded that his clerks must be professional spies.
Somewhat reluctantly, de Wolfe summarised the story of the four murders and the arson attack, carefully leaving out the slightest hint of the involvement of the sheriff.
‘So this madman seems to have a grudge against whores, if one was also in that burning house,’ commented de Ralegh. John was happy to let him think so and went on to describe the biblical references that made it certain that the culprit was a priest.
Walter, who seemed the dominant member of the judicial quartet, was impatient about the city’s inability to catch the killer.
‘If he’s a cleric, surely you can catch the swine?’ de Ralegh barked. ‘Interrogate every one, put any likely suspects to the torture until you get a confession.’
Further down the table heads turned, especially those of the senior cathedral canons, the Archdeacon and Precentor. The look on their faces told what they thought of de Ralegh’s robust solution.
Serlo de Vallibus had a more realistic notion of the situation. ‘Walter, that would be difficult. I gather there are more than a hundred religious men of various rank in this city. Almost all come under the jurisdiction and protection of the Lord Bishop — the cathedral precinct is not even within the purview of the secular law. The clergy cannot be coerced — the Pope himself would be enraged if it came to his ears.’
De Ralegh, a former soldier with a fiery reputation, snorted at this but held his tongue. However, Sir Peter Peverel, listening across the table, took up the criticism of the law officers. ‘It seems incredible that in a walled city such as this, with the gates closed at night and constables walking the streets, that a killer can strike repeatedly and with apparent impunity.’