The bland-featured merchant looked offended. ‘I am not in the habit of imagining things, Richard. I wish I had never been dragged into this but it can’t be undone now. I am a devout man, and though the Bishop will be mortified, he owes it to the memory of old de Bonneville to see that justice is done.’
The sheriff looked across at John de Wolfe, still in the background. If looks could kill, the coroner would have been felled on the spot, but de Revelle was trapped by the testimony of the portreeve. He was forced to make the best of it and sought to limit the damage. ‘If this is true, which I am still not admitting without further proof, it only shows that Gervaise de Bonneville is trying to protect his squire. Nothing you have said implicates him in these deeds.’
John’s face showed his almost scornful scepticism, but the sheriff was warming to his theme.
‘Gervaise told his man to be careful what he said – he told him he was a fool to steal the dagger. Good counsel, albeit to a murdering rogue – but a nobleman feels a strong sense of duty and protectiveness to his squire, however misplaced.’
John grimaced at his brother-in-law. ‘And what of Baldwyn’s confession to having helped slay Hubert de Bonneville, eh? For what reason and at whose behest?’
De Revelle appealed to his erstwhile ally, Henry Rifford. ‘You heard the rogue say that Gervaise was half a county away, so that absolves him of any implication in the death of his brother. So we have not a shred of evidence to link de Bonneville with either death. He was merely trying to shield his man from his own wicked folly.’
His explanation was met with stony silence from the faces ranged in front of him. He gave up for the moment and appealed to John about more immediate problems. ‘What do you suggest is done about this? It is long past midnight. Should it not be left until morning?’
The coroner looked across at his own officer. ‘Do you know where they are now, Gwyn?’
The Cornishman said that the men had not returned to the Bush by the time he had left to come to the castle.
Nesta, looking decorous under a swathe of heavy shawl over her head and shoulders, said, ‘They paid in advance for a bed each in my inn and the younger brother is asleep there now. I’m sure the other two will return to bed when they’ve finished drinking and whoring.’
John caught the sheriff’s eye as she spoke the last few words and de Revelle dropped his gaze, wondering if his brother-in-law would use his own indiscretion against him. But John kept to the issue in hand. ‘It would be easier to deal with this in daylight. There’s nowhere they can go until the city gates open at dawn.’
‘And I don’t want broken furniture and blood all over my tavern, if there’s to be a fight,’ put in the ever-practical Nesta.
‘So we arrest them at first light?’ confirmed the coroner.
De Revelle was still attempting a feeble protest. ‘We take them in for questioning to see what they say to these unlikely allegations,’ he countered.
‘For God’s sake, Richard! Do you think they’ll roll over and admit it?’ roared John. ‘They’ll lie through their teeth to save their necks. It will be the evidence of my four witnesses – and the business of the Justices in Eyre to deal with their guilt. This is one trial that I’m sure you’ll be happy to leave to the King’s judges, Sheriff!’
As they left, John noticed his brother-in-law give urgent instructions to his chamberlain, who hurried away through an inner door, following the route that the lady of the town had taken to vanish discreetly from the scene.
Outside, they walked back through the moonlit night to the gatehouse and the city streets. John had arranged with the reluctant sheriff to meet at the Bush an hour before dawn, with a sergeant and four men to seize the Peter Tavy trio in their beds. ‘You had better keep out of the way, Nesta. Hopefully there’ll be no trouble, if we catch them in their undershirts, but I don’t want you involved – or you, Edwin. We need you kept safe as witnesses.’
With that back-handed concern for their safety, the two from the inn made their way back to Idle Lane, with Gwyn as bodyguard, while John strolled home to spend a few hours lying alongside Matilda, playing the faithful husband. None had seen a furtive figure slipping through the streets well ahead of them, also bound for the Bush.
Chapter Nineteen
In which Crowner John uses his sword
Sir John’s attempt at warming the matrimonial bed was shortlived. The cathedral bell had rung for the second hour by the time he was under the blanket and he had hardly dozed off when he felt himself shaken by the arm. It was Mary, wrapped in a shawl, trying to get him up without waking his wife.
She bent to hiss in his ear. ‘Gwyn is outside! You must come, he says it’s urgent.’
Unfortunately, it was Matilda who sat up first and saw the woman silhouetted in the moonlight streaming through the open door. ‘Mary! What are doing with my husband? John, are you up to your tricks again?’
‘No, mistress, really. It’s Gwyn of Polruan, wanting the master. He says you must come to raise the hue-and-cry. Some felons have made a run for it.’
The coroner, struggling out of his dreams, gave a yell of despair. ‘What? They’ve gone? By Christ, that can’t be!’
He leaped from the low bed and scrabbled for his breeches and tunic in the silvery light. Mary disappeared down the outside steps, leaving her master to give a hasty account to his wife of the unmasking of the Peter Tavy villain.
He tumbled down the stairs from the solar, yelling to Mary for his boots, helmet and sword. Within minutes, he was striding alongside Gwyn down the high street, dressed for trouble in a basin-shaped iron helmet, whose dents bore witness to service in many a campaign. Under this he wore his aventail, a chain-link balaclava, to protect his neck, tucked into a thick leather cuirass over his chest with mailed plates on the shoulders. A massive broadsword clanked at his waist and he had pulled on thick gauntlets, the backs covered in chain-mail.
Gwyn, wearing no protection apart from his ragged hide jacket, explained the situation as they hurried along. ‘I went back to the Bush with Nesta and old Edwin. We had a dish of stew to warm us up, then Nesta went to her bed and I climbed up to the dormitory, just to make sure the birds hadn’t flown … but they had!’
‘All of them?’
‘Martyn was still there. There were seven or eight people staying the night. I tiptoed among them and found the young brother sleeping like a baby – but two pallets were empty and there was no sign of the other brother or that Baldwyn.’
‘They must have been warned. How else could this have happened?’ snarled the coroner. ‘It must be de Revelle. He’s trying to save his reputation over that farce of a trial yesterday by letting them go. They’ll end up in France if we don’t bottle them up in the city.’
‘You think that Gervaise is party to these killings, then?’
The coroner snorted as they hurried along. ‘I’ll be damned surprised if he’s not. What reason would the squire have for being involved in the deaths? He has nothing to gain.’
Gwyn pondered on how they had been tipped off. ‘Someone could easily have come into the inn. There were still a few drunks snoring on the floor downstairs and Nesta usually leaves the door open all night.’
They turned into Idle Lane where the tavern stood on a plot of wasteland, starkly visible in the light of the full moon. Edwin was standing in the doorway, a long spear in one hand and an axe in the other.
‘They’ll not pass me, Captain,’ he said bravely, though with his eyesight he could hardly tell friend from foe.
John tapped his shoulder appreciatively. ‘Go up to the castle quickly. Tell the sergeant to get the sheriff and the constable out of bed and bring half a dozen men down here. Say the coroner orders it. The hue-and-cry must be raised at once to find these people.’