Walter peered at it, nervously at first, then curiosity got the better of his revulsion and he bent to get a closer look. 'Looks more like the cheapest leather I have to deal with, rather than a man,' he observed.
'But do you recognise him?' growled the coroner.
Walter scratched his head and thought for a moment.
'He's about the right height for Matthew and a thin fellow with it, which tallies. But that face — more like a dried monkey, I can't swear to it being him.'
'What about the clothing?' prompted Gwyn.
The leatherworker stared again, then bent down and tugged at the edge of the tunic. 'It's very much like what he used to wear. But so many other folk favour the same sort of garments. I couldn't be sure.' John ground his teeth in frustration. 'Is there nothing else you might recognise?'
Walter looked abashed at being unable to please this intimidating man. He rubbed his forehead in a desperate attempt to think of something useful. 'What about his arm?' he ventured.
De Wolfe glared at him. 'Well, what about his damned arm? He's got two of them, hasn't he?'
'He broke one a few years ago, falling off his pony. It never healed properly, there was always a lump under the skin.'
Gwyn seized upon this at once, as he had used a similar ploy once before. 'Which arm was it, left or right?' he demanded, already bending down to the corpse.
Walter Pole thought for a moment, muttering under his breath and looking at his own arms as he twisted them at the wrists to help him remember.
'The left… yes, it was the left, as he said it wouldn't stop him having full use of his right when he was pushing his needle through the leather.'
John stooped to look as Gwyn pushed up the left sleeve of the tunic almost to the shoulder. 'Where was the damage, Walter?' he boomed.
'Just below the elbow. He would rub it sometimes, as he said it. ached.'
Gwyn lifted up the hand, the brown, wrinkled skin of the arm looking like old parchment against the almost black claws of the fingernails. He felt all along the forearm from wrist to elbow and then gave a loud exclamation.
'Ha! There's a hard lump here. Would this be it?' Hesitantly, the harness maker stretched out his own hand and tentatively felt the area that Gwyn indicated.
He nodded vigorously. 'That's it. This must be poor Matthew. No one else would have a lump like that in that very spot.' He looked sadly at the withered corpse.
'His staggering sickness must have got the better of him in the end.'
John de Wolfe shook his head. 'Not so, Walter. He was murdered!'
* * *
An hour later, the coroner strode across Rougemont's inner ward to the keep and shared a pot of ale with the sheriff. Henry de Furnellis was fond of men's company and, unlike his haughty predecessor, the old soldier was happy to forsake the sheriff's chamber for the noisy, bustling halt outside.
They sat at a table near the firepit and ignoring the attempts of clerks, merchants and others to seek an audience with him, Henry listened to the latest news about the mummified corpse.
'God's teeth, how did a master craftsman like that get himself slain in such a bizarre fashion?' he asked, his grizzled old face displaying his surprise.
'There's some meaning to it, I'm sure,' replied John grimly. 'But what it signifies is beyond me at present.
As far as we can make out, the fellow had been an ordinary tradesman with nothing to mark him out as a victim.'
The sheriff nodded over his mug. 'A saddler seems an unlikely target for an assassination. Too old to have ravished the wife of some ill-tempered husband. And if he owed money, this was no way to set about repayment.' De Wolfe stared for a moment into the fire, watching the flames flicker around the pile of oak logs. 'This body was found on de Revelle's property and he has some fanciful tale about it being dumped there to discredit him.'
Henry groaned and rolled up his eyes. 'Bloody de Revelle! I might have guessed that he would turn up again before long. I thought his experiences last month might have encouraged him to lay low for a while.'
'He claims that this corpse was planted in his school by some outlaw bent on revenge,' said de Wolfe. 'What do you know of this Nicholas de Arundell, the one they call 'Nick o' the Moor'? All I've learned about him was from the one-eyed potman at the Bush.'
De Furnellis cradled his chin in a hand as he dug intohis memory. 'Nicholas de Arundell? There was a scandal concerning him about three years back, before I was made sheriff for the first time. The county was in the hands of that bastard John Lackland then, so although theoretically he was sheriff, the prince left all the work to the serjeants and bailiffs of the hundreds.' This obscure complaint told de Wolfe nothing and he waited for further explanation.
'De Arundell went off to the Crusade as soon as our king called for recruits, and I seem to recall that on the way he stayed to fight for the Lionheart in the Sicilian war. Anyway, when more than two years had gone by without word from him, it was claimed that he was dead and the Count of Mortain, who had been given Devon and Cornwall by the king at his coronation, declared his estates to be escheated.'
'And who put that claim about?' growled de Wolfe, 'The de la Pomeroys of Berry Castle, which stands next to Hempston, said that a monk returning from Palestine had told them this, as he was passing through.
Of course, no one could ever produce this monk to confirm it, but as you know only too well, Henry de la Pomeroy was one of Prince bloody John's most ardent supporters in these parts.'
'And then this Nicholas causes a big problem when he turns up very much alive?' suggested the coroner.
'Indeed he did! It seems he arrived with a couple of his men and finds his wife gone back to Cornwall and a strange bailiff running his manor. Unfortunately, in his anger, he went about fighting the situation in the wrong way.'
'So what happened to get him outlawed?' asked John.
'This Nicholas is a man of very short temper and he and his retainers, together with some villagers who were loyal to him, tried to throw out the bailiff and Pomeroy's men. 'There was a fight and in the melee, one of the local men got a crack on the head which killed him.
Someone got a warning to Berry Castle and a large force rushed over to arrest Nicholas, but he and his men escaped.'
By now, a few people had gathered behind the sheriff and were listening to his tale with interest. Any tales of conflict and violence were a welcome diversion in these peaceful times in Devon. One of the older men was Gabriel, the sergeant of the garrison's men-at-arms and a close friend of Gwyn. He broke in with his own memories of the affair.
'I don't know the details, but I heard that somehow he and some of his men vanished into the moor, where they've been ever since. He knew it was no use seeking justice from the sheriff, for there wasn't one worth speaking of, as it was the Count of Mortain who nominally held the shrievalty.'
'But why could he not get justice from someone?' demanded John. There were some derisory noises from the men gathered around. It was clear where their sympathies lay, and one man, a clerk to Ralph Morin, the castle constable, put them into words.
'Who could he appeal to, Crowner? He was declared outlaw in the county court a few weeks later, so he ceased to exist as far as the law was concerned. He couldn't bring any legal action for restitution of his estate — he couldn't even show his face anywhere for fear of being beheaded or hanged on sight.'
De Wolfe nodded his understanding at the fearful significance of being declared an outlaw, and the sheriff's next words confirmed de Arundell's plight.
'He was a relatively insignificant knight with no powerful friends, even though he had been on Crusade. Then he made matters worse by starting a vendetta against de Revelle and the Pomeroys, father and son. He and his men hid themselves on Dartmoor and struck at various farms belonging to their adversaries.' Henry grinned at the memory of de Revelle's anger at the time. 'They burned a few barns, stole sheep and cattle and poached deer from their lands. They even kidnapped a few of de Revelle's servants and tried to hold them to ransom, but he wouldn't pay so much as a bent penny, so they had to let them free.'