Then John tried to talk the judges into a more reasonable attitude. Indeed, Gervase de Bosco was not pressing for a conviction and Serlo de Vallibus, even though he was the injured party, honestly admitted that he had no recollection of Thomas being his assailant. But the other two were adamant and, with a heavy heart, de Wolfe sat in a corner of the dais when the case was called halfway through the morning. Once again, he had ordered Gwyn to stay out of the castle and even managed to get Sergeant Gabriel to stay with him at an ale-house, to make sure that he did nothing foolish.
Twelve jurors representing the city of Exeter were already empanelled for other cases and were dragooned into hearing this interposed indictment.
The proceedings were short and predictable.
Thomas de Peyne was led into the Shire Hall in chains, amid hisses, shouts of abuse and a few vegetables hurled from the crowd. Bedraggled and pathetic, he stood with his head bowed before Walter de Ralegh and the other judges. A clerk — one he knew well — read out the charges of murder. The sheriff made an abrasive speech, detailing each foul homicide and laid them all at Thomas’s door, as well as the arson in Waterbeer Lane and the assault on Serlo de Vallibus.
Both Peverel and de Ralegh weighed in with their own vituperative opinions about a literate ex-priest, haranguing the bemused jurors about Thomas’s proficiency in writing and expert knowledge of the scriptures. They ended with an embellished account of the attack on de Vallibus that sounded as if they themselves had witnessed the whole incident.
At the end of this, there was no opportunity for any defence to be offered, apart from a harsh invitation for the accused to speak up — which Thomas ignored, continuing to stare at the earthen floor. De Wolfe had pleaded with the Justices to be allowed to speak in his clerk’s defence, but they had vetoed this on the grounds that he had no right to do so and, furthermore, was obviously highly prejudiced — an argument which he cynically thought was sheer hypocrisy, coming from a pair who had decided on guilt well before the case came before them.
The jury were then virtually commanded to return a verdict of guilty, which they did without hesitation. De Ralegh, as the senior justice, then snarled a sentence of death and commanded that this be carried out next day. Without looking up, Thomas meekly followed two men-at-arms back to the prison in the undercroft and the whole sad episode was over.
For the rest of the day, de Wolfe went about his duties as if he was in a nightmare. He would liked to have saddled up Odin and gone alone into the countryside, to be away from everyone and suffer his resentment and anger in solitude. But he was required in the court as if nothing had happened, for without his presentment of the cases in which he was involved none could be dealt with. The clerk who tried to carry out Thomas’s functions with the rolls was a shadow of the little man’s efficiency and his clumsy efforts only reminded de Wolfe the more of what he had lost.
By the time of the midday meal, Matilda had heard of the conviction and John expected her to rub his nose in it, but to his surprise she was muted in her comments and he soon sensed that she realised this was a topic so sensitive that she might get the worst of it if she crossed him. Instead, almost as if she was trying to divert his troubled mind from such a painful subject, she launched into some gossip about her favourite topic: the clergy of Exeter.
‘Our priest at St Olave’s is to leave! He saw the Bishop last evening, so it is said, and tomorrow he is to journey to Sussex to see his Abbot.’
John managed to drag his attention to her words, as Fulk was one of those who had been fingered by the cathedral as a potential malcontent. Was the fact that he was suddenly leaving in any way significant, he wondered?
‘What brought that on?’ he asked his wife.
‘I can’t imagine. At the alms-giving yesterday he said nothing about it. I thought he might have mentioned something to me, as one of the staunchest members of his congregation.’ She sniffed in disapproval of the priest’s attitude and John sensed that her infatuation had begun to evaporate.
‘When I talked to him the other day, he seemed discontented to be at a small church like St Olave’s,’ de Wolfe mused. ‘He seemed to think he was destined for greater things.’
For once, Matilda agreed with him. ‘He’s a clever and able man, wasted in a small chapel like that — especially as he could get no advancement in the diocese.’
The coroner was not interested in Julian Fulk’s ambitions, but Matilda’s next remark was of more interest. ‘That was a strange business with the priests down at All-Hallows and St Mary Steps. They say that Ralph de Capra has gone completely mad now and is locked in the infirmary of St Nicholas.’
De Wolfe looked up from his bread and cheese. ‘I thought that hell-fire merchant, Adam of Dol had taken him under his wing?’
‘He had, but it seems that de Capra ran away and tried to drown himself in the river. They fished him out and took him to the monks at St Nicholas for his own safety.’
Though it was difficult for John to shake off the depressed torpor that enveloped him, he decided that he had better talk to those three priests again. He was convinced that the true killer was still somewhere in the city, so the search must go on. When he found the culprit, at least he could throw it in the faces of the sheriff and the Justices — though much good that would do his poor clerk.
In the afternoon, he returned to the Shire Hall and tried to concentrate on the cases, to keep himself from dwelling on Thomas’s fate.
Near the end of the session Gwyn turned up, surprising de Wolfe by being sober. The Cornishman looked a decade older than he had when de Wolfe had last seen him. Gabriel was behind him and gave a covert shrug towards the coroner, as if to convey that he could do nothing with Gwyn in his present depressed mood. They remained behind when the court emptied, sitting in forlorn silence among the bare tables and benches.
‘It is useless appealing again to those men,’ growled de Wolfe. ‘They say that once a jury has pronounced a verdict, they are powerless to alter it.’
‘Bloody hypocrites — that jury would have said whatever their lordships decreed,’ snarled Gwyn.
De Wolfe uncoiled himself wearily from his stool and stepped down on to the floor of the court. ‘I’m going across to see Thomas now. Are you coming?’
His officer shook his head. ‘I’ll go later — when I’ve gathered the courage to face him.’
When John descended the few steps into the undercroft, Stigand made no attempt to obstruct him and sullenly waddled across to open the gate into the cells with a clinking bunch of keys. Inside was a short passage with a series of cells on either side and the gaoler opened the first door to admit the coroner.
Almost fearfully, de Wolfe squelched through the blackened, wet straw to stand over his clerk, who sat motionless on the edge of the slate slab. A lion in battle, willing to face any adversary with a sword or lance, de Wolfe cringed in any situation such as this: emotion and compassion confused him. Yet when Thomas looked up, it was almost as if the little ex-priest was the one who was ready to give comfort to him, rather than the reverse. He wore a beatific smile and seemed quite at ease. ‘Don’t fret, master, this is what was ordained by our Creator. At least I can’t make a mess of being hanged tomorrow — my cloak is hardly likely to get hooked on the gallows-tree as it did on the cathedral wall.’
His calmness and his attempts at humour almost broke John and only by coughing and choking could he keep his emotions in check.