Richard jabbed a finger towards Gwyn, who was back in his usual amiable mood. ‘I asked, why is this thief still at large? You’ll answer for this, Constable — and you, Sergeant, if you’ve flouted my orders!’
‘Stop this nonsense, de Revelle!’ said the coroner, in a tired voice now that the crunch had come. ‘You’ve been caught red handed and you may as well drop this pretence of innocence and prepare yourself for what must inevitably come, when the King and his council get to hear of it.’
Richard continued to splutter indignantly and try to shout down his brother-in-law’s measured words, but John turned to the clerk Samuel, took two parchments from his hands and laid them on the table before the sheriff. ‘These are quite short — and you always boast of your prowess in reading, Richard. So compare the two and tell me how a written, witnessed inventory of the contents of the Cadbury treasure chest made in this very keep happens to be identical with the list made in Cadbury?’
As de Revelle rapidly scanned the brief documents, his face became ashen, but he still didn’t give up. ‘This must be some forgery — you are determined to ruin me, by whatever foul means you can devise.’ He seized the list made by Morin’s clerk and tried to tear it half. ‘This is what I think of this imposture,’ he snarled, but the tough sheepskin refused to rip and only crinkled in his hands. Furious and desperate, he held it to the flame of a small lamp that burned on his table for melting the wax for his seals, but again the leathery membrane only curled up and shrivelled in one corner.
De Wolfe leaned over and pulled it from his fingers. ‘Stop wasting our time, Richard. That’s but an attested copy, made in the last hour. The original is in safe-keeping, ready to be taken to the King’s treasurer and the justiciar.’ He regarded the sheriff with something akin to pity, until he recalled how much mischief he had caused. ‘This is the end, Richard. There is no way in which I can overlook your stealing from our king. You must give up your shrievalty immediately and I will get the Shire Court to appoint a caretaker sheriff in your place until the will of the King is known.’
The unspeakable prospect of being ejected from the most powerful post in the county, with all the power and perquisites that it carried, galvanised de Revelle into action. His dandified figure almost danced with rage behind his desk as he screamed vilification and denial at the sombre group around him. ‘Give up my position? Are you raving mad, man!’ he screamed. ‘I am the sheriff, I am paramount in this shire! No one can displace me here, no one but the King himself or the greatest men in his Council!’ He waved a shaking fist at the coroner and swung it to include the other disciples of doom clustered around him. ‘So get out of here! I am the sheriff and will stay the sheriff until Winchester or London decide otherwise. You have no authority over me, de Wolfe, you’re a mere coroner. You are as nothing, your useless job is to prod corpses and examine ravished women. And you, Ralph Morin, are just another soldier, my servant, a spear-waver, who has no say whatsoever in the running of this county. Get out, the lot of you, and keep out of my sight!’
There was a silence. All looked at John de Wolfe to see what he would do or say.
‘Bluster will only delay the evil hour, Richard. I suppose I could have you dragged to the gaol where you were so keen to put Gwyn here. But I will content myself with attaching you to appear before the royal justices, when they next come to Exeter, charged with theft and treason, which is inevitably a hanging matter. However, no doubt before then Hubert Walter or perhaps the King himself will decide what should be done, as I will send word to London as soon as possible.’ He stood back and waved the singed parchment at de Revelle. ‘Until then, I suppose you may as well stay here and play at being sheriff, though I will at once make soundings as to who might take over as locum tenens.’
As he walked to the door, de Revelle’s voice followed him, hissing like a snake, full of evil and spite. ‘You’re going to suffer for this, John! If I fall, then I’m taking you down with me!’
CHAPTER TWELVE
De Wolfe walked back to Martin’s Lane with mixed emotions churning in his head. He was a straightforward type of person, not overly blessed with imagination and certainly lacking the devious, crafty mind of his corrupt brother-in-law. He derived no joy from what looked like the final downfall of Richard de Revelle, but his somewhat blinkered loyalty to his office and his king made it inevitable that he go through with it. He knew that Matilda would be devastated and, strained as their relationship was, he had no desire to cause her any more grief than was necessary. She had looked up to her brother for most of her life until recently, with the hero-worship of a sibling five years older, one who had climbed to the elevated heights of county sheriff, rich from his marriage to the daughter of a wealthy Somerset baron. Matilda had closed her eyes to his misdeeds for several years, but since her husband had become coroner, his exposure of de Revelle’s repeated skirmishes with treason and his dishonesty had gradually caused the scales to fall from her eyes. Ironically, it was she who had persuaded John to accept the coronership, as she wanted to use his position in the governing hierarchy to elevate her position in the social scale, little knowing that his uncompromising honesty would be her brother’s undoing.
Now, as he loped along towards their house, John knew that this would be the final straw that would shatter what little remained of her faith in Richard. He was sorry for her, but it would be kinder if she heard it from him rather than through the snide gossip of her friends at St Olave’s.
His readiness for such compassion almost evaporated as soon as he put a foot through the door of his hall, as she immediately put her head around the wing of her hearth-side chair and attacked him. ‘So, I hear you took that dirty old crone down to the Bush. Now there are two evil witches in that den of sin!’
John clamped his lips shut to keep in an angry reply and went to a side table, where he poured himself some wine from the jug that Mary had placed there for them. He filled another pewter cup and held it out towards his wife. When she rudely shook her head, he nevertheless advanced on her with the wine. ‘You’d better take it, Matilda,’ he said gravely. ‘I have to tell you something that may distress you.’
‘There’s little that can distress me further,’ she snapped sarcastically. ‘You’ve already done everything imaginable to hurt me.’
He lowered himself into the seat opposite and took a long sip of his wine. ‘This is not about me, wife. Once again, it’s about your brother.’
The mention of her former paragon of Norman manhood brought her up short and she dropped her usual carping manner and stared at John uneasily. ‘What about my brother?’
He returned her gaze steadily, nerving himself to drive home the dagger. ‘In the past, usually at your pleading, I have turned a blind eye to Richard’s failings — even when my loyalty and duty should have prevented me. But this time the matter is out of my hands, as even the King’s exchequer is aware of it.’
Her hand fluttered to her throat, to lie on the silken wimple that enveloped her face. She knew from the gravity of his tone that this was no ploy in the eternal battle of words between them — this was reality. ‘Tell me what has happened, John,’ she said in a low voice, a tear already appearing in anticipation in the corner of each eye.
He explained calmly and with no elaboration, how the sheriff had filched part of the Cadbury treasure, unaware that a detailed inventory of it had already been made — and when challenged, had tried to lay the blame on Gwyn, putting him in danger of a death sentence.